Furious Read online

  “The key is to trim the sails and keep them as full as possible, without allowing the wind to slip off. When the edge of the sail shakes, we call that luffing, and it’s a sign to pull in the sheet. If we heel too much, let the sail out.”

  Sailing was complicated and even the basic concepts Brad explained involved deep levels of nuance—half science and half art. I had thought Brad would chauffeur me around on our voyage, but as I scanned the expansive sea around us, it became clear he would need me.

  “The yacht looked enormous docked against the pier,” I said, “but now, it feels insignificant compared to the size of the sea.”

  “Wait until we hit the Indian Ocean. It’s the third largest ocean, with over twenty-six million square miles. Come on, let me show you the best view onboard.”

  Brad sounded professorial, pedantic. He had been unbearable at home, and now, I was stuck on a boat with him for a month. What was I thinking? At least he was an expert sailor, capable of keeping us safe. He seemed more confident at sea, as if the boat brought out the best in him.

  I followed him to the bow. He unlatched the hatch leading to the foresail locker and descended the ladder. I peered after him and watched him dig into a canvas bag on the bunk bed. A minute later, he climbed up carrying a harness.

  “This is a mast climber. If the electronics pods need fixing, we can use it to get up there.”

  “Get up where?”

  Brad pointed at the ninety-foot mast and grinned. “Up there.”

  I had to bend backward and stretch my neck to see the top of the mast and the attached satellite and communications pods. “You’re using that flimsy piece of material to climb up there?”

  “One of us may have to, if something breaks.”

  My stomach fluttered. “Let me make something clear, Dr. Coolidge. The only thing close to my aquaphobia is my fear of heights. You will never see my feet leave this deck.”

  “I’m teasing. You don’t have to go up there, but if something goes wrong, I may. They designed the mast ascender for solo sailors. I’ll show you.”

  “Don’t do it. Just imagining it scares me.”

  “Heights don’t bother me,” Brad said.

  He did not have to climb the mast, but he would do it to prove he was not afraid. For a moment, I saw him as a teenager, trying to impress a girl. His one-way competition with me never seemed to end.

  Brad untied a line, which ran the length of the mast, and secured it to a cleat. He clipped a small climbing mechanism to it—a one-way jammer like rock climbers used—and fastened it with a metal pin. He hung a harness off the mechanism and a swing dangled below it.

  “You sit in that swing?”

  “It’s a bosun's chair, and yes, it’s perfectly safe.”

  Brad stepped into it, resting his butt against the chair and dangling his legs through the straps. He tightened a seatbelt around his lap until he was secure in the seat.

  “How do you raise the seat?” I asked.

  “Like this.”

  He attached a second climbing mechanism below the first, with two stirrups hanging off it. He stuck his feet into the stirrups and raised the mechanism until his feet were as high as his seat. Brad stood in the stirrups, taking his weight off the seat, and raised the seat’s jammer up the line. He sat back into it and raised the lower mechanism. He shifted his weight back onto the stirrups and elevated the seat again. A simple, ingenious design.

  He climbed for several minutes, his body getting smaller as he ascended. Ninety feet was high—close to nine stories. My head spun and my legs weakened, and I had to look away.

  “I can see for at least ten miles,” Brad yelled, his voice almost inaudible over the wind. “The curvature of the earth is so pronounced up here.”

  “Be careful. I can’t sail this thing alone.”

  What if something happened to Brad? I appreciated his skill, but I did not like having to depend on him. I looked up, and he waved. He seemed comfortable in his element, enjoying the experience, proud to protect me.

  I stared out at the blue water and inhaled the salty air. The sea was gorgeous, vast, powerful. Beautiful but deadly. A shiver of fear passed through me, and I clutched my elbows against my body.

  I wanted Brad to come down.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The other boats dropped from sight after a couple hours, leaving only the distant Island of Penida visible on the horizon. The wind strengthened as the sun rose higher and the yacht bounced with a gentle rhythm. The motion made me sleepy, and I laid down on a bench in the cockpit and fell asleep.

  I awoke with the sun further to the west, over our port side. My skin felt dry and warm and my throat had parched. I looked behind me at the unmanned helm and bolted upright.

  “Brad? Where are you?”

  I looked around the deck, frantic, on the verge of panic. Had he fallen overboard? What should I do?

  “Hey Dags,” he said, sticking his head out of the companionway. “I went below to use the head. I’m not feeling very well.”

  “You can leave the helm unattended?”

  “I have her on autopilot. Taking quick breaks is fine, but not too long. Ships travel fast out here, and we have to remain vigilant.”

  “You scared me.”

  “I didn’t want to wake you. I haven’t seen you sleep that soundly since . . . since before.”

  “How long was I out?”

  “Two hours.”

  That surprised me. I could not remember the last time I had napped or had slept without having nightmares.

