Sailing out of Darkness (Carolina Coast Book 4)

by Normandie Fischer

  Which tossed her memories back to the days with Teo and his dear self. And his stricken face when she’d left.

  Stop. That had been a lovely interlude, but it was over. Her life was here.

  Where she had excellent water pressure and all the hot water she needed at the twist of a knob. Nothing to complain about.

  Until she turned off that water and stood drying her body and saw again the cracked tiles and missing caulking. When she’d donned her nightgown, she pulled on socks so her bare feet didn’t walk on someone else’s carpet.

  She picked up her brush from the brown, faux-wood dresser. As she brushed the required strokes, her gaze shifted to the orange-and-lime colored spread that coordinated perfectly with the green upholstered chair at the far wall. She always pulled down the covers and tucked them beneath a roll of sheet.

  Maybe tomorrow she’d find time to pick up another spread and perhaps a couple of new towels so she could give the kids back the one they’d lent her. She also should get new cell service. Tomorrow.

  Or maybe the next day. It didn’t really matter.

  34

  Jack

  A tilted universe pulsed

  Or expanded or wavered,

  But it never, ever

  Seemed to right itself.

  India pushed open his door, all smiles, another plant in her hands. A Christmas cactus this time. Jack clenched his fists.

  She set the plant on his table and stooped over him, her eyes widening when she saw his. “Jacky, what? Are you okay?” She turned as if to go after the nurse.

  His voice stopped her. “You tried to kill me.”

  She snapped around. Her blonde hair whipped across her shoulder, and she grabbed the bedrail to balance herself. “Wh...at?” Her words came out in a high-pitched stammer. “What do you mean?”

  “That bottle. That moonshine. Who gave it to you?’

  She was shaking. He could see the vibration thrumming up her body. “Marty. I told you. One of the co-pilots. His brother gave it to him. I told you.”

  “Did you tell him I’d been sick?”

  Now she merely seemed confused. “Why?”

  He waited.

  “Well,” she said, rubbing her hand back and forth along the metal tube of the rail. “I probably did.”

  “He called me. Told me the bottle was poison.”

  “No.” She breathed the word, her eyes round and frightened.

  “That’s why I had it tested, India. I was afraid for you.” She stood, mute, a deer in the headlights. He wanted to hit her. Hit something. “I thought you’d get sick, too.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “No. You wouldn’t have. Not when you gave it only to me. So I’d die.”

  “No, never.”

  “It almost worked, India.”

  “I would never have killed you, Jacky. Never.”

  “You. Almost. Did.”

  Big drops formed in her eyes at that. “I never wanted to kill you. It got out of hand. You were just supposed to get sick.”

  He felt like puking again. India’s normally pretty face contorted in front of him. She reached to touch his arm. He jerked it away.

  “I’ll take care of you, Jacky. I will.”

  He barked out a laugh. “I don’t want you to come near me again. Ever.”

  “I will quit my job. I’ll do whatever it takes. Whatever you want. You’ll need someplace to go. Someone to help you.”

  “It won’t be you, India.”

  “You had sex with her, Jack. I have pictures.”

  He winced and silently clutched the sheet with his fists.

  “You left me, after all we’d been to each other. You left me for that slut. You ruined my life.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, finally. “Sorry you were hurt.”

  “But you’re not sorry it happened. You lied, Jack. You said there was nothing between you. But I’ve got proof.” She waited, staring at him.

  He knew what she saw when she looked at him. He’d looked in the mirror: eyes shrunken and circled in black in a face bleached white.

  “You lied,” she repeated. “Ricky told me you would. But he didn’t want me to hurt you.”

  “Your brother’s dead, India. He’s been dead for years.”

  “No, he’s not. He loves me. He’s the only one who ever has.”

  Jack whispered, “I treated both you and Sam badly, but did you have to kill me?”

  “I didn’t kill you, did I?”

  “You tried.”

