Bring Him Home

by Karina Bliss

  Jules continued calmly. “Or has made a decision that no reasonable trustee could make.”

  “Strike three and he’s out. How can we not win?”

  “Because he’ll claim he’s acting in your best interests and however angry you are, Nate thinks he is, doesn’t he?”

  Claire scowled.

  “You’re a beneficiary as well as a trustee,” Jules added, “which means your motives for firing him would be questioned.”

  “My motives are that he’s been useless…. We have good records for that.”

  “He could argue that having witnessed Steve’s death, he’s been incapable of fulfilling his duties until this point. Certainly, prior to the ambush he was exemplary in fulfilling his role as trustee.”

  Claire snorted. “All he did was sign an annual account document and a trust tax return. All token stuff to meet minimal legal requirements.”

  “The law is what this will be judged on, Claire.”

  “And he wasn’t incapable, he was unwilling.” She met her friend’s unwavering gaze and sighed. “Like I’m unwilling to hear what you’re going to say next.”

  “Talk to him, try to negotiate a solution that works for both of you. You’ll get a lot further, a lot faster than taking him to court.”

  “Argh.”

  “You’re welcome.” Jules smiled. “Maybe Nate’s changed into the badass you describe, but sounds like his heart’s still in the right place…at least where you’re concerned. Use that as your starting point.”

  “Except I told him to go,” Claire confessed. “Pack his bags and leave.”

  What if he had? “Oh, hell.” She fumbled for her cell and rang his. It was switched off. Her next call was to the estate agent, who reported Nate had left shortly after she had. When Adam started talking about the buyers, she cut him short. If Nate was leaving, the sale was dead in the water. “I’ll phone you later…and you, Jules.” As she cut the connection, she was already halfway out the door.

  Claire drove home to Stingray Bay at breakneck speed using a local’s knowledge to cut corners and accelerating on every straight. She scanned the roadside for the sight of Nate’s rangy frame, as well as the drivers of oncoming vehicles in case he’d organized a rental.

  He had fifty minutes’ head start, which wasn’t much for a normal person, but was way too much for an ex-Special Services soldier bent on leaving. The station wagon bounced over the grassy knolls that made up the communal yard behind the baches, all empty at this season. As she found the key on its nail under the deck and slotted it into the patio door, she peered inside. “Nate?”

  The place looked the same way they’d left it, breakfast dishes stacked in the kitchen sink. Claire swept aside the curtain to the spare room and her heart sank. Bed neatly made, bag gone. Without hope, she searched the bach, but there was no note, no message of farewell. And why would there be? Her husband’s best friend was already struggling emotionally and she’d spewed all her shameful, darkest thoughts onto him.

  Still, Claire went onto the deck, staring along the curve of peninsula she’d just driven, desperately searching what she could see of the road through the pohutukawa trees. Empty. Half a kilometer along the estuary a solitary figure walked the strip of beach exposed by an outgoing tide. An overnight bag hung from one shoulder and Claire straightened. “Nate!” He was too far away to hear.

  She tore down the wide steps cut into the clay bank, her high heels sinking into the wet sand as she hit the estuary beach. Impatiently she kicked them off and tossed them up the hill. “Nate!” In bare feet, she broke into a run, the broken shells sharp against her winter-soft soles. A shard lodged between her toes and panting, she stopped to dislodge it. When she looked up, Nate was gone. Claire ran faster, but there was no sign of him. “Nate?”

  He couldn’t have just disappeared. On the thought, her panic dissipated. She knew where he was heading. Pinching the stitch in her side, she dropped to a walk and caught her breath.

  Between the footbridge and the concrete boat ramp three boat sheds sat in varying degrees of dilapidation. Two had been built half on land, half on wooden piles, which were encrusted with generations of oysters. The largest, grounded on a concrete slab, was an enormous A-frame constructed entirely of corrugated iron, with roller doors both ends. Age had faded its paint to an oxidized red. The clear sheets of corrugate that acted as skylights were an opaque yellow, and rust had scalloped some of its edges at ground level. But it was sound enough to house a forty-foot vessel with a twelve-foot beam and four-foot draft.