  “It must be the salt air and the motion of the boat,” I said.

  “It does that. We will both sleep better here. Everything will be better.”

  “You said you’re sick. What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know. I still have a nasty headache, and it’s making me nauseous. I may vomit.”

  “Sea sickness?”

  Brad scowled at me. “I don’t get seasick.”

  “I’m concerned about you. Don’t bite my head off.”

  “I don’t need mothering. I’m fine. It’s jet lag.”

  “What can I do to help you?”

  “Let me explain our route again,” Brad said, avoiding my question. “Follow me.”

  He was always too proud to accept my help. I descended the stairs behind him. He opened a cabinet under the chart table, retrieved a pile of maps, and spread them on the table.

  “I’m not great with maps . . . or directions,” I said.

  “It’s easy. We’re heading north, off the east coast of Bali. We’ll pass through the Bali Sea and head northwest through the Java Sea, between Jakarta and Borneo.”

  I followed his finger on the chart. We headed toward Thailand on the mainland of Southeast Asia.

  “I see.”

  “We’ll continue northwest along the coast of Sumatra, pass Singapore, and enter the Strait of Malacca. We’ll sail into the wind as we pass Kuala Lumpur in Malaysia.”

  “Will we stop anywhere?” I asked.

  “We could, if we had a problem, but our plan is to sail directly to the Maldives.”

  “What’s after Kuala Lumpur?”

  “We enter the Andaman Sea and turn hard to port at the end of Sumatra. From there it’s a straight shot west to the Maldives.”

  “That’s the real open ocean, right?”

  “It will all feel like open ocean, but yes, the last leg is blue-water sailing. We will have the Bay of Bengal to starboard and the Indian Ocean to port.”

  “How far is it
to the Maldives?”

  “It’s seventeen hundred miles from Bali to Banda Aceh, on the tip of Sumatra, and another thirteen hundred nautical miles to the Maldives.”

  “That part of the trip intimidates me the most.”

  “It’s the longest long leg of our journey and the most dangerous.”

  “Dangerous?”

  “The most remote. We’ll travel the vast expanse of the Indian Ocean, on our own. Our course will take us south of India, about five degrees north of the equator. The next land we see after Sumatra will be the Maldives.”

  I studied the map. The Indian Ocean was massive. The oceans had been a mystery to man for millennia, and now I understood why. Uninhabited blue space painted the chart.

  “How long for the entire trip?” I asked.

  “It depends on the wind speed, current strength, wave size, and our sailing ability. If we average five to seven knots, we should be there in about nineteen days—assuming everything goes smoothly.”

  “Less than three weeks for the entire trip?”

  “Best case.”

  “What’s the worst case?”

  “We sink and sharks eat us,” Brad said.

  “Not funny.”

  “I’m kidding, but things happen.”

  This trip entailed risk, and I needed Brad. He was better at this, and I had to put my faith in him, but I had doubts, difficulty trusting him.

  “Can I ask you something?” I asked.

  “Sure.”

  “Will you tell me the truth?”

  Brad narrowed his eyes. “Okay.”

  “Who were you emailing last night?”

  “When?”

  “When we were in bed. When I asked what you were doing.”

  “I told you I was checking the weather forecast.”

  “You slammed your laptop shut so fast.”

  “What do you think I was doing?”

  I wet my lips. “Did you date a lot before we met?”

  “I told you I did.”

  “Did you date any of the nurses at General Hospital?”

  Brad’s eyes darted to the companionway. “A few.”

  “When you were married before, did you cheat on your ex-wife?”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “Where’s this coming from?”

  “Lately, you seem secretive.”

  “No, I didn’t cheat on my ex-wife, and I’m not cheating now, if that’s what you’re insinuating.”

  “I just want us to be open with each other,” I said, searching his eyes for the truth.

  He turned away. “Over the chart table you have a radar screen, which gives us our exact position on a map.”

  I saw no point in pushing it. I inhaled and let it out then walked to the instrument panel. The screen looked like Google Maps on steroids.

  “And this is a satellite phone?” I asked, pointing at the wall unit.

  “Yep, and you have access to most of our data here on these instrument panels.”

  “We can control the boat from here?”

  “We can monitor it, but we need to steer and control the sails from the helm. Here’s something you’ll love. We have a TracPhone V7-HTS satellite system.”

  “Just what I’ve always wanted. What the hell is that?”

  “The entire yacht is a Wi-Fi hotspot. You can access the internet from your Mac and email, surf the net, even make Skype calls. It’s a crazy expensive system, but it’s better than relying on a satellite phone. This yacht has all the creature comforts.”

  That excited me. We were not as disconnected as I had thought. “We can call for help if we need it?”

  “If we’re sinking, sure. The question is, would anyone come?”