  “Well, we’re even now.” She tucked her hair behind her ears and turned on that smile of hers. “I’ll forgive you for what you did with Sam, and you can forgive me for hurting you. We can go on with our lives.”

  “What life?” His eyes narrowed, and he pulled the sheet as high as it would go. “What life have you left me?”

  “You’ll get better. Everything will be okay, and I’ll take care of you while you’re healing. I won’t leave you.”

  “I told you, India. I never want to see you again.”

  “Jacky…”

  “I should have left you, never looked back, and never let you come near Sam. Then I wouldn’t be almost dead, or as good as, and I might be married to the only woman I ever really loved.”

  “You are cruel, Jack Waters. Cruel and heartless, just like I told Rick, but he said I should forgive you. He stuck up for you! You are wicked and cruel and the worst person on this earth. You hear me? The worst!”

  She dug a package out of her purse and tossed it on the bed before flouncing out of the room. At the door, she stopped and hissed out the words. “I’m going back to Rick. He’ll take me back. I know he will.”

  Her heels clomped along the corridor. And he sighed.

  India claimed he was the worst person she’d known? What, had she forgotten her daddy? And that brother of hers? What did she mean, Rick wasn’t dead? That he’d take her back?

  Had her past all been a lie?

  35

  Samantha

  Thoughts hurl like ready darts,

  While words attack the flesh and sense.

  Sam heard her cell phone ring from the depths of her purse as she tucked groceries out of the way. Where was the thing?

  Ah, in the outside pocket. Stefi’s number flashed.

  “Mama, I’m so glad you finally got your cell phone fixed so I can call you anytime. Where are you?”

  “I just walked in the door.”

  “Okay. Good. I wanted to tell you, I met with Signora Tascini. She liked my drawings! Isn’t that exciting!”

  Sam fit a carton of milk in the refrigerator, picturing her auburn-haired beauty as she’d last seen her. “Absolutely. But we knew she would.”

  “I didn’t. I was dying there, I tell you.”

  “Then I’m glad you’ve revived.” She wandered into the bedroom, propped up some pillows, kicked off her shoes, and fell back in semi-comfort, missing a few of Stefi’s words as she rid her feet of too-tight socks.

  “What was that?” she asked, hearing female laughter in the background, then Stefi’s voice coming back on the line.

  “I’m supposed to go see Signora Tascini when my program ends. Don’t you think that sounds promising?”

  “I think it sounds very promising.”

  “I called Teo to thank him.”

  “Excellent. Good.” Then, “How is he?”

  Stefi said something to one of her flat mates, practicing her Italian. Sam waited, relieved when Stefi didn’t forget the question. “He’s good, except I think he misses you. He was excited about the meeting. I dumped Guido.”

  Sam laughed. Good for Stefi.

  “You mean,” her daughter said, “you’re not going to say ‘I told you so’?”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “Teo told me you aren’t coming back to Italy.”

  Ah, well, there it was. The elephant. “Probably not. You know I have to help Cindy. And then I think I need to get back to my real life.”<
br />
  “But, Mom.”

  “I do. Italy was great fun, and I’m glad I had the experience. But that’s all it can be.”

  “Why?”

  “Because this is where I live and work.”

  Stefi sighed loudly. Sam could imagine eye rolling. “You sure?” Stefi said.

  Sam closed her own eyes and spoke to herself as much as to her daughter. “I am.”

  “Daniel kind of described that awful place you live in. He sounded like he’s falling all over himself being grateful, but I hope you won’t have to keep on rescuing them for much longer. Isn’t her own mother coming to help?”

  “Soon. She was dealing with Cindy’s sister, then her husband caught the flu and she’s been feeling pretty putrid herself.”

  “Oh, great.” More chatter in the background. “Sorry, Mom, gotta run.”

  “Bye,” Sam told the phone. “Bye,” she told that other world, the world of romance and sailing the Mediterranean, the world that hadn’t been real.

