She had just summed up the entire history of his love life. Except with her. With Lindsay, they both knew it had been casual fucking and nothing more.
“Am I wrong?” Lindsay asked.
“You are,” René said. “I am not flirting. Yes, I bought cheese—”
“Pepper jack?”
René nodded. “And Camembert, lots of Camembert.
Lindsay tapped the screwdriver on René’s chest. “CeCe has been through a lot. She doesn’t need you around, plying your French seduction games. I don’t like this little arrangement, but I’m not her mother. You two are adults. All I’m asking, as a friend, is to keep your friendship strictly business. Can you do that?”
René couldn’t answer. CeCe was as addictive and seductive as a buttery, flaky Danish. Some kind of energy pulled them together, like sweet chains he desperately craved.
An image of CeCe smiling filled his head. Then he remembered how well she’d raised the sails and managed the lines, all done with happiness and excitement he had long since forgotten. CeCe glowed in a world too often filled with cynical darkness.
Lindsay whirled and slammed the battery housing shut. “Oh, fuck. You’re falling in love with her. You look like I do when Alton makes his gazpacho, with the special deep-fried bread crumbs. Well, shit.”
“No, it’s nothing like that,” René protested. “We’ll be fine. I didn’t come to Carriacou so you could stick your nose in my business.” He was far angrier than he should be.
Lindsay grinned. “Oh, you have it bad. I talked about how much of a dog you are, and you didn’t blink. I mention you might be falling in love with CeCe, and you get all upset. I’m feeling better about your arrangement. Maybe you’ll have your heart broken for once.”
René wrestled down his emotions and sighed, as if he couldn’t be more bored. “Nothing is going to happen. You have an overactive imagination.”
“I think everything is going to happen,” Lindsay said, and her grin widened.
The sweet odor of baking cookies wafted down from the galley. Even though they were surrounded by muck and battery acid, the smell was heavenly.
CeCe called to them. “Hey, you guys, Alton made cookies. Come have some before I eat them all!”
Lindsay shoved René. “Let’s go, lover boy.”
René climbed out of the engine room and walked toward the galley, completely thrown. Falling in love? Getting his heart broken? Suddenly, the Tourbillon’s issues didn’t seem like such a big deal.
* * *
CeCe gazed at the faces of her friends, so happy now, while they ate Alton’s famous potato chip cookies on the top deck of the Tourbillon. She smiled at Alton and René’s good-natured barbs thrown at one another. Lindsay, though, kept smiling at her and René. Was she seeing something CeCe didn’t?
Alton was content to talk about the Thai soups he was perfecting for On y Va, the little cafe run by the French couple who’d helped save them from Carrothers’s plot to blow up the Bonnie Blue.
“Hey, you cooking those goddamn cookies again, Alt?” Tommy, Lindsay’s uncle, shouted from the deck of the Bonnie Blue anchored near them. The Swan bobbed at anchor, regal, massive, and sleek, compared to the waterlogged Tourbillon. Tommy wore his usual uniform—cut-off shorts, a Hawaiian shirt, his long, silver hair framing his weathered, tan face and salt-and-pepper beard.
Tommy swung onto the Tourbillon from the Bonnie Blue, using a rope he’d lassoed onto one of Tourbillon’s masts.
“Still the pirate, Tommy?” René asked.
“Damn straight,” he answered, and scooped up a cookie. He ate the morsel in one bite and then slapped his stomach. “Goddamn cookies are making me fat.”
“Not just the cookies,” Alton said. “I think it’s my Tom Khai Gai too. Coconut milk won’t keep you trim.”
“Ah, never been happier,” Tommy said. He sat next to CeCe and gave her a long hug. “So, CeCe, are you and Frenchie happy together?”
Awkward silence followed. CeCe wanted to die.
René cleared his throat. “CeCe and I are just business partners. She’s helping me crew Tourbillon up the Atlantic. We’re not together.”
“Sorry,” Tommy said, standing. “I figured you’d be all lovey-dovey by now. You seem to suit each other.”
