“Abbie, don’t misunderstand.” I try to make up with her even though I’m not quite sure what I’m making up about. “Riel and I are just friends.”
“Damn.” She nods out the window, and I glance over to see his Jeep parked. She grabs her purse, digs out makeup, and starts putting it on. “Did you know he was going to be here?” she snaps.
I shake my head and get out. “No. See you at the boat.”
As I near The Quest, Mr. Hamns waves. “Come on aboard!”
A big man with white hair holds a hand out to help me onto the boat. “Viola?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m Abbie’s father.”
“Oh, hello, Mr. Farmer. So nice to meet you in person.”
He gives me a warm smile. “Likewise.”
How odd to think this man has given me so much money, and I’ve never even met him.
“Sorry I missed your interview.” He refers to the scholarship panel from this past summer.
“Me, too. Thank you again for your generosity.”
“You’re very welcome.”
Abbie comes up behind me. “Hey, Daddy.”
“Sweetheart!” Mr. Farmer gives her a hug. “I’m so glad you and Viola made friends.”
She shoots me a fake, newly glossed smile. “Me, too.”
He looks beyond her. “Where’s your brother?”
“Peter said he had too much homework.”
Wait a minute. What? I didn’t know she and Peter were brother and sister. That’s strange. How did I not know that? But now that I do know, I can totally see it. Tall. Blonde. Blue eyes. Ugh for personalities. Yeah, I can see the genetics now.
“I wish I would’ve thought of that excuse,” she mumbles to me before taking a look around. “Where’s your new girlfriend?” she asks, her tone indifferent.
Mr. Farmer clears his throat. “She decided to stay home.”
“Smart,” Abbie mumbles to me again.
“I hear your mother’s off on another spa retreat?” Mr. Farmer asks.
Abbie flutters her lashes. “She’s got to spend the alimony on something.”
Mr. Farmer clears his throat again.
I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t want any part of it. Clearly the new girlfriend is a sore spot for Abbie and her father. Not to mention the mother.
From the companionway steps Riel.
“Hey!” Abbie greets him, going from irritable to enthusiastic in split-second timing.
I look around for Mar. “Where’s the little one?”
Riel smiles at that. “She spent the night with a friend.”
“We got a storm brewing way off the coast, so we’ll feel some chop on the way out.” Mr. Hamns claps his hands. “But it’s no matter. Radar shows it moving south.”
Down the dock comes the bald tattooed guy. Even though the sun is just coming up, he wears dark glasses like he had on before. Carrying a Styrofoam cooler, he walks toward us, and the closer he gets, the heavier my heart thuds.
It didn’t occur to me that he’d be working today.
He steps onto the boat, and silently, Abbie and I both back up. Obviously, she gets the heebie-jeebies from him, too.
He strides right past all of us and heads through the companionway Riel had come from.
“That’s Bud,” Mr. Hamns tells us. “Doesn’t say much but he’s a hard worker.”
Bud? He seems more like a Snake or a Viper or something.
Mr. Hamns spreads his arms wide. “This here’s a sixty-footer. Feel free to move about as you like. Please make sure you use the lifelines as you walk the plank. Aaarrrggghhh.” He does a pirate impression and then laughs at his own self. “Help yourself to food and drink down below. Just don’t stay down too long. Sea sickness and all. Better to be up top.” He points to some white crates. “Life jackets are in there. We’ll start fishing once we hit the Gulf Stream.”
Mr. Hamns and Mr. Farmer head up to the pilot house. Mr. Hamns signals Riel to untie us from the dock, and minutes later we motor out the intercoastal to the open ocean.
I stand on the right, watching the land get smaller and smaller, excitement dancing around inside of me at the day ahead.
Riel comes up beside me, and his nearness gives me a contact high I quietly soak in. If we ever did take it beyond friendship, the sex would be the kind you read about in romance novels. I guarantee it.
“Ever been deep sea fishing?” he asks.
“You kidding me? I’ve never even been on a boat.”
He arches a brow. “Really? Well, maybe me and Mar can take you sailing sometime.”