  As she’d suspected, the side door was open. Claire stopped to gather composure then stepped inside. Heaven Sent was propped on a jerry-rigged hard stand, which Nate was inspecting carefully.

  She cleared her throat. “It doesn’t look much, but it’s solid…and cheaper than hiring a boat cradle.” She hated the nervousness in her voice. Nate was the one in the wrong. But she felt as good as naked when his gaze lifted to hers.

  She couldn’t help what she felt about Steve. God knows she’d spent months trying to talk herself out of these feelings because they’d had a good marriage, she’d loved her husband with all her heart, and it was crazy to hold him responsible for dying on his last tour.

  A better woman would have been able to battle through these unworthy emotions and forgive him. A lesser woman would have been selfish, demanded he honor his promise and kept him alive. Instead, Steve was dead and Claire swung between regret and resentment. And now Nate knew her dirty little secret.

  “I’m out of the house,” he said. “I’ll sleep in my half of the boat until I’ve done what I need to.”

  She forgot her awkwardness. “Nate, if I lose my sale, I lose my chance at having Heaven Sent ready for this season. And if I miss the season I have to wait another year. You’ve already killed the project by default.”

  “I bribed your buyers with a week’s holiday on the Gold Coast to wait for an answer.”

  “What?”

  “And I’ll work on the boat so you don’t lose momentum on the upgrade. Lewis is due home in what, ten days? Let’s make eight our deadline.”

  She hadn’t expected such a quick concession, but it wasn’t enough.

  “And at the end of that time if you decide this isn’t a good idea…?” Jules had told her to be conciliatory, but she couldn’t be, Claire realized, not on this. “I’d rather pull the plug now than put my fate in someone else’s hands again.”

  Some emotion she couldn’t identify crossed his face. “I understand,” he said. “So here’s my offer. I assess your business plan, double-check all your figures on the refit. If I think you’re taking too big a risk I’ll try to talk you out of it. But if I can’t, I sign the deed of sale regardless. This isn’t about a power trip, Claire. It’s about getting you to pause, take a deep breath. That’s all.”

  “And I’m supposed to just believe you?”

  “If you don’t trust my word anymore, I’ll sign something.”

  She looked at him. “I’ll have Jules put something together.”

  His jaw tightened, but he nodded. “I guess I deserve that.”

  “You’ve been AWOL for well over a year. I’m not the only person with something to prove here, Nate.”

  “Never said you were, Claire,” he replied quietly. Picking up his bag, he slung it up and onto Heaven Sent’s deck, where it kicked up a puff of dust.

  “You can’t sleep here,” she said.

  “I thought we’d reached an agreement?”

  “The cabin’s a mess. Come back to the house.”

  “I could rent one of the empty baches…. I’ve seen a couple of signs.”

  “Don’t be silly…unless…” She broke eye contact, recalling her earlier confession. “Unless you feel uncomfortable staying now, after what I said about Steve.”

  “I’m hardly in a position to judge you.”

  There was a lump in her throat. “Still, I shouldn’t have unloaded on you, it wasn’t fair. Steve was your bes
t friend.”

  He walked over and put his arms around her in the first hug he’d given freely. “You’re my friend, too,” he said. “You’ll get past this. You’ll love him again.”

  Hot tears burned. Claire buried her face in his shoulder, borrowing his warmth. “How can you be so sure?” she said. “All I do is play with the same old puzzle pieces of our life together, over and over. There are no new pieces, Nate.” She felt him tense, under her cheek his heartbeat picked up. “Yeah, there are,” he said. “You said I spent as much time with Steve as you did. Maybe I can fill in the gaps.”

  * * *

  Nate couldn’t believe he’d just blurted that. But something in him went crazy at the idea that Steve had lost Claire as well as his life. He’d screwed up, no question, but their marriage had been the bedrock of his mate’s life. And the backdrop of their “tight five” unit. Didn’t matter how much he, Dan, Ross and Lee stuffed up in their personal relationships, Claire and Steve—Steve and Claire—were the constant. The gold standard.

