Furious Read online

  “It seems like a Bond villain should live on it. I have to ask, how much did it cost?”

  “This hull sold for $1.4 million and I rented it for $24,000 for the entire month of December.”

  “That’s a third of my salary.”

  “You don’t have to worry about money anymore.”

  The name “KARNA” adorned the stern in gold letters.

  “What does Karna mean?” I asked.

  “I asked too,” Brad said. “The owner spends a lot of time in the Indian Ocean, so he named it after a mythological Hindi hero. Karna was a moral champion blessed with strength and ability. He suffered betrayal and attacks but stayed true to himself and overcame adversity.”

  “It must be good luck to name a boat after a hero, right?”

  “It’s a yacht,” Brad said.

  “Come, come,” Ali said. “Let me show you. You ready for sail now.”

  I had sailed with my father and taken lessons as a child, often navigating Boston’s Charles River by myself, but those lessons had been on an eleven-foot Sailfish—essentially a surfboard with a small sail, centerboard, and rudder. This yacht was a leviathan. I still remembered how to sail and had refreshed my memory by reading a sailing manual on the plane. I had a decent grasp of nautical terminology and knew enough not to call a line a rope, but the list of sailboat parts seemed endless. Sailing jargon was almost as complicated as medical terminology.

  Ali leapt off the pier, climbed onboard, and hydraulically lowered the transom door. The door unfolded and extended ten feet behind the boat, forming a swimming platform. Behind the open transom, a nine-foot inflatable motorboat rested inside a tender garage.

  “Come,” Ali said, and waved us onboard.

  I hesitated, panic building.

  Brad grabbed my hand.

  “I can’t,” I said.

  “You can.” He lifted me off the pier and onto the diving platform.

  My head swam, and I stuck my arms out for balance. “I don’t know.”

  “This trip will be an adventure,” he said. “I’m excited.”

  “I’m nauseous.”

  Twin companionways bracketed the stern, and Brad guided me up four teak steps to the deck. I had not been on the water since the incident, and a cool sweat broke out on my forehead and back.

  Brad did not seem to notice my discomfort. He was giddy, like a child with a new toy. He grinned and surveyed the length of the boat, excited to show off his acquisition.

  “We have twin helms, starboard and port, with duplicate sailing controls,” he said. “You can raise and lower the sails, steer, and navigate from either side.”

  I glanced at the bay, light-headed. “I have no intention of piloting this boat.”

  “It’s still a yacht, and it’s easy. You’ll figure it out in a day or two.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Trust me.”

  The cockpit lay in front of the steering wheels, with white-cushioned couches and teak tables on either side. Two feet of deck space ran along the gunwales all the way forward to the bow, and metal lifelines extended two-and-a-half feet above the deck, but they did not make me feel any safer. A composition arch and Bimini hardtop hung over the cockpit, and a covered companionway led below to the cabin.

  I looked back at the pier and dry land.

  “Follow me,” Brad said, walking toward the bow.

  “There’s a lot of deck space,” I said, gripping the lifeline as I followed.

  “It will seem smaller after a month at sea.” Brad stopped between two small hatches in the deck and a larger one near the bow. He bent and opened the large plexiglass hatch. “This is the foresail locker, it’s been outfitted as crew quarters, but we’ll store emergency gear in it.”

  I peered into a small, claustrophobic space containing a bed, sink, and storage cabinets. “I’m glad we’re not sleeping in there.”

  “The galley is stocked, as requested,” Ali hollered from the stern. He disappeared down the companionway into the cabin.

  “Come on, Dags. We’ll have plenty of time to hang out on deck tomorrow. Let’s make sure he loaded our food onboard and topped off the water and fuel tanks.”

  We walked aft, and I took a deep breath before descending six wooden steps into the cabin. To my left, a swivel chair had been bolted in front of a chart table, with communication, navigation, and control equipment recessed in the wall. A large dining table ran parallel to the port side, bracketed by couches. To starboard, a galley contained a freezer, refrigerator, stove, oven, microwave, and sink. Tinted windows extended to the bow, with white-lacquered cabinets above them.

  “Behind you are two berths, port and starboard, each with its own head,” Brad said. “That’s a bathroom in sailor-speak.”

  “Thanks, captain.”

  “Our stateroom is in the bow.”

  “So, two bedrooms in the back and a big one in front?”

  “Two cabins in the stern and the stateroom in the bow; and we say fore and aft, not front and back.”

  Brad led me forward through the galley to a small passageway. He paused and opened two cabinets, containing a refrigerator and a washing machine. The passageway opened into the largest berth—our stateroom. A queen-sized bed sat atop a raised platform and light streamed in from two overhead hatches and rows of windows along the sides. Cabinets lined the starboard side, and a forty-inch digital television hung from the bulkhead.

  “It’s more luxurious than I expected,” I said, “but it’s a smaller space than we’re used to. Won’t we get cabin fever?”