  She drove over to see Rhea early Saturday morning, her first trip to Raleigh since she’d returned. Stuck in first gear, that’s what she’d been, but the day was crisp under a cloudless sky, and she didn’t even mind the heavy traffic. Classical music blared from the stereo.

  Okay, she could do this.

  She clung to that attitude until Rhea held her at arm’s length. “Girl, you look terrible. What you been doing with yourself since you got back? Come on now, sit down and let me fix you a nice cup of something. What d’you want?”

  Sam turned to hide sudden tears and pointed to the coffee. “You don’t know how good you look to me.” She wiped the corners of her eyes with her fingertips, keeping her back to the few customers and to Rhea’s assistant, a new girl she hadn’t met. She certainly didn’t want to meet anyone while showing off her less-than-confident self.

  Rhea bounced over with a cup of coffee and the fixings Sam needed and pulled up a chair for herself. “So, talk.”

  Sam twirled a spoon in her cup. “I’ve missed this place.”

  “Honey, it’s missed you. Now, you just tell me what’s put those circles back under your eyes. It can’t be just ’cause you’re taking care of your daughter-in-law.”

  Sam condensed the story of her time with Teo and then said, “But I told him I won’t be going back.”

  “Too early to know if it was real, I suppose? You hear from God at all about it?”

  Sam shook her head. “No.” She didn’t mention that she hadn’t asked either. “There was all the glamour of Italy. And I was, once again, on the rebound.” The last she tried to say with humor. It got stuck on depressed.

  “Well, if it’s supposed to happen, it will. But that’s not enough to make you look like that.” Rhea took off her glasses, wiped them on her shirt, and squinted at Sam before setting the frames back in place. “Nope. There’s got to be more.”

  Sam looked everywhere but across the table. “It’s just, Jack’s in the hospital. They say it’s lead poisoning.”

  “You got to be kidding me,” Rhea said, her palms coming down hard on the table.

  “Afraid not.”

  “How bad is it? I mean, I’ve seen it in kids, and, honey, it’s not something you want to mess around with.”

  “I haven’t been able to find out. I’ve thought of visiting...”

  “Call. Get someone else to go. You need to steer clear of that man and his girlfriend.”

  “I know.”

  “Okay, then. Don’t you let it get you down. Jack got himself in some sort of trouble, he’s not your concern. Hear me?”

  Sam started to speak, but Rhea raised her hand to stop the words. “I know he was your good friend once upon a time, but, honey, he led you right across a line that neither of you should have crossed, and he didn’t act much like a friend ought to. He was carin’ more about Jack than about either you or that girlfriend of his.” Rhea’s hair bounced on a loud huff. “You keep that in mind, you hear? You broke it off like you needed to, now you just leave it there.” Then she gentled her voice and touched Sam’s arm. “Honey, you can pray for him from a nice safe distance and trust the One who’s in charge.”

  Sam didn’t speak.

  “I been praying,” Rhea said. “Haven’t stopped, but, honey, you’re the one needin’ to get yourself hooked back up with God in the right way so you can get past the mess and on into some good territory.”

  Rhea was right, but how, Sam wanted to know, did you go about making that happen?

  She turned down Rhea’s offer to show her the accounts and promised to come back another day when she didn’t have so much on her mind. Rhea handed her a brownie for the road. “Eat, girl. You need the calories. You’re turning into bones only, and, honey, that’s not an attractive look.”

  Sam tried to laugh as she waved herself out the door. In and out, and it was barely eleven-thirty. She still had the entire day to kill.

  She could hit the shops. Go out to lunch in some lovely little pub. Or she could drive the couple of hours to Beaufort, stop in Samantha’s, and head out to see her beautiful home. Oh, and, by the way (and who did she think she was fooling?), she could ask Tootie for an update on Jack.

  The drive should have been pleasant with the new interstate—fields of seed corn, stalks cut and withering; geese in V-formations that rarely broke, their honks audible when she slowed for a stoplight once the interstate ended. It should have felt exhilarating, being in the country again, but her eyes began to glaze as Highway 70 wandered and wandered, endlessly east.

