Furious Jeffrey Higgins (english love story books TXT) 📖

knew I idolized him and only remembered the good stuff, and I was certain there were things about him I had not liked, but I could not think of any of them. I simply could not.

Jessica and her husband stood beside us. Jimmy seemed to like Brad, or at least he acted like he did. Jessica held my hand and smiled, the kind of look you gave your daughter before she received a vaccination. It said, “be brave and it will be over soon.” When it was our turn, I handed my bouquet to Jessica, and stood between two potted plants in front of a justice of the peace.

Jessica leaned in and whispered in my ear. “Are you sure you don’t want to run for it? It’s not too late.”

Jessica had never kept her thoughts to herself, which was one of the things I loved about her.

“I’m sure,” I lied.

The judge made a few perfunctory remarks, the minimum to make the ceremony binding, and Brad and I said our vows. That was it. We were married, wed in a government building before a room full of bureaucrats. I felt like the judge had sentenced me.

I shrugged away the memory and sipped my coffee as the ocean rolled past.

I slipped my hand into my sweatshirt pocket and grasped the plastic medicine bottle containing my Xanax. I pulled it out and shook it. Enough pills to keep me medicated until we reached home. I had used them as a lifeline, but now, they did not seem to hold the same power. I wanted to feel like myself again, so I hefted the bottle in my hand and threw it over the stern. It plopped on the surface and floated away.

I would do this myself.

I needed to tell Brad I wanted a divorce, and I needed to do it now.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Doubt and fear spread inside me like a fungus. If I waited another minute, I would lose my nerve. I went below and knocked on the stateroom door.

No answer.

I knocked louder and Brad stirred. I opened the door and leaned inside.

“Are you awake?” I asked.

“What time is it?”

“Almost one o’clock. Are you okay?”

Brad leaned on his elbows and groaned. “I feel like shit.”

“You drank almost two bottles of wine.”

“This isn’t a hangover. I’m sick.”

Hearing that triggered my best impulses as a doctor and I crossed the room and sat on the bed beside him. Despite my decision to leave Brad, I cared for him and wanted him to be healthy and happy. I pressed the back of my hand against his forehead. His skin simmered.

“You’re feverish. Does the medical kit have a thermometer?”

“I need aspirin.”

“What are your symptoms?”

“Don’t baby me.”

“Come on. What hurts?”

“Splitting headache, fatigue, aches. I’m hot and my mind is fuzzy. I feel awful.”

“Stay in bed and rest. I’ll take care of you.”

“I can take care of myself, but I’ll need you to sail until I feel better. One of us needs to keep watch.”

I hesitated. Manning the helm during a windless night was one thing, but what if the wind picked up? What would I do in a storm? I swallowed and tried to sound strong. “I’ll stay awake until you’re healthy enough to help. I can set my watch alarm and take twenty-minute catnaps on deck.”

“Damn it. It’s too dangerous to sleep. If you don’t wake up, we could hit something and die,” he said.

“There’s not much of a chance we’ll hit anything now. The wind died, and we’re only making one knot.”

“Tankers don’t use the wind, Dagny. Container ships, and other commercial shipping are all over this part of the ocean. I think we’re south of the shipping lanes, but we still have to be alert. I’ve explained this to you at least ten times.”

“I told you I’ll take the watch,” I said.

“Trim the sails when you see them luff and milk the most out of whatever wind we have.”

“I’ll get the med kit.”

I retrieved the medical bag and opened it beside the bed. I pulled a thermometer from the first module and took his temperature. Brad scowled at me while we waited. He did not enjoy being treated like a patient, because of his competitiveness or some macho thing, but I could not help myself. Every instinct I had made me want to care for him.

He looked flushed and diaphoretic. He fidgeted and seemed anxious. I removed the thermometer and read it. “One-oh-one. Not too bad. I’ll get you a cold washcloth and a bottle of water to take Tylenol.”

“I don’t feel well.”

I returned and gave him his medicine, then heated a can of soup for him. I held the bowl in front of him.

He pushed it away. “I’m nauseous.”

“Fine, but you have to eat. Let me know when you think you can stomach it.”

“You need to get on deck. What did I tell you? We could get rammed and sink.”

“I’ll take care of it. Shout if you need anything.”

Brad reclined and closed his eyes. He looked sick. Really sick.

I left and closed the door without a sound. I took my place at the helm and scanned 360 degrees of blue ocean. The wind had disappeared, and the sails drooped from the rigging. If it did not pick up, I would have to turn on the engine and use our limited fuel.

It would be cruel to discuss divorce with Brad while he suffered. Despite his faults, Brad could be a decent person. He had married me and cared for Emma. He had dragged me, kicking and screaming to the Indian Ocean, and had allowed me to break free of my grief—not completely, but enough to clear my mind, and I could finally see a way through my pain. I would always be grateful to him for that.

I could wait one more day to talk to him about our future.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

I shook myself awake after falling asleep at the helm. The sun beat on my face, which meant I had slept for