  “We have three berths with locking doors, a comfortable salon, and plenty of room on deck. You won’t have any difficulty getting away from me.”

  “Do you ever want to get away from me?”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “I know, but . . .”

  “But what?” he asked.

  “I called you the other day, and you weren’t at work.”

  Brad put his hands on his hips and scowled. “I already explained that. I was in a pharmaceutical meeting.”

  “You work with all those pretty, young nurses . . . women without my depression.”

  “You’re being ridiculous,” Brad said.

  “I feel like you’re not telling me something.”

  “You have nothing to worry about,” Brad said, avoiding my gaze. “Let’s finish the inventory and head to the hotel. I want an extravagant dinner before we shove off tomorrow.”

  I followed him into the galley where Ali had opened cabinets filled with canned goods. The freezer overflowed with meat in vacuum-sealed packages, and fruit and vegetables packed the refrigerator.

  Ali bent over, pulled a panel off the deck, and opened a hidden compartment below. I peeked over his shoulder at rows of canned goods, oils, dish soap, shower gels, shampoo, bottled water, beer, sodas, flour, sugar, cornmeal, condiments, spices, oils, butter, rice, crackers, pasta, beans, nuts, granola bars, chips, jelly, tuna, and soup. Too much food for land and barely enough at sea.

  “We could feed a navy,” I said.

  “You’ll be surprised how fast we go through it. Once we enter the Indian ocean, if it didn’t come with us, we won’t have it.”

  Brad turned to Ali. “Everything appears to be here. I won’t count all the cans.”

  “Not necessary, Mr. Coolidge. I checked them myself.”

  “Good,” Brad said. He pulled a stack of Indonesian rupiahs from his pocket and handed them to Ali. “This is for your efforts, my good man. Please give me a minute alone with my wife.” />
  Ali thanked him and climbed the companionway.

  Brad took my hands in his. “I know I surprised you with this trip and you did not have time to prepare, but I’m the captain and I’ll take care of everything. You’re in expert hands.”

  “Okay.” I almost thanked him, but this trip was something he wanted to do, something he had challenged me with, and he had waited until the last minute to tell me about it. Thanking him for being my knight in shining armor seemed wrong.

  “Listen, if this is too hard for you, I won’t force you to go. We can stay at the resort and lie on the beach for a few days.”

  “Really?” I asked.

  “I’m not a monster.”

  “But the lease?”

  “It’s only money.”

  I exhaled. “Thanks for saying that, but no. I said I’d go, and I will. I need to do this.”

  Brad smiled. “You’ll be glad you did. This is one of the best yachts ever constructed. Tomorrow, after we clear the harbor, I’ll explain all the emergency procedures to you.”

  “Emergency procedures?”

  “What to do if I fall overboard, operating our communication equipment, basic skills.”

  “You better not fall overboard. I could never sail this alone.

  “Don’t be paranoid. I’ll take care of you. Nothing bad will happen.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I padded across the teak floor in our bungalow at the Royal Indonesian Resort and stepped onto the balcony. I gazed past a stand of swaying palm trees and across the beach to the Indian Ocean. The sun melted and spread across the horizon as the water darkened and the sky burned shades of amber and scarlet.

  “This may be the most beautiful island in the world,” Brad said, coming up behind me.

  I nodded but stayed silent. It did not feel right staying in a five-star hotel on a tropical beach while Emma lay dead in her grave. Would that ever change?

  “Are you okay?” he asked. The muscles in his jaw tensed as he awaited my answer.

  “Being on the water scares me, but I would rather be out there than here. Somehow, spending a month on a sailboat seems more appropriate. Maybe my aquaphobia makes it a punishment, my penance for failing my daughter.”

  “You’ll get your wish tomorrow.”

  “I have no choice. If I lose my fellowship, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

  “I’ll check the forecast then let’s get some sleep. I want to leave at dawn.”

  Brad undressed and climbed into bed with his laptop while I sifted through clothes in my suitcase. I had packed in a hurry, not knowing what I would need. The island heat lingered throughout December, so I brought bikinis, shorts, and short-sleeve shirts.

  Thinking about the yacht raised my blood pressure. I had not been on a sailboat in twenty-one years. I remembered sailing on the Charles River with my father, when he had borrowed his friend’s thirty-one-foot Catalina and we had navigated out of the river into Boston Harbor. A perfect day, with no clouds, no humidity, and no worries. At least that was the picture frozen into my memory—before everything changed.

  I closed my suitcase and sighed. Whatever I had packed would have to suffice. I washed off my makeup, brushed my teeth, and changed into a long tee shirt. I carried my laptop with me and slipped into bed beside Brad.

  “Shit,” Brad said.

  “What?”

  “There’s a monsoon moving into the Bay of Bengal.”

  “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “We’re taking the northern route to India, passing south of Thailand, because the northeast winds will be behind us, but if they reach gale force in the bay, it’ll be dangerous.”

  The weather looked perfect outside. The monsoon had to be far from Bali.

