Sailing out of Darkness (Carolina Coast Book 4)

by Normandie Fischer

  Sam grinned at the way he told the tale. When he mentioned his plan to immortalize the captain in his next story, a gurgle of laughter escaped. “It sounds as if your Captain Bligh deserves a foul end,” she said, “but I’m sorry you had such an experience. Sailing can be wonderful.”

  “You’re a sailor.” He didn’t make it a question.

  “I am. I have a small boat in North Carolina.”

  “I’m sure you miss it.”

  He was back to polite again. Why? Had her tone or something she said put him on guard? If his only sailing experience hadn’t been so wretched, he’d know how a sailor longs to be on a boat.

  “Tootie said she showed you my place. You didn’t see Alice?”

  “No. She mentioned troubles you’d had at the house. I went to see for myself.”

  “Ah, the protective uncle.”

  He angled his head in a quick assent. “She seems to be fine. And her cousin patrols the area.”

  “Your nephew?”

  “No. From her father’s side.”

  “I never met him. I did meet her Aunt Ruth.”

  “The deputy’s mother.”

  Okay. She should go. She’d exhausted all the small talk she had in her.

  He stopped her with an innocuous, “How have you been getting on with the language?”

  She’d have thought him as bored by the conversation as she was. “I stumble around, trying to make myself understood. I suppose you’re fluent.”

  “My accent’s appalling.” His smile twisted slightly before he curved it up. “I can’t carry a tune either.” A smile really did transform his face, the hardness lost in laugh lines.

  She eased back in her chair. “It must be my age, but I feel so frustrated and stupid. Just when I think I’ve made some progress, I hit another wall of words that don’t relate to anything I know. Everyone has been helpful, especially the Garibaldis, who run the pensione where I’m staying. And the shopkeepers seem to like that I try, but learning a foreign language was so much easier when I was in high school.”

  “Don’t I know it. But the eagerness of the Italians to help is one thing that makes them so charming.” He finished the last of his caffè. “Could I get you another? Or something else?”

  Oh, were they staying? Was she?

  She paused, weighing her options. He was, after all, fulfilling her desire for conversational English. The thought brought her own smile forward. “An acqua naturale?”

  “Something amuses you?”

  “Only thinking how much I’ve missed speaking English with a fellow American when what I ought to want are Italian lessons.”

  “I know. When I was in Greece, I wanted more than anything to find someone—anyone—whose language I understood.”

  “Not that you’re just anyone,” she said.

  That drew him up short. “Nor are you.” He slid from his seat and then reached for a cane.

  She hadn’t noticed the cane. “I’m sorry,” she began. “Why don’t...”

  “It’s no problem. I’ll just tell Giorgio what we want. He’ll bring it over.”

  “Thank you.”

  He leaned rather heavily on the brass-handled stick, ordering at the bar in what sounded like flawless Italian. By the time he returned and slid back into the seat across from her, the barman was following with his cup. “Excuse the awkward leg. Can’t quite manage the way I used to.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No need to be.” He accepted his cup and waited as Sam opened her bottled water. “I’ve gotten used to it.”

  Did she dare ask? He had mentioned the leg issue first, and some people liked to talk about old injuries. Of course, some people hated to. She took a sip. All he could do was shoot her down. “Do you mind, I mean, would it be impertinent to ask how it happened?”

  “Truck driver on drugs.” He picked up a spoon to stir his coffee. “The tanker company neglected to do a background check. The guy had a history of trouble, including traffic violations involving substance abuse in various forms.”

  “But don’t they test?”

  “All he had to do to pass was to keep clean for a few days. When he hit me, he was high as a kite. The jury found the company negligent, and here I am.”

  “That’s terrible. Is it still painful?”

  “Much less than it used to be.” Though his tone made the pain sound negligible, she knew that broken anything hurt. And he did limp. He lifted his cup and stared at it. “My sister says the jury’s settlement is the silver lining in a rather unpleasantly dark cloud, and I suppose that’s a good way of looking at it.”

