Sailing out of Darkness (Carolina Coast Book 4)

by Normandie Fischer

  Her problems seemed to have distanced themselves, either because of the heated drink or confessing all to Teo. The sensation felt pleasant and gave a certain lightness to her step, but the pleasant could become addictive, and she’d flown all the way here to get away from addictive anything.

  They walked slowly, barely speaking. She’d talked enough for a lifetime.

  He guided her down the beach, his hand sometimes at the small of her back, a gentle pressure that gave her courage. The touch of a friend.

  Turning her wordlessly toward town, he offered his arm. Her chin came up a little more.

  “Pizza or pasta?” he asked as they approached a small restaurant where the smells from an open door made her mouth water. “These folks serve a mean zucchini-flower-and-arugula pizza.”

  Zucchini flowers? Ah, wonderful Italy.

  They ate. When she caught his eye over a bite, he smiled gently, as a friend would who was glad to be here and satisfied with the company. It encouraged her to eat more than she might have.

  Replete, she sat back and announced, “Siesta time.” Sleep sounded like luxury.

  Teo again offered his arm. She felt an easy smile form, the first easy anything for days, as they climbed the hill to her hotel. She leaned into his strength. Had she ever felt so at peace, accepted, in any man’s presence? There’d always been an edge with Jack. And she wasn’t even going to count the years with Greg. Today, Teo had heard the worst about her and still offered his arm with a gentle squeeze on her fingers when they closed on his bicep.

  At the pensione door, she disengaged and reached up to kiss his cheek. “You’re rather wonderful, did you know that?”

  He hugged her with his free arm. “Sleep well, princess,” he whispered, touching the top of her forehead with his lips.

  If only she could. If only she were.

  22

  Jack

  Truth cowers under stones, blameless in itself,

  While I still hide from whispering words

  Designed to set me free.

  A drip hit Jack’s cheek. “What?”

  “I’ve a flight today. Will you be okay?” India dropped the washcloth in a bowl and extended a towel.

  He wiped his face with the sheet. “Don’t need that.”

  She huffed. “You’re getting it wet.”

  He ignored her as he eased a pillow behind his back. She patted a second into place and stood studying him.

  “I’ll be fine. Thanks for taking such good care of me.” His tongue stuck like cotton to the roof of his mouth. He couldn’t even get enough spit together to wet it.

  She handed him a glass of water, waited while he sipped, then set it back on the side table. “Did you get any sleep?”

  “Not much.”

  “Well, I made you a muffin.” She nodded toward the table and smoothed her palms down her thighs. “And a cup of tea. We’re only flying up to LaGuardia and back. I should be home tonight.” She checked the room, seemed satisfied. “I’ve left a pot of stew in the refrigerator. Can you manage?”

  “I’ll be fine. I only have to run to the office for a little.”

  “Then it’s back to bed with you.”

  Jack reached out, took her hand. “Then it’s back to bed.”

  She leaned toward him. Her lips touched his forehead. “I think it’s best if you don’t drink anything alcoholic tonight. Just juice and water.”

  He nodded. “If this fever doesn’t abate, I’ll need acetaminophen anyway.”

  “I’ll call you from New York.”

  He listened to the front door click shut behind her before swinging his legs over the side of the bed so he could get to the phone book. A few weeks ago, he’d have written his tiredness off to discontent, but he couldn’t do that any longer. Not with these coughing fits and bouts of diarrhea. He reached for the bedside phone, dialed the doctor’s office, and asked them to see him that morning.

  India’s odd behavior made him wonder what was going on behind that pretty face of hers. She’d been good to him, almost like he’d never moved out. But what about the occasional squint that puckered her forehead when she watched him? The flip side would be a peculiar brightness. Neither made sense.

  Maybe they were both dealing with some new virus.

  It took a full hour to get dressed and ready. Lucky for him, the doctors’ offices weren’t far.