CeCe nodded, and kept a smile on her face, but inside, she hurt a little. René had jumped in a little too fast to say they weren’t a couple. It was obvious he was following through on his promise. No funny, monkey business.
“You okay?” Lindsay asked, seeing through the smile.
“Oh, yes,” CeCe said. “I’m just a little nervous. Is the power problem fixed?”
“Yeah,” Lindsay said. “I showed René how the owner jury-rigged the batteries. You should be fine now.”
Tommy stamped a bare foot on Tourbillon’s wood deck. “This old miss? She might not be pretty, but she’ll take care of you. She’s like me. We’re both weathered, but the older we get, the better we are.”
René’s satellite phone rang across the deck, and he popped up to get it. He seemed a little relieved to have an excuse to leave.
He came back, his face ashen. “I’m sorry, but I must cut this party short.”
“What’s wrong?” CeCe stood and went to him, touching his arm.
René swallowed hard. His jaw muscles jumped as he tried to find the words. “My grand-mere. She had a stroke. The doctors say it is very serious, but they won’t tell me much more. She is like a mother to me. I need to get to Martinique to see her, right away.”
Chapter Seven
14.6161°N, 61.0588°W
Day Six, Harbormaster’s Office
Fort de France, Martinique
The Forte de France harbormaster was a mountain of a man with a clean-shaven head. He reminded CeCe of the genie in the Disney Aladdin movie her dad taken her and her brothers to see when they were little.
However, the man’s accommodating mood and wide smile disappeared at René’s reaction when he said, “Monsieur, your papers are not in order.”
René exploded. “I don’t fucking care about the papers or that fucking ship. Sink it for all I care, but I have to get to Hopital Guillon!”
CeCe winced at René’s shouts and tried to calm him by grasping his arm, but he jerked away and moved closer to the man.
The harbormaster’s face remained expressionless. After René’s outburst, he leaned in toward him and said in a quiet voice, “You are responsible for that ‘fucking ship.’ Believe me, sinking is not an option. You had better hope the old tub doesn’t sink on her own. You do not want the headache we will cause to salvage your unfortunate vessel.”
When René balled his fists, CeCe had to intercede. She didn’t want him to end up in jail. “Excuse me. I’m his first mate. Can I deal with the paperwork while my friend goes to see his grandmother?”
The harbormaster gave her a weary look. “Non. The vessel must be checked in by the captain, and your name, Madame, is not on the paperwork.”
René cursed in French for several moments.
“Your command of French profanity is unfortunate and rather alarming, Monsieur,” the harbormaster said, “but you are not helping your cause by making my job more difficult.” He stood very close to René now, and CeCe feared the worst.
CeCe pulled René aside. “I’ll go see your grand-mere, while you settle Tourbillon into the shipyard. You can join me later. Once I have some information on her condition, I’ll call and fill you in on her condition. All right?”
René took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “What choice do I have?”
He looked so hurt, CeCe drew him close and kissed his cheek. He resisted, holding himself stiff, away from her. She hugged him anyway, and his tight, muscled body felt good. The smell of cologne, sweat, and ocean filled her head. She smoothed back his dark hair and whispered into his ear, “It will all be okay. You have to trust me,” she said.
After a few tense moments, René finally nodded his assent.
“All will be fine,” CeCe assured him again. She stepped back. He seemed calmer, though his eyes were still shadowed in doubt and fear.
“Hurry,” he said. “Tell her I’ll be there soon. And if things are serious, tell her I love her.”
“I will,” CeCe said. “But before I can go to the hospital, I have to clear Customs. I’ll need my passport.” René reached inside his portfolio and handed her the paperwork.
She left, but not before she noticed him touch his face where she’d kissed him.
* * *
CeCe couldn’t locate a cab outside the harbormaster’s office. The late-afternoon sun was slanting lower in the sky, the streets were busy with tourists from a cruise ship, and hawkers were shouting out goods for sale.
A motorcycle buzzed up next to her. A dark-skinned man in Ocean Pacific shorts and a torn collared Izod shirt sat behind the handlebars. No helmet covered his head and only flip-flops covered his feet. He grinned at her with yellow, crooked teeth.