  She didn’t recognize the very young woman behind the counter at the Beaufort Samantha’s. She ordered a latte and asked for Tootie.

  “Oh, she’s at home. Taking the day off,” the girl said, handing over a latte. “You want me to give her a message?”

  “No, thanks.” Sam left without introducing herself.

  She drove east again on the narrower highway. Her eagerness grew as 70 turned into Merrimon Road and eventually to the smaller lane that would lead to hers, its macadam surface creating a rumble under her tires. She turned right onto the gravel and felt the crunch of it. So familiar.

  Why had she been afraid to come?

  Tootie and Holland had certainly spruced things up after removing the dead bushes. She liked their choice of planters with the bright and bushy chrysanthemums to distract the eye. Especially the yellow ones and the burgundy. One almost didn’t notice the naked patches.

  Tootie’s car wasn’t there. Sam parked, walked to the front door, and for courtesy’s sake, rang the bell. When no one answered the bell, and she headed toward the bank to see if Tootie had already put Alice up for the winter.

  Sun shimmered on the water. A heron rose, wings batting majestically, its raucous call too rude for such a sleek creature.

  At the top of the steps, Sam’s heart did a little flip at that first glimpse of blue hull. “Hey, Alice,” she called and waved. “Hey, baby.”

  Her hand touched the railing, felt the wood beneath her palm as she began her descent. And then she really looked at her boat and the dock. Something rested on the wooden boards, and, in Alice, something dark lay partially hidden by the centerboard well. She hurried down, and then she was on the dock, approaching Alice, peering inside at black shoes, purple pants, and a draped hand.

  Bile backed up in Sam’s throat. Her hands flew to her face as the nausea threatened, and she stood, momentarily paralyzed, staring at the pool of dark, deep red that spread on the once-white floorboards under what was left of India’s head.

  Oh God, oh God.

  The bile rose as she turned and raced back down the dock, up the steps, across the grass. She choked it back. “Tootie!” she screamed, pounding on the door. Tootie needed to be here. Someone needed to be here. She had to get in, had to call for help. She looked around, remembered the potted plant. Digging out the key, she unlocked the door, yelling again as she pushed her way in.

  The 9-1-1 operator made her go over everything, took
interminable minutes questioning her in a monotone that did not breed confidence, forcing her to repeat what she’d seen, where she was.

  “No, this isn’t a cell phone.” Sam had forgotten she owned a cell, but did it matter? “No, I don’t think anyone else is here. No, I won’t leave.”

  The shakes made her legs wobbly. She managed to get to the front steps, where she huddled and tried to slow her breathing.

  The sirens stopped as a fire truck and ambulance pulled into the drive. Sam didn’t know why the firemen had come. They only needed an ambulance.

  And the police. The police would probably be along soon.

  On that thought, the sheriff’s car skidded to a halt, churning up gravel. Sam remembered the bluff official from news photos. He’d probably relish this mess.

  She pointed to the river.

  She had moved to the back porch by the time several men huffed past. The cold had spread beyond her limbs. She couldn’t equate the sunlight with that dark-clad body, the dappled water with a blood-soaked boat.

  She couldn’t let her body curl the way it wanted to. She couldn’t let down her guard. There were policemen out there, in her yard, on her boat, on her dock. They had come to take away the woman who’d been India Monroe.

  She pressed her palm against her stomach, bit hard on the side of her mouth. She would not cry. This was not the time for tears. They would want to speak to her in a few minutes. She had to be ready.

  Perhaps she could make herself some hot water. Maybe hot water would stop her teeth from chattering like this, calm her nerves, keep the revolution in her belly from tossing up the brownie and the latte.

  As she turned to enter the house again, she noticed the first men coming over the cliff edge, hauling something. She hurried through the back door.

  Taking down a mug, she filled it with water and put it in the microwave, hitting the two-minute button. She heard a door slam and then another. An engine roared to life, and there was silence.