  The doctor who saw him—a Dr. Lennon—was a burly, balding man and the only one in the practice who could squeeze in an extra patient that day. His nurse drew blood, accepted a urine specimen, and left Jack to freeze in the air-conditioned exam room.

  When the doctor finished asking questions and fiddling with his stethoscope, he pulled up a chair. “Looks like you’ve got some kind of virus, Jack. Don’t know quite how to treat it until I get the lab report, except to tell you to go back to bed. You said you had some chest pain this morning and you’re always popping mints because you have a bad taste in your mouth on top of the other symptoms. It’s a metallic taste?” He glanced up from reading the chart to catch Jack’s nod. “Well, you don’t have a fever, but that may be because you said you took acetaminophen for it. How long ago?”

  “Two hours.”

  “Well, I doubt you’ve been chewing lead particles on the job.” At the slight shake of Jack’s head, he said, “Thought not. So, we’ll just have to wait this one out.”

  “How long before you get test results?”

  “A couple of days.” At the door, Dr. Lennon turned. “Call me if those symptoms get worse, will you? I might want to get you in for a scan or two.”

  All Jack wanted to do was collapse, but decisions had to be made, orders given so his business would stay together. He longed to go home, pop a pain killer, and try, again, to sleep.

  He drove to the office, made a few of those decisions and delegated the rest of it to his office manager and foreman. And then he went back to India’s.

  Food seemed like the devil, so he sipped water, and when the pain got to be too much, he gave in and poured himself another drink of the good stuff India had given him. A sip at a time. That was all, a sip at a time.

  And, sipping, he dreamed of Sam. Sweet, sweet Sam, whose smile took his breath away. How come he hadn’t seen that when they were kids?

  Ha. Not him. He’d been too in lust to think with the head on his shoulders—then or now. He’d treated Sam badly. Hell, he’d treated them both badly. He could admit it. Sam had begged him to leave her be, and he should have done just that. Started slowly. Moved away from India without involving Sam. Fixed it so India wouldn’t have been so hurt.

  It would have worked. If he’d been smart about things. If he’d done it right, India wouldn’t have been able to blame Sam or felt she had to go after Sam’s house and boat.

  Yeah, he knew she’d done those things. Even if he pretended it had been kids.

  Maybe if he’d done right by both of them, Sam would still be here. With him.

  23

  Samantha

  An eye peeks through the shuttered door,

  While all the rest is tucked up tight and safely locked

  Against the light.

  Teo eyed her over the rim of his cup. “Want to go to Venice?”

  Sam’s hand paused abruptly, splashing cappuccino foam. They’d met for coffee most days, occasionally dining together. They’d kept it casual. And now this?

  “Venice?” She cleared her throat so her next words would sound less like a ten-year-old being offered a trip to the circus. “Oh, Teo.” Okay, more adult this time, but still wistful. Well, of course she sounded dreamy. He offered her the chance to visit an exciting city with a friend. Instead of alone.

  She wiped the spill off her hands and mopped dribbles from the wooden table. “I’ve wanted to see the canals, all those palaces. Much better than the Baggati Castle—although I still want to get in there, even if it is a fake. Don’t you think you could wrangle an invitation?”

  He laughed. “You obviously aren
’t up on the local news. We, my dear,” he said, rubbing his hands together, “have our own local murder. The place is temporarily off limits.”

  “Murder at the castle? And I missed this?”

  “Guess so. It was in yesterday’s paper. It seems one of the semi-permanent guests, a Swiss playboy, was found done to death with a letter opener.”

  “Aha, a made-to-order story for you.”

  “I’ve begun clipping all the articles. But, of course, this is Italy. I may have to make up an ending as they’re not likely to solve it in this generation.”

  “What a very prejudiced thing to say, dear Teo.”

  “Hey, if someone is wealthy and has friends in high places, a cover-up is easy. And there have been rumors that Baggati has Mafia ties.”

  “Good thing I’ve avoided a life of crime,” she said, laughing. “No money and no important friends.”

  Teo raised his brows. “None?”