Motorcyclists were the unofficial Uber of the third world, so CeCe went to him. “My friend’s grandmother might be dying. I need to get Hopital Guillon as soon as possible, after I get through Customs. Can you help me? I have twenty-dollars.”
The man frowned. “Yes, yes, of course I can help. Losing a grandmother is bad. I will help you and pray.”
She climbed behind him, trusting the stranger. Something about the concerned look in his eyes made her feel okay. She found handles on the seat to cling to when he hit the throttle, clutched, and kicked down on the acceleration pedal.
They darted into traffic, around cars, trucks, pedestrians, and street vendors. They bounced onto the sidewalk to avoid a fruit stand before jolting over a curb and back into the mass of buses, cars, and scooters.
He screeched to a stop in front of the Customs building. CeCe’s heart thudded in her ears, but she’d enjoyed the wild ride. Disneyland should add a third-world motorcycle excursion to Adventureland.
“Will you wait for me?” she asked.
The young man smiled and nodded. “No hurry, no worries,” he said.
After about a half an hour of standing in line and filling out paperwork, CeCe thanked her guardian angel she’d thought to wear her uniform from the Bonnie Blue. No one questioned her right to function in an official capacity as Captain Baudoin’s first mate. She tore back outside to find her knight still waiting on his shiny metal steed.
CeCe laughed in excitement even though she thought she’d be killed a dozen times while he threaded between buses and swerved in front of delivery truck. Finally, he turned onto a palm-tree-lined circular drive and slid up next to the white-washed exterior of an elegant building, obviously an expensive, private medical center.
A valet in a red uniform stepped out and held up a hand. “No motorcycles,” he said.
“It’s okay,” CeCe said. “He’s with me.”
When the valet looked askance at her “knight,” she was tempted to lecture him on his rudeness. Unfortunately, she had to get inside to René’s grandmother as soon as possible, so stuck a hand in her shoulder bag and pulled out the twenty.
The motorcycle man shook his head. “No, no, I can’t take money. You might need it for medicine.”
She shoved it into one of his pockets and said, “For you,” before hurrying toward the entrance.
The motorcycle and its rider buzzed off.
“Can I help you?” the valet asked.
“You certainly can,” CeCe said, giving him her most charming, knee-melting smile. “I’m here to see my mother. And I am so very worried. Can you help me?” She widened her eyes and gazed on him gently.
Ten minutes later, she was led into a private room in the west wing of the hospital. It felt more like a hotel suite than a hospital room. Expensive pieces of freshly polished wood furniture were arranged on a gleaming hardwood floor. Handwoven Klimet rugs lay under the sofa, a four-post bed, dressers and end tables.
Glass doors covered an entire wall leading to a balcony. The view showed the red remnants of the sunset.
At first, CeCe was confused. The bed was empty.
Where was René’s Grand-mere?
The patio doors eased open and in stepped an elderly woman in a white gown. Soft, curling silver hair framed a face remarkably well-preserved, soft and healthy. Crows feet and smile lines only added to her grace and beauty.
“Grand-mere Baudoin?” CeCe asked. “Is that you?”
The beautiful old woman laughed. “Oui, that is who I am. But who are you? They said my daughter would be coming to see me, and since I don’t have a daughter, I was too intrigued to tell the hospital faculty the truth. Tell me your name.”
CeCe blushed. “I’m sorry. René has been so worried, I didn’t want to risk not being able to see you, so I told a little lie. I am CeCe Ahlstrom, your grandson’s first mate.”
Grand-mere laughed. “Little lies. Perhaps the world is made of little lies. I have to admit of a little lie of my own.”
“What do you mean?” CeCe asked.
Grand-mere snapped her fingers, and a black dog came limping into the room from the balcony. The large animal with a tight curled coat had a muzzle painted white with age. She walked stiffly, most likely from arthritis.
The dog let out a woof, staggered over, and sniffed CeCe. She bent down to pet the soft, clean fur.
“And that is Chienne.” Grand-mere Baudoin lowered slowly onto a divan near the sofa. “She is why I had to lie.”
At the question on CeCe’s face, the old woman continued. “I have to go into an assisted-living facility on the west side of the island, and they don’t allow pets.”