My eyes light up. “I’d love that.”
Abbie bounds up beside us. “Me, too!”
Riel shoots me a look, and I press my lips together so I won’t laugh. “All first timers need one of these then.” He takes his fisherman’s hat off and plops it on my head.
Abbie sticks out her bottom lip. “Oh, poo. Wish I had one.”
Poo?
Riel nods toward land. “You’ll see the academy here in a bit.”
“Really?” Abbie leans over the lifelines.
I bite back a smile. She’s seriously overdoing the whole catch-Riel’s-attention thing.
A wave rolls under us, and Riel leans into me as he catches himself. Immediately, I think of us playing in the ocean and being flush against him. I don’t even plan it, but like some magnetic draw, I find myself tipping back just a little until our bodies really are flush.
I don’t know if he catches my shift, but he doesn’t move away and, in fact, seems to come closer. I close my eyes and fantasize about him leaning down and nuzzling the spot right beneath my ear—
“I love fishing!” Abbie exclaims, and I jump a little. “I can’t wait to start!”
She slides closer to us as if sensing our little moment, and I take that as my cue to move. “I’m going below to get a Coke.”
At that news Abbie grins, and although Riel hides it well, I swear I see him glare me an I-thought-you-were-my-friend look.
Holding on, I step my way down the side of the rocking boat, glancing up as I turn to go down below, and catch sight of Bud all the way at the rear.
Sitting on a bucket, he smokes a cigarette, and through those dark glasses, he stares right at me. At least it seems as if his stare is directed toward me. Who can tell behind the shades?
I take in the tattoos coloring his bald head, the goatee with a tiny braid, and send him a small smile like I did the first time we saw each other.
But just like the first time, he doesn’t smile back and instead continues staring, or rather leering at me. Then he lifts a brown, weathered hand and does this slow, creepy two-finger wave, curling his index and middle fingers toward me.
The little hairs on my neck prick to eerie alert. What the hell? I have never seen such a disturbing wave in my life.
Swallowing, I remind myself there are lots of people on board and continue down below. I go straight to the cooler, grab a Coke, turn around, and catch sight of a lost and found basket with a pair of green runner’s shorts on top.
I snag them up and look at them.
Riel comes down the stairs. “What’s up?”
I show him the shorts. “Weird, but I’m pretty sure these are mine.”
“What?” He shakes his head. “That’s junk people usually leave on the boat.”
The last time I saw them was the day Mar and I played on the swings. The same day she thought she saw somebody watching us in the woods. Somebody wearing a red cap. I had looked through my duffle trying to find the runner’s shorts, and Mar interrupted me.
Riel opens the cooler and grabs a Coke, too. “Feel free to take them. That junk’s been sitting there as long as I can remember.”
“That’s okay,” I mumble, and for a few seconds my brain goes down a paranoid trail that creepy Bud somehow took my shorts and placed them here where he knew I would see them to play a game with me. But I don’t see how that can be, or why, even, he would
do such a thing.
No, I’m being paranoid. Yet as I place them back into the basket, I make a mental note to look in my room as soon as I get back.
“Real smooth leaving me to fend for myself,” he jokes.
“You’re a big boy.”
He makes a face, and I make one back.
Back up top, I see Abbie throwing up overboard and what I really want to do is smirk, but she looks so miserable I can’t seem to muster one. I take a few steps toward her to see if I can help, but when she shoots me a pissy look, I do smirk. And I don’t feel bad about it at all.
Four hours later and floating in the Gulf Stream, Abbie sits sipping a ginger ale looking so miserable that I begin to feel sorry for her again.
Me, though? Sea sickness? Not so much.
Swordfish, mahi, grouper, I’ve already reeled it all in.
“Girl, I’m bringing you with me every time!” Mr. Farmer hoots. “You’re good luck!”
Grabbing the rail for balance, I grin over my shoulder at Riel.
He shakes his head in amusement. “Little haughty, are we?”
“I think I might be.”
Mr. Farmer hoots some more. “You should be. Say this is your first time?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What do you think?” he asks.