  “Except for you.”

  “Ah.” Down came the brows, and out came the smile. “How soon could you be ready to leave?”

  “Tuesday?”

  Three days later, she joined Teo in their very own Venetian parlor. An ornately framed mirror hung above a bird’s-eye maple desk. Pale green satin covered the chairs, and a darker green velvet hung at the windows. Sam trailed her fingers over the satin. “Gorgeous. And the rooms don’t even match, which means these are probably real antiques or at least very fine copies.” She traced the bird’s-eye, pulled on one of the brass knobs, and noted the joinery work inside the drawer. “Even the bathroom, all that marble. And gold fixtures. Are yours the same?”

  “As nice, anyway.”

  “It seems palatial.”

  “Until now, my dear Samantha, you’ve traveled on economy tickets. It’s time to experience a little luxury, don’t you think?”

  Well, of course she did, although the “of course” made jitters threaten. She wasn’t supposed to covet more, was she?

  Oh, pooh, why not?

  Well…

  But her thoughts were cut short when he threw open the long windows to lead her onto the balcony overlooking the Grand Canal. “Look at this view.”

  She leaned against the stone balustrade to peer into the dark water. A vaporetto picked up passengers and headed off down the canal. “Do you always stay in places like this?”

  “Only for research.”

  She rewarded him with a smile. “I’ve never had a rich friend before. This is probably very poor-spirited of me, living off you like this.”

  “Let’s pretend we’re communists, sharing the wealth.”

  Her smile turned into a hoot. “Shall I buy a bandiera rossa?”

  “And march with the people? Thank you, but I think I’ll limit my wealth-spreading to family, friends, and my favorite charities.”

  “You’ll never make a good party member, Mr. Anderson.”

  A gentle breeze blew from the direction of the lagoon and brushed across her face. On an arched walkway over the canal, a dog sniffed at corners, and a lone pedestrian paused to tie his shoe. It was still the time of siesta, a quiet and languorous hour when most of Italy recovered from stuffing themselves at the mid-day pranza.

  Sam sighed. “It’s just as I pictured it. Can you imagine living in a city where you either walk everywhere or travel by water?” She glanced over her shoulder and caught him staring, his expression sober. “What?”

  “Nothing. I’m just enjoying your enthusiasm.”

  She turned quickly. She hated the weakness that made her susceptible, always susceptible to a kind or flattering word. “Why don’t we go for a walk? We’ll have the city practically to ourselves.”

  Behind locked grates on the winding, narrow streets, shops displayed the wares of Venice. Carnival masks were fancifully plumed and sequined, lacquered or gilded. Some had hooked noses, some upturned.

  “Look at that—the gold one with those slits for eyes and all the feathers surrounding its crown. And that black and silver one.” She touched his arm as she pointed. “Aren’t they incredible?”

  They wandered until shopkeepers began unlocking doors and raising grates as Venice woke from its nap. “You want to go in any of them?” he asked.

  “Not today. Let’s just keep going until something absolutely catches our attention. There’s so much to see. Have you been here before?”

  “Once, for my honeymoon.”

  “Ah. Fond memories or not?”

  He laughed, but without humor. “Then, I thought it wonderfully romantic. Now?” He shrugged. “Now, I’m hoping to make new memories and see it with new eyes.”

  Hers were certainly new, at least for Venice. “Lead on.”

  They strolled up one alley and down another, pausing often to rest Teo’s leg and have something refreshing—un limonata, un caffé. Some streets appeared hooded; their buildings, dark with age, obscured the light. In the Piazza San Marco, pigeons swarmed and strutted across the pavement.

  “Look over there.” Teo nodded toward a man tossing bread crumbs on the ground. With each toss, dozens of pigeons scurried to eat. Some landed on him, most pecked at his feet. “Tomorrow we’ll play tourists at the Basilica and the Palazzo Ducale.” He slipped her hand under his arm. “But now, let’s eat.”