CeCe nodded and gave Chienne a good rub behind her ears. Soon the dog’s pink tongue lolled out of her mouth. Her eyes were mellow with unabashed pleasure and devotion.
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” CeCe said, “but isn’t ‘Chienne’ dog in French?”
“My late husband, Phillipe, could be a difficult man. He and René are a lot alike. We fought over a name for her after we brought her home as a puppy, and so ‘Chienne’ she remained.”
Chienne barked at the sound of her name. She knew the humans were talking about her.
Grand-mere Baudoin changed gears abruptly and changed CeCe’s life in an instant. “Is the baby René’s child?”
CeCe blinked. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“Ms. Ahlstrom, even I can see you are more than a first mate to my René, and you are pregnant, are you not? Your skin, it glows so, and your hair is lush, but the real clue is in your fingernails. I see they are pink and strong.”
CeCe couldn’t speak. She shivered as if a sudden, cold storm had soaked her. So many things made sense now—the wild mood swings, her appetite, maybe even the little tingle she felt for René. She was a little late, but she’d been late before. Her period wasn’t exactly predictable. Instead of monthly, it showed up whenever it wanted to, like a drunken uncle out of cash.
Chienne let out a little whine, as if distressed, and pressed herself against CeCe until she had no choice but to resume the petting.
“Zut alors!” the older woman exclaimed, “I’ve done it now. You had no idea, did you?”
CeCe couldn’t answer. She kept having to swallow while her head spun. She touched her stomach. Was someone really inside there, growing? Yes. She didn’t need a pregnancy test. She knew. It had to be Carrothers’s child. He was the only man she’d been with in the past six months. No, make that a year. But they’d been so careful. Part of her was sad the baby was half Carrothers, and yet, her heart soared because this child was part of her as well.
“Does René know?” Grand-mere Baudoin asked.
CeCe shook her head.
“Well, then, let’s add a little secret to our white lies.” René’s Grand-mere stood and fetched a crystal tumbler full of sparkling water from a small bar cart in the corner. She curled open CeCe’s clenched fingers and placed the glass in her hand.
“I would h
ave given you wine to calm you, but alas, no alcohol for you, Maman-to-be. I will not ask about the father. And I won’t ask about René. That is your own business.” Grand-mere Baudoin returned to her perch on the divan.
“It’s, um, a long story …” CeCe still reeled from the news. Pregnant. What would she do?
“The stories of children are meant to be long,” Grand-mere Baudoin said. “Their stories mold them into who they grow up to be. More’s the pity if their stories are short or dull. Now, is my grandson on his way?”
“I think so …” CeCe murmured.
“Good. Would you like to know my little lie?” René’s Grand-mere asked.
CeCe nodded. This meeting had turned surreal. What would come next?
“I had a small stroke,” the older woman said. “It’s nothing, really, but I couldn’t tell René. He would call, but I needed him to come. We have much to discuss.” Grand-mere Baudoin paused and stared off into space.
After a few minutes, she spoke again. “René was a good boy growing up, but I knew it couldn’t last. There is a whirlwind inside him, and that wind will not let him live a dull story. I wasn’t surprised when he took to the sea, to captain ships, to live a life of adventure and romance, but now, I need him to take care of Chienne in her declining years. And the Tourbillon. René’s story will have to change drastically. Between us, do you think he can do this?”
CeCe was confused. How did René’s grand-mere know about Tourbillon? The elderly woman’s attention span seemed to fade in and out, so she decided not to tax her with questions.
The older woman smiled patiently and repeated her own question. “Can René rewrite his story?”
“I’m sure René can do anything he sets his mind to,” CeCe said, and realized she wasn’t just saying that to comfort the old woman. CeCe was also sure a man like René wouldn’t raise a child not his own. It was one more reason to keep things professional.
“This baby …,” CeCe said, then stopped, unable to go on.
“Will have a wonderful Maman,” Grand-mere Baudoin whispered. “You do not have to tell me your secrets, my girl. You plan on sailing with René up the Atlantic, oui?”
Up Too Close Page 6