  “I imagine you’d rather be pain free.”

  He shrugged again as if Italian-reared, head and face and rarely hands. “Everything has a price,” he said. “Before, I slaved sixty to eighty hours a week, trying to bring in enough billable hours to keep my partners happy. I felt tied to my law practice. Now, I have time for a siesta in the afternoon and hours to spend writing at my computer. And my sister and her husband have restored their old farmhouse, my son’s enjoying the college of his choice, and my parents are secure in their retirement. All things worked together for good, so I’m not going to complain.”

  “What a nice way of looking at it.” Sam caught herself before reaching to touch his hand. Heat again spilled onto her cheeks.

  Why was her first reaction to touch? Hadn’t she learned that touchy-feely with men was not healthy for her? She shut her eyes to block the images and snapped them open as she hunted up another topic for discussion. They’d mentioned the language, his injury, sailing. She didn’t want to resort to the weather. Had she exhausted family?

  “You all must be quite close,” she finally said. “I know Tootie adores you.”

  “She’s a great girl—woman. I can’t quite get used to the fact that she’s an adult now. And engaged. Makes me feel very old.”

  “I know. My son recently married. And,” she said, giving in to the easier memory, “when traipsing around Firenze with Stefi—I felt ancient. I was very glad to find a quiet place to pause after that.”

  He shifted positions. She imagined discomfort, but his face remained clear and calm. “Reggio is a good choice if you’re looking for quiet. Italian, as opposed to tourist-laden. You’ll have a much better chance of finding Italians who let you into their world. I travel a lot, and I’m always surrounded by strangers, always returning to a hotel room. Here, I’m comfortable. And I have friends.”

  He gazed out toward the sea. Watching him, she began to wonder what had brought him so far from home.

  “My husband and I spoke of traveling.”

  The blush returned. Why had she said that? Too much, way too much information.

  “But you didn’t?” He asked as if her answer mattered.

  Her thoughts ping-ponged back and forth from did/didn’t to should/shouldn’t. She could almost see them lobbing across the net. “I suppose I was the one who talked about it, and he grunted in what I thought was agreement. We never went anywhere. So at least I’m finally out and about, even if it’s on my own.”

  “Now that you’re here, perhaps you’ll allow me to show you some of the sights.”

  His offer surprised her. He probably felt an obligation. Because of Tootie. Because she’d shown up here, foisting herself upon his notice.

  Not that she’d meant to.

  She’d come abroad to recover, to become independent. She had not come to clutch the first hand extended her way.

  He was kind. That was all. He must be a very busy man. And a famous one.

  Famous men were always busy.

  “So, then,” she said brightly to avoid answering. “Tell me about your son? What’s his name, and where is he?”

  Teo’s twinkle returned. He certainly did that well. And looked years younger with the change of expression. “David is studying finance at Berkeley. He already wants to manage me and my money.”

  “Oh, yes. How well I know that. My daughter’s always trying to
fix my wardrobe and my life. Her brother is a little better, but maybe that’s because he has his hands full with a pregnant wife.”

  “You’re almost a grandmother?”

  She didn’t know whether to feel flattered or not when his brows hiked. “His having a baby was a little premature. But I’m certainly old enough.”

  “You don’t look it.”

  Okay, flattered, but that meant it was time to move on. She slid back her chair. “It was so lovely to meet you,” she said, standing and holding out her hand. “Perhaps we’ll run into each other again.”

  “I hope so.” He also rose and took the extended hand. “May I take you to dinner tonight?”

  No, no, no. He couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

  But dinner? Really?

  What did that mean? Was she supposed to say no and let him off the hook? Is that how this was done?

  Or should she consider whether or not she wanted to go to dinner with him?

  She did, didn’t she? She’d be a fool not to. A date. For dinner. In Italy. Um, yeah.

  He waited. He didn’t push, but she felt the expectancy. It gave her the courage to nod.