  My stomach rolled, and I turned away from him.

  “What’s wrong?” He asked.

  “Let’s not talk about sinking.”

  “We’re almost unsinkable.”

  “Don’t jinx us.”

  Brad walked around the chart table and touched my shoulder. “I shouldn’t have said that. It will be fine.”

  I turned to him and smiled, thankful for the human touch. “I’m glad you’re comfortable on a boat. You know I wouldn’t have come without you.”

  “I’m doing this for you.”

  “This trip must have caused you problems at work. How did you wrangle a month off?”

  Brad lowered his brow and pulled his hand away. “It wasn’t hard, and we needed to do this.”

  “Who’s taking care of your patients while we’re gone?”

  “The surgical team split them up.”

  “Were they okay covering your shifts for this long?

  He rubbed his neck. “It’s a hospital. They can handle any emergencies.”

  “I didn’t mean to stress you out,” I said. “Speaking of emergencies, do we have a medical kit? I brought Dramamine and aspirin, but nothing more serious. I guess I didn’t think about how isolated we would be, and I didn’t have time to plan.”

  I immediately regretted the barb which sounded passive aggressive. If Brad had noticed, he did not mention it. He walked into the port berth, opened a cabinet, and dragged out a large medical bag.

  “This is a maritime medicine bag. It contains a standard first aid kit, larger dressings for deep wounds, and a module with airways, neck collars, splints, needles, homeostatic clamps . . . all the gear we need for serious trauma.”

  “No prescription meds?”

  “I couldn’t get them without jumping through a lot of hoops. Indonesia has strict narcotics laws.”

  “I’ll try not to get injured,” I said.

  “If either of us has a serious problem, we can contact local authorities, wherever we are, and head to port.”

  “Contact them how?”

  “Use the sat phone or the radio. The directions are next to them. In a catastrophic event, like a life-threatening accident, we can request an evacuation. The yacht’s owner has a contract with Medevac Worldwide Rescue. Their numbers are in the manual.”

  “If two surgeons can’t handle it, we’re in trouble,” I said. “Anything else?”

  “There’s a fire extinguisher under the sink in the galley. Fire on a boat is bad.”

  “Got it. No arson.”

  “If I fall overboard, I’ll be out of sight in thirty seconds, so throw over as many inflatables, cushions, whatever you can find. Make two ninety-degree turns and motor back to the debris field. It’s hard to find someone drifting away and almost impossible in a storm which is why you need to wear your safety harness and attach your tether in high seas.”

  “Trust me, I won’t be going into the water. I’d die of fear before I drowned.”

  “We should probably do a man overboard drill,” Brad said.

  “I think you’ve scared me enough for one day.”

  “Last thing. The flare gun is in the foresail locker.”

  “That only works if someone’s out here to see it,” I said.

  “Don’t worry. We will be fine. I promise.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  My mind raced as I climbed into our stateroom berth. The trip horrified and challenged me at the same time. Scaring myself seemed like just desserts, but facing my fears also expressed my core personality. Whenever I had encountered obstacles, whether in school or the operating room, I had tackled them head-on. Man had become the apex predator, because of the human mind, and I believed I could reason my way clear of any
predicament.

  Brad climbed in beside me. He slipped his hand under the sheets and caressed my hip.

  I froze. I had known this was coming. We had not had sex during the last two months of my pregnancy and only twice after my body healed from giving birth. Then my libido had died with Emma.

  I pretended to be asleep—a cowardly response—but I did not have the energy to reject him again and explain why I was not ready. Maybe I did not wish to confront the possibility that my reluctance involved more than grief.

  “Dagny? I know you’re awake.”

  I rolled over and met his eyes. “I can’t.”

  “It’s been six months.”

  “Not yet, I’m sorry.”

  “You’ve always enjoyed our sex life,” he said.

  I looked away. “That was before.”

  “It’ll be therapeutic for you, take your mind off things. If you—”

  “I’m not in the mood. I—”

  “Focus on your body, don’t think about anything.”

  “It isn’t right,” I said, my chest tightening.

  Brad leered at me. “Or is it exactly what you need?”

  “I want to make you happy, really I do.”

  “It’ll feel good. Relieve your tension.”

  “I’m sorry. Not tonight.”

  His expression hardened. “I understand, and I’ve been patient, but I have needs.”

  “Soon.”

  “I’ve heard that before.”

  He threw the sheets aside and stomped into the head. His outbursts had come more frequently since Emma’s death.

  Brad had joined the staff at New England General Hospital a little more than a year ago, and a few weeks later, I had completed my five-year general surgical residency and left to become a fellow in pediatric surgery at Boston Pediatric Surgical Center. Brad had courted me for almost ten months before I agreed to go out with him. I had not dated much, and he had movie-star looks, so I had thought, why not?