Furious Jeffrey Higgins (english love story books TXT) 📖

I contemplated my hands. I had thought about that too and concluded Brad’s offer had been a challenge. He had always competed with me. I had not noticed it at first, but we had only dated for three months before I got pregnant. My decision to marry him had been rash, driven by surging hormones and a desire to create a stable home for my unborn child.

“I think Brad asked you to take a sailing voyage to make you admit your fear, confess your weakness, concede he’s stronger than you,” Jessica said.

“That would be cruel.”

“Brad’s always worried that you’re smarter than him, a better surgeon. He wants this trip to be a competition.”

Maybe it’s time to prove he’s right.

I turned back to Jessica but did not meet her gaze. “What if he chose a sailing trip to challenge me, to help me confront my fear? He knows I can’t accept failure. Maybe he’s using my childhood phobia to distract me from my grief and force me to heal. If that’s what he’s doing, he’s playing three-dimensional chess—a master motivator.”

This trip could save me.

“Or he’s a master manipulator,” Jessica said.

“Our marriage is in trouble. Brad thinks the time away from our routine will help me mend, and exposure therapy is an effective intervention for aquaphobia. Maybe he’s right.”

“Brad’s a narcissist, and you know it,” Jessica said. “He’s a spoiled, handsome, rich kid who can’t be bothered with your pain. He didn’t even ask you before he planned the trip.”

That was true, but I was not going to bad-mouth Brad to her. I owed him that much. Brad was my husband, and I had to be loyal. Besides, Brad could also be sweet and persuasive. His charisma pulled people toward him, made them want to follow. He probably did not intend on being insensitive. It was more a byproduct of his narcissism. He needed me to recover from Emma’s death so he could be happy again, and if he had to force me to get onboard with his plan, so be it.

“I have to do something,” I said. “I’m lost. Sometimes, I don’t think I’ll make it through the day.”

“You can do anything you put your mind to, sweetie. You are the most driven person I have ever known. You thought Harvard would be impossible, but you graduated near the top of your class. You doubted you would become a surgeon, but you did. You thought you would never get this fellowship, but here you are. You’re a winner.”

Jessica had been my best friend since we sat next to each other in our Intro to Philosophy class during our freshman year at Boston University. That was fourteen years ago, before Harvard Medical School, before my surgical residency at New England General Hospital—where I met Brad—and before Boston Pediatric Surgical Center.

Jessica was short, plump, and brunette—the opposite of me. She was an Italian Jew from New Jersey, and I was a Scottish-Irish Catholic from Boston. We looked nothing alike and came from different cultures, but we had become fast friends. Jessica had gone into nursing; a career move she said I had inspired with my passion for medicine. We had even worked together briefly before I left New England General Hospital. She felt like the sister I never had, and I missed seeing her every day.

“Thanks, Jess. I wouldn’t have made it this far without you.”

“I’m glad you called. Stop acting like a hermit and come down the shore with Jimmy and me. He thinks you’re a hottie.”

“I like your husband, but I haven’t been out at all. You’re the only person I can talk to anymore.”

“Yet you think spending a month on a boat with Brad will be fun?”

“Fun? Not exactly, but it may help me. I don’t know.”

“What were you doing at the hospital today?”

“I had a session with the staff psychiatrist.”

Jessica’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding? I can’t believe you went to a psychiatrist. What happened to the Dagny who said, ‘I can solve any problem with my mind?’”

“The hospital administrator strongly recommended I see him, and she has been so good to me by allowing me to take this sabbatical. I felt like I couldn’t decline her offer.”

“What did your psychiatrist say?”

“The usually touchy-feely stuff. I told him about the sailing trip, and he thought it may be a good idea to get away, to put some space between myself and the house. He said a change of scenery may help, as long as I don’t suppress my feelings.”

I did not mention that I had also told the psychiatrist about my doubts about Brad and our marriage. The psychiatrist had suggested my feelings about Brad had nothing to do with Emma’s death. He said they were probably a separate issue brought to the forefront by our tragedy—concerns born from unrelated problems—and I had not told him everything. Not the worst of it.

“What are you going to do? Will you go?”

“I just gave the administrator official notice that I’m extending my leave of absence. I told her I’ll return in January. I think she’ll allow me to finish my fellowship, but if I can’t resume work by the new year, I may have to find another job.”

“You’re going on the trip to prove how brave you are. You agreed because you’re afraid.”

Jessica knew me better than anyone. I could never ignore a challenge, and this was an opportunity to confront my childhood phobia, an enduring source of weakness and shame. I swelled with pride at making the hard decision—a flicker of my former self.

Maybe I’m still in here.

“I’m going, because I’ll die if I stay here. I need to get away and I can’t get farther away than the middle of the ocean.”

Someone knocked on my window and I whirled around. Eric Franklin smiled at me through the glass. I lowered the window.

“Hey Dagny, I’m glad I caught you. I’ve been thinking about you.”

“Thanks, Eric. It’s good to see you too.”

“When do we get you back? It