  He arrived at seven. An early meal, they’d decided. Early worked for her, although seven would have seemed late at home.

  She ordered a shellfish stew. He chose veal. They eased into conversation, and she tried not to let the butterflies in her stomach gain control. They dunked fresh bread in olive oil and discussed the weather and some of the places she’d visited after Florence. Their main course arrived, along with another round of fresh bread. He passed the basket to her.

  “I don’t want to embarrass you,” Teo said, breaking off a crusty piece and studying her closely enough to embarrass her no matter what he said, “but Tootie seemed to feel we have something in common.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. She mentioned that you, too, have had to deal with an unpleasant divorce. I think she imagined I might help you through it.”

  Sam felt her mouth gape. She shut it quickly, hoping he hadn’t been disgusted by the rows of silver fillings. “That’s absurd. Why would she think I need help and why from you?”

  “Ah.” He had the grace to look rueful—as well he should. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry.”

  She excavated a bit of meat from a clam shell before setting her fork down with a sigh. “Well, you’re certainly more direct than I’d expected. I don’t know you at all.”

  “True, but there’s Tootie.”

  “Who talks.”

  “She thought we might commiserate.”

  “What, divorced solidarity?” Sam squinted at this man who seemed to bend—or ignore—the rules of early, polite conversation. Of course, she had done the same thing when asking about his accident.

  He raised a brow. “I think I asked Tootie that same question. I may have even used those words—or something to that effect. I remember telling her your life wasn’t any of my business.”

  Sam almost choked on the bite she’d taken. She coughed, sipped water, and said, “Is that how I sounded?”

  “I deserved it.”

  “Perhaps we should...” They did still have the meal to get through. “Shall we begin again?”

  The rueful, apologetic look returned. “You know,” he said, studying the veal he’d cut in slivers before staring back into her eyes, “I’m usually a bit more adroit when meeting someone. I do apologize, and if my curiosity makes me too pushy, please just say so.”

  “Well, we are here, far from home and linked by something, if only Tootie.” As she paused, he took a bite and watched her. “I suppose your way breaks down barriers more quickly. Gets one past polite conversational beginnings. And it’s not that I wouldn’t have liked to do the same thing this afternoon. I mean, ask more than I did.”

  That provoked a deep laugh. “What, ask questions? Now that I’ve done the feet-first dip, feel free.”

  She sipped, waiting.

  “Or feel free to tell me to shut up,” he said.

  “Do people ever do that?”

  “Too many. Especially when I was trying to win a case.”

  “Yes, of course. I’ve known a few lawyers whose tongues needed singeing.” She picked up her fork, looked at his raised brows, and laughed. “Greg’s attorney was a slime ball who went after my boat so I’d sell the house.”

  “Deserves to be hanged.”

  “It was easier to give in than fight a battle that I may or may not have won, even though I’m sure my lawyer would have made mincemeat of Greg—and his attorney—in a court battle.” She paused, then said, “You never think about those things, do you? Not when you assume your marriage is forever. But can you imagine anything more unpleasant or harder on the children than seeing their parents haggle over stuff?”

  “What about your business?”

  “Oh, my lawyer locked that away from Greg’s greed when she drew up the incorporation papers. He couldn’t touch the things closest to my heart, not once I had Alice. And, besides, what’s a house anyway?”

  Teo waited, but she’d already said too much. She picked up another shell and released its meat onto her fork, then dunked bread in the broth.

  “So good,” she said. “These are cooked perfectly.”

  “As is this veal.”

  Their silence finally felt comfortable. When a piece of meat dropped off her fork and splashed broth, she rolled her eyes and laughed with him. Someplace between swallowing bread and sipping wine, she realized that she hadn’t let him speak of his own troubles. “What about you? You said ask.”

  “The divorce?” He shrugged. “Not pleasant when it happened, but a good thing in the end.”

  “It’s hard, though, isn’t it? I mean, at first?”