“Scary being so far out, but I love the fishing.”
Mr. Hamns comes toward us. “Wrap it up. Storm’s switched directions. Waves are starting to kick up. Need to head back before it gets too nasty.”
I glance up at the sky. It doesn’t seem so bad…except for those clouds coming toward us.
Riel grabs my fishing pole. “Storms can travel and change direction quickly. If Mr. Hamns says we need to pack up, then we do. Now.”
It starts sprinkling, and I pitch in to help Riel secure the poles and fishing supplies. We take a seat beside Abbie and watch the clouds move closer and closer.
Riel opens a nearby hatch and pulls out two ponchos. He gives one to Abbie and one to me, leaving him with nothing.
“No, that’s okay,” I tell him. “You take it.”
“Absolutely not. I’m a gentleman.” Then without giving me a chance to respond, he slips the poncho over my head and down my body, and he sits down next to me.
Abbie slips her poncho on and scoots in close to me, and the three of us sit smooshed together, staring off at the horizon.
“Tide’s rising,” Riel says. “Strong west wind. Waves are likely to increase to twenty before we get back.”
A shiver runs through Abbie. “What does all that mean?”
“Means we’re in for a hell of a ride,” he says.
Gradually, the sky grows dark and the winds kick in. Lighting streaks at the exact second the sky opens and rain storms down.
“We should go below deck. Not safe up here anymore.” He grabs my hand, I grab Abbie’s, and through the torrent he leads us down the side of the rocking boat.
As we turn to go through the companionway, I catch sight of Bud standing at the rear of the boat, still in dark glasses, wrapped in a slicker, and holding on to a line. I expect him to follow us down, but he doesn’t. Mr. Farmer stays in the pilot house with Mr. Hamns, leaving me, Riel, and Abbie alone below.
The radio crackles. “All vessels seek safe harbor immediately.”
“Th-that’s bad?” Abbie stammers.
Of course that’s bad. I don’t boat, but even I know that sounds horrible.
Riel turns the radio off. “Mr. Hamns will come tell us if he wants us to know something.”
I sit down beside a mascara-smeared Abbie and try to remain as calm as Riel seems.
Minutes pass and no one speaks. The quieter we are, the more I focus on the boat’s movement.
Right, left, whoosh.
Right, left, whoosh.
Bile bitters my throat, and I swallow.
Right, left, whoosh.
Right, left, whoosh.
“Think of something else,” Riel says. “Don’t focus on the boat’s movement. It’ll make you sick.”
I swallow again. “I know. I-I’m trying.” I stand. “I’m—”
Riel jumps up and snags a bucket. He runs toward me, and I grab it and throw up.
Abbie starts dry heaving.
“Not you, too,” Riel groans.
Abbie holds her hand up. “False alarm.”
Riel hands me a ginger ale. “You’ll be okay now. I’ll go empty the bucket.”
I take a long sip of the soda, and my cheeks heat. “I’m so sorry.” I reach for the bucket. “Where do I empty it?”
Riel shrugs the whole thing off. “I got it.”
He goes up top to empty my puke bucket, and I groan in embarrassment. I can’t believe he just saw me throw up.
As Riel disappears through the hatch, a loud crack pierces the air, and Abbie and I both jump.
Seconds later, Riel stumbles back down the stairs. “Lightning struck the boat!”
“We’re going to die!” Abbie cries.
Mr. Hamns comes down minutes later. “First, let me assure everyone we’re going to be fine. Lightning has struck the boat and disabled the steering mechanism and radio.”
Abbie grabs my hand. “Where’s my dad?”
“He’s still up in the pilot house,” Mr. Hamns answers. “The Coast Guard knows our coordinates based on my last transmission to them. I’ve dropped anchor. We’re gonna ride the storm out until it’s calmer, and I can measure the damage.”
He pauses a moment and sweeps his gaze over me, Riel, then Abbie. “This is a sturdy big lady we’re on. It’ll take a lot more than this squall to sink her.”