  She pulled free of the hug to look at him.

  “You’ll talk about your deployments? I thought that wasn’t allowed.”

  “I’m not giving away troop movements, or strategy, just giving you an idea what was going on with Steve while we were away.” He’d need to think this through carefully. What he told her, what he didn’t. Couldn’t. Nate realized what he’d let himself in for.

  She must have seen his sudden reserve. “Nate, I’ve heard censored versions my whole married life, they won’t help me…. But I appreciate the thought.”

  A swallow fluttered under the rafters, drawing their attention. “There’s a pair nesting here,” Claire said. “They come back every spring.” But he watched her, the pale line of throat, the curve of her cheek as she lifted her face.

  Did he have the guts to try to help? Maybe. His foster childhood hadn’t produced a conversationalist, and a career in the SAS sure as hell hadn’t given him any practice articulating emotions. Though the bonds forged were unbreakable, they were never discussed. Knowing your brother would take a bullet for you reduced the necessity to talk about feelings.

  Guilt was a lump permanently located in his chest. Give it attention and it throbbed. It throbbed now. Ah, God, did he have the guts for this? “Steve nearly got us killed once,” he said before he chickened out.

  Claire crossed her arms. “What.”

  “I’ll tell you tonight. Right now, let’s see what you’ve been doing to our boat.”

  “You can’t drop that bombshell and leave it.”

  “Come to think of it, there are other stories I should tell first, but daylight hours are for pulling my weight as a trustee.” He looked at his watch. “It’s 11:00 a.m. After I’ve checked her over, how about taking me to see that engine you’ve got your eye on?”

  “Eleven? I must call Adam back.” She fumbled in her jacket pocket. “Damn, I left my cell at the bach with his number. I’ll meet you there…. But you tell me that story as soon as we have a free hour, Nate, you hear me?”

  “Remember to phone Jules, get her to draw something up.”

  At the door, she paused. “Did you really bribe my buyers?”

  “I prefer the term incentivize.” He repeated the words she’d said to him in L.A. “I’m not here to make your life harder.”

  Claire looked at him for a long time and he tried not to flinch.

  Sometimes he wondered if, like a superhero, this woman could see through walls. “Maybe we can keep Jules out of it,” she said.

  Nate shook his head. “Don’t give me wiggle room. If I find something I don’t approve of, neither of us want my conscience free to kick in again.”

  She smiled. “That’s the first joke I’ve heard you make since L.A.”

  “It wasn’t a joke.” He tried not to return her smile and failed.

  But it faded pretty quickly after she left and Nate took his first good look at Heaven Sent. Hull scoured, covered in fine dust, with a narrow canopy that only emphasized her wide bottom, she was nothing like the sleek cruisers he’d grown accustomed to in L.A.

  Her charm had always lain in her price. Claire had found her on eBay under classic crafts, where all the derelicts were listed. She’d been looking at boats ever since Nate met her, and had been trying to talk Steve into buying Heaven Sent when they’d met one night for dinner.

  Nate didn’t know much about boats other than how to board them covertly in antiterrorist drills, but Claire had made a good case for “the bargain of a lifetime.” After hearing Steve inform his wife for the twentieth time that, bargain or not, they couldn’t afford the outlay with their mortgage, he heard himself saying to Claire, “I’ll go halves with you.”

  Everyone at the table stopped eating and looked at him. He shrugged. “I fancy a project, and I’ve got the money.” He lived in the SAS single men’s quarters at Rennie Lines. On leave, he helped Ross build his house and joined Dan as an extra hand on his parents’ farm when they weren’t all at Stingray Bay. He was an active relaxer and sitting around wasn’t his style.

  Now Nate climbed the ladder to the deck and walked into the small wheelhouse, taking in the antiquated black switchboard and control panel, all dials and spewing wires with an on/off lever more commonly used to animate Frankenstein. Had Claire included rewiring in the upgrade? He couldn’t remember.

  The small cabin belowdecks proved to be in the best shape. When they’d bought it they’d concentrated their initial efforts here so Nate could be self-sufficient on longer stays at Stingray Bay. His gaze swept beyond the tiny galley and two divans either side of a fixed table to the bespoke double bed curved into the prow.