  “Janet couldn’t quite handle the sight of my broken frame.” He swirled the water in his glass. “It didn’t take her long to find someone who could still take her dancing. I was at the rehab center for a while, you see. Of course, I’m convinced now that she did me a huge favor.”

  Sam allowed her sigh to relax into a small smile as she broke off another piece of crusty bread and toyed with it. She was eating way too much starch, but it occupied her fingers. “When Greg left for greener pastures, I thought I’d never recover. It’s taken a while to get to the place of being glad and a little time on a rather slippery slope, but I’m beginning to think life can be good again.” She was happier—and not only without Greg, but without good old Jack, too. “Italy’s a wonderful place to discover freedom.”

  He held up his glass, inviting her to join him. “Here’s to freedom and second chances.”

  She lifted hers. “To second chances.” Or to third (one day, if she were very good), but she kept that to herself.

  How quickly life could do an about-face, what the Italians called a voltafaccia. When, as they spooned bites of crème brûlée, Teo invited her on a tour of Cinque Terre two days hence, she lingered over her last bites of sweet and the question of whether or not one could actually have an uncomplicated friendship with the opposite sex, where neither had expectations the other couldn’t—or wouldn’t—fulfill.

  The answer did not exist in her spoon.

  “Yes,” she finally said. After all, a guide who knew the territory and could describe it in English wasn’t something to be rejected, was it?

  14

  Teo

  We leave off our hats and pretend we’re not fools,

  While laughing at moonbeams and dancing on stools.

  Sentence by sentence, Sophrina’s adventures emerged and slid onto his hard drive. Teo could even appreciate that wretched sailing trip as he slipped in its lingo and used his anger to work the murder-investigation angle. He reread his notes, adding another scene and ignoring the stack of mail on the hall table that cast a lure in his direction.

  “Just another few pages,” he said over his shoulder to the seductive pile. “Almost there.” He meant to reach his quota of words for the day.

  Thei
r appointment was for tomorrow. Today, he was supposed to work.

  He certainly did not want his in-the-flesh specter to interfere. His tilted universe.

  His fingers hit the keyboard. Sophrina bought a ticket from Naxos to Athens and then took a taxi to the airport. But something stopped her from boarding the small plane.

  What was it? Was she supposed to return by ferry as he had?

  Fingers hovered. He stared at the screen, reread the paragraphs above, went to the chapter beginning, reread more. Typos leapt out. He fixed them. Then he rewrote a line. Another. But still she wouldn’t get on board. Why not?

  When no answer came, he sat, puzzled, before deciding to leave it for a while and let it gel. Saving the file, he collected the mail and flipped through it until he came to a letter from his lawyer and ex-partner. If the envelope were thinner, he’d snatch it open eagerly. He enjoyed Robert’s epistles. But fat meant trouble.

  And there it was. Robert had forwarded a long, ungainly letter from Janet.

  The rest of the envelopes contained notices, a couple of bills. Nothing from family. He hadn’t heard a peep from his sister or son or Tootie. But that just meant they were busy. He hadn’t called them either.

  He shrugged. It was what it was. Right?

  Popping the cap on a bottle of limonata, he wandered between rooms, distracted now. His brain churned in spite of his attempt to ignore Janet’s letter, which was bound to revive a stench he couldn’t seem to exorcise.

  His back to the pile of mail, he stared down at a street teeming with the post-siesta crowd. He didn’t want to think of his ex-wife. Her letter would not be good news.

  Janet Elizabeth, born Watkins, became Anderson. Still was, though he couldn’t figure out why, except that the hulk she lived with had a name like Hapsnopter-something. Teo didn’t know why the guy didn’t just drop the last few syllables. Foreign, as in non-Anglo, was not Janet’s style.

  Not Janet of the beautiful body and crippled soul.

  He flopped on the couch, pulled the letter out of the envelope, and spread it open. Her flowery script sprawled across a page of expensive, perfumed stock. She wrote like a schoolgirl, penciling circles over each i in place of dots. He had once thought it cute.