He sounds so confident, calm, rational. I’d be a nervous wreck if everyone’s safety depended on me. But Mr. Hamns has years of experience, I remind myself. He knows what he’s doing.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I glance at the bronze clock fastened to the dark wood of the boat. Four hours have gone by since Mr. Hamns came down to tell us everything would be okay.
The storm has not eased.
Riel’s jaw flexes as he gazes out the port hole, lost in his own worried thoughts. “Mar’s got to be freaking. She listens to NOAA religiously.”
She lost her mom, her dad’s never around, and all she has left in this world is Riel. Yeah, she’s probably freaking. “Everything’s going to be okay,” I say, but he doesn’t nod.
A streak of lightning illuminates the dark sky, and my gaze darts to the port hole Riel is still staring at. Thunder crashes then, and rain—hard and thick—pounds the glass. What can I do? What can any of us do?
Abbie sits silently squished up against me like the closeness of our bodies can protect her. Riel’s straight across from me. Everyone remains silent as Mother Nature wreaks havoc on the world around us.
Taking his gaze off the port hole, Riel leans forward and touches my knee under the table. I look into his eyes, and he gives me a little smile. That smile and the subsequent steady eye contact brings me such relief, like he knows I need comfort of my own.
The Quest rocks to the right, left, then down.
To the right, left, then down.
Creaks and moans seep from unidentified areas. Seawater sprays the windows.
Fear tightens through my chest. I press my feet into the floorboards as I rock with the boat and tell myself it’s going to be okay. Logic. I channel logic as I silently walk my way through things. The storm can’t last forever. We’re safe in this boat until it eases. Unless…unless we get struck by lightning again. If that happens, the lightning could put a hole in the boat. That’s not good. Hole means water. Water means sinking.
We’re too far from land to swim.
But wait, there’s got to be a lifeboat. We could all load up in it, and it’s not like we’re in freezing cold water. But if we have to pile in a lifeboat, will it hold the six of us? And if we’re in a lifeboat and the storm’s still going, it could tip us over, right? I mean, sure we’ll have on life jackets, but what about sharks
?
Logic’s not working.
Beside me Abbie moans.
Just don’t throw up, Abbie, just don’t throw up.
Under the table, Riel taps my knee, over and over again, and I slowly realize he’s keeping a beat in time with the boat’s sounds and outside thunder. He’s trying to divert my thoughts and probably his as well.
I give him a wry look, and he continues right on tap-tap-tapping, and my crazy thoughts zero in on the rhythm. Okay, that’s working. Good.
The boat whooshes down, and bile swirls up my esophagus. I swallow. I need out of here. Twisting my neck in the constraining life jacket, I disengage myself from Abbie and stand up. “I need fresh air. Like now. Or I’m going to barf again.”
“Are you insane?” Abbie croaks.
Riel stands, too. “I’ll go with you.”
“Don’t leave me here alone,” Abbie whines.
“Come with us,” I say.
She shakes her head, her face so pale I think she might pass out or something.
Riel and I stumble to the stairs. We open the hatch and immediately flinch as rain pellets strike our skin. Squinting, we push against the wind, up the stairs, and out the companionway. Bud is standing here, still wearing his dark glasses, completely drenched in his hooded rain gear.
Why is he just standing here? Why didn’t he go up to the pilot house or even down below with us?
He grabs the front of my life jacket and yanks me up against him, and I gasp. Before I have time to push away, he unsnaps the tether from his vest and puts it onto mine, securing me to the boat. I glance over at Riel to see him doing the same thing. Good thought. With all this rocking and wind and rain, it would be easy to go right on over board without the security tether.
Bud shoves past me and goes below deck. Well, that was weird.
“Search the horizon,” Riel yells over the storm. “It’ll keep you equalized.”
Search the horizon? Um, kinda hard to do when it’s pitch black with twenty-foot seas. But I do it anyway, wincing against the wind and rain, holding on, breathing.
How many more hours will this last? I ask myself, at the exact same second I hear a helicopter.
Riel must hear it, too, because he grabs my arm. “You hear that?”
Watching You Page 8