  All the soft furnishings had been swathed in plastic and every surface was thickly covered in dust. He’d fitted the galley’s countertop last time he was here. The small sink still sat on the floor waiting to be fitted next.

  Nothing had changed; everything had changed.

  It was a strange feeling, going through the boat, bittersweet. Like revisiting a lover, abandoned midaffair, he felt guilt, some remorse and a flutter of the old excitement. Two years since he’d last walked her deck, run his palm over the kauri railing and told her she’d soon be beautiful. He found the antifoul paint he’d bought on special stacked in a cupboard, cans of it. A bright kingfisher blue.

  He was almost glad Claire had turned down his offer of his half share, except he wasn’t comfortable taking money from her, either. He wasn’t sure that they’d work that out, but currently he had more pressing concerns than Heaven Sent’s ownership. He reached in his jeans pocket for his cell.

  The most important concern was telling his egocentric employer that his personal bodyguard wasn’t coming home tomorrow.

  Zander wasn’t happy. “I have as much sympathy as the next guy, Nate, but get your priorities straight. I pay your salary and with the tour coming up, I don’t need any additional stress. Set up an electronic signature, it’s how I work with Devin.” Devin was Zander’s New Zealand-based brother and former band member.

  “It’s not as simple as that. I have to suss out if the business is a starter and I can’t do that remotely. And if I skip town, I kill any chance of talking Claire out of it.”

  “Hang on… That wax is too hot, you want to give me third-degree burns? Jeez, my chest looks like a friggin’ barber’s pole…. Listen, Nate, do you think you’re irreplaceable?” Zander’s ill humor with his beautician spilled into his tone.

  “This is important,” Nate said patiently. “I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”

  “I’ve already given you three days. If I let you start laying down terms, then I’m setting a precedent for everyone else.”

  “Tell them I haven’t taken a break in a year,” Nate suggested.

  “And get paid accordingly. I don’t want to—”

  “You’re breaking up…I’ll try…better reception.” Pissed, Nate rang off before he told the rocker to stick his job. Rock royalty for close to twenty years, Zander had
forgotten how to look beyond his own interests.

  His employer might cool down, he might not. Shit. This was getting harder and harder. But right now Nate’s bigger concern was helping Claire. Job security was the least of his worries.

  Chapter Eight

  “You’re right, it’s a hulluva good price,” Nate said, reading the specs poster taped to the new diesel engine in one of Whangarei’s premier marine showrooms. Waving aside a salesman, he bent to look underneath. “Installation costs will add another thirty or forty percent to your bill, though.”

  Claire’s smugness evaporated. “As much as that, why?”

  “Heaven Sent’s existing engine beds would need to be modified.”

  She stared at him in dismay. “And here I was thinking I’d covered all bases with exhaustive questions on parts availability, nautical miles per gallon and warranty.”

  “All important,” he said. “But you have to look at how a new engine will work with existing components. On an old boat like ours, there’s no room to fit a larger propeller, and a lighter engine won’t generate the high torque needed to drive Heaven Sent.”

  She dragged up her knowledge on torque.

  The force needed to make the propeller rotate. “I know the theory, but I’m still a novice on practical maintenance, which is why I figured buying new would be the best way to go.” Too late she realized she was giving him ammunition.

  “Is that why you discounted reconditioning the Leyland 680?”

  Cautiously, Claire nodded. “I need reliability, not an engine that requires coaxing.”

  “The work I did on the Leyland after we purchased was Band-Aid stuff.” There was no superiority in his tone. “A professional overhaul will yield much better results. I think it’s worth getting a quote from a reconditioning specialist.”

  Claire waved away another salesman. “I thought I’d nailed this.”

  Nate dropped a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t beat yourself up, I know this stuff backward.” He and Steve had been in Mobility Troop, patrolling a thousand square kilometers of southern Afghanistan’s rugged plains and foothills. Engine maintenance was an essential part of their skill set, she recalled. It made her feel better.