  “I thought you said monsoon season was over,” I said.

  “The northeast monsoons peak between June and September and die out in the fall. They’re supposed to be finished by now, and the southwest monsoons don’t begin until mid-May.

  “So, we won’t hit one?”

  “We shouldn’t.”

  “I’d feel better if you were more certain,” I said.

  “The Bay of Bengal gets them, but the wind will diminish as we get closer to the equator.”

  “Could we take the southern route instead?”

  “The winds are slower there, and we would have to sail south of the equator to use the westbound equatorial current. I’d prefer to use the northeast winds.”

  “What do we do?” I asked.

  “There’s nothing we can do. Let’s stay an extra day and let the monsoon pass. We can leave the day after tomorrow.”

  The thought of sitting in the hotel, like some honeymooning couple, made me sick. I ran my hands through my hair.

  “We have to sit here and wait?” I asked.

  “Bali is an international tourist destination. Let’s hike through the jungle or visit a temple.”

  I should be grieving.

  I touched my abdomen, remembering Emma growing inside me. I could still feel her suckling at my breast, the way an amputee feels the tingle of a lost limb. Whenever I thought about her, my depression took on a life of its own, tugging behind my eyes, pulling on my body, as if I had weights attached to my limbs. Emma’s life had been short, but I had bonded with her while she grew in my womb. Maybe hormones had driven our connection—a chemical compulsion to ensure I cared for my infant—or maybe it came from something greater, something ethereal, something metaphysical. I did not know how long I should suffer, but I could not see the end.

  “You explore the island and I’ll stay in the room.”

  “You need to take advantage of our extra day here.”

  “Please don’t tell me what I need to do. I agreed to follow you halfway around the world. Isn’t that enough?”

  Brad scowled, like a child I had punished. He rolled over and turned his back to me.

  I glared at the back of his head and could almost hear his synapses raging. Brad had grown accustomed to getting what he wanted. His wealthy parents had spoiled him as a child and their behavior had not changed. Brad had spent his childhood in private schools, taking vacations in Europe, receiving nothing but the best. He came from a blue-blooded family and acted like it. He was handsome, rich, and confident. I may have been the first woman to refuse him.

  I powered up my MacBook Air and checked my email. The first message was from Eric, and my mood brightened. Eric had become a close friend during my two years at Boston Pediatric Surgical Center, and he cared about me. He exhibited a sharp intellect, keen judgment, and empathy with his young patients. The entire staff respected him, and I felt honored when he consulted me.

  Eric always listened when I spoke, but we were only friends and colleagues, nothing more. I had just started dating Brad when I met Eric and while I had found him attractive, I could never date more than one person at a time. Eric never expressed romantic interest in me, but I believed he harbored more than platonic feelings. That was before the surprise pregnancy, before the hasty marriage, before my life crumbled. After my wedding, Eric had congratulated me, saying he had waited too long to ask me out. That kind of comment would have been inappropriate, but he had laughed when he said it, and we were comfortable teasing each other, so I had shrugged it off. I had married Brad, and that was that.

  I read his email.

  Hi Dagny. Everyone here misses you. I hope your voyage gives you the time and distance you need to regroup and gather your strength. Don’t expect miracles. These things take time, so don’t rush yourself, but I hope you return to complete your fellowship afte
r your trip. You’re a bright, rising star, and the children need you. We all do. If you want to talk, email or call anytime. Give my regards to Brad. - Eric.

  The email was sympathetic and kind. I had worried what people at the hospital thought about my lengthy absence. Did they judge me for not returning to work? Did they think I had lost my mind? Knowing Eric stood behind me gave me confidence, and I enjoyed interacting with someone who considered my feelings—without the competition, without the impatience.

  I shut my laptop and eyed Brad, who tapped away on his laptop.

  “What are you working on?” I asked.

  Brad look up startled, like he had forgotten I was there. He slammed his laptop shut. “Nothing. Checking the weather again.”

  “I’m trusting you,” I said.

  “I wasn’t doing anything.”

  “I’m talking about the trip. I agreed to come, to put myself in your hands, because I want to get through this. I want us to get through this.”

  “Me too. Let’s get some rest. We will need it.” He rolled over and went to sleep.

  I stared at him for a long time before I shut off the light.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The sun streamed through a part in the curtains, assaulting my dry, irritated eyes—sore from crying through the night. On the verge of sleep, my mind had conjured the image of my baby and I had thought about the life Emma would never live. That was all it had taken for me to breakdown. I had fallen apart and sobbed until my stomach hurt, burying my face in my pillow to avoid waking Brad. I had slept less than two hours.

  The hotel room door opened, and Brad walked in carrying coffees. Caffeine had become medicine for me. Caffeine and Xanax. I could not function without them, or at least I did not dare to try.

  “Good morning, Dags,” Brad said, setting my coffee on the nightstand.

  “Morning.”

  “I know you had a dreadful night, but I won’t let you sit in the room. Come with me.”