  They secured a table at an elegant restaurant and supped on scampi and an arugula salad, laughed, talked of streets and squares and possible plots for Teo’s next book. Over bites of the peppery salad, Sam said, “I can’t imagine you any other way than now, the gallant squire for my fun days and evenings.”

  “One who’s having a delightful time squiring you. But you’re not talking about that, are you?”

  “I suppose I’m curious. When we get to be this age—by the way, how old are you?”

  Teo placed his hand on his chest in mock horror. “How old? You dare to ask?”

  “Women get to. It’s men who can’t.”

  He relaxed his expression and forked some greens. “I’m old enough.”

  “For what?”

  “For whatever comes up.”

  Sam squinted and pursed her lips. “Are you as old as I am?”

  “As I don’t know how old you are, how can I say?”

  “I’ve two children in their last year at college. Considering that neither is a prodigy, I’d have assumed you’d done your calculations.”

  “Child bride.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Right. Don’t I look it.”

  “Amazingly, you do. You must know you’re beautiful.”

  Her hand paused in mid-air. “Don’t be absurd. I’m not ugly, I know, but I’ve never been beautiful.”

  His eyebrows tented. “You are kidding me.” When she shook her head, he sighed. It was a very satisfying sigh, because it made her believe he meant his words. “Well, let’s just say that I see you as beautiful and young.”

  “I’ll accept that and thank you for saying it.” How could her ego not feel soothed by his words? “Just so you know exactly how heady that makes me feel, I’ll confess that I turned forty-five on my last birthday. In August.”

  “Ancient.”

  “So?” She gestured with a forward wave. “Come on, your turn.”

  “Forty-one.”

  “Oh, my. A child-husband.” A giggle wanted to surface, but she only loosed a swift grin.

  He shrugged. “And father. We were very young.”

  “High-school sweethearts?”

  “College. I graduated early, and we married that summer before I began law school.”

  “And then the accident?”

  “Exactly. I told you she took up with someone while I was in the hospital. She said my condition repulsed her.”

  “Ow. That hurts. I am sorry.”

  “To be honest, I’m not. It’s best knowing what they’re like, isn’t it? Even if we learn a little late in the game? The good thing about being discarded, in my humble opinion, is that once one gets over the pain of rejection, one is usually just a tad more discernin
g about choosing one’s friends.”

  “Unless one isn’t.”

  He reached over and squeezed the hand she’d rested on the table. “Yes, you fell into an unhealthy relationship, but you got out of it. And you’re healing. That’s all positive.”

  “I hope so. I certainly don’t want to make that sort of mistake ever again.”

  “Stick with me, babe, and I’ll fend off the wolves.” He grinned, wiggling his brows up and down owlishly.

  Sam couldn’t help laughing. “You are good for me, my friend. Thank you.” And then, because this had been worrying her, “What about that whole God-hates-divorce thing? How do we deal with that?”

  “You mean because we can say we’re glad they left and we’re better off without them?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, I’m no Bible scholar,” he said, pouring a few more inches of wine into both glasses, “but it seems to me that if we look at the heart of Scripture, we’ll see it’s full of God’s compassionate understanding for man’s humanity. It’s not like either of us set out to divorce a spouse. We were willing to hang in there.”

  “I know. I would have, certainly. I thought I was supposed to. Besides, I kept believing it would get better.” Remembering that particular delusion wasn’t helping. She sipped and tried to forget the never-again promises she’d heard and believed too many times.

  “I didn’t even know Janet and I had a problem.” Teo shook his head as if the idea still surprised him. “So I wasn’t expecting to have to fix anything. I suppose my injury just brought the issues to a head. Janet would undoubtedly have tired of me at some point.”

  “We bored them.”

  His expression of confusion morphed into a laugh. “I suppose we did.”

  “But that may speak more to them than to us. I mean, look at you. How could anyone find you boring?”

  “Or you.” His brow did the wiggle thing that made her grin. “We just needed to find someone with a good sense of humor.”

  She lifted her glass, clinking with his.