Up Too Close

by Stein, Andrea K.

  CeCe nodded.

  “Very good. I’m glad. What a great way to start the story of your child’s life. By sailing. By making a journey, for that is the metaphor of all life, the journey. Now, I would imagine you’ll need to call René and let him know I’m all right, but that he should come as quickly as possible. Might as well keep him worried about us, non?”

  CeCe laughed. She’d never met anyone like Grand-mere Baudoin.

  Chapter Eight

  14.6161°N, 61.0588°W

  Day Six, Hopital Guillon

  Fort de France, Martinique

  René burst into the hospital room. CeCe had called, and while she’d tried to alleviate his fears, René couldn’t rest until he saw for himself his grand-mere was well.

  Chienne, her Portuguese water dog, immediately barked and growled, showing teeth, hackles up. Her fluffy black tail swept low.

  “Chienne, it’s good to see you too,” René said, and then added under his breath, “you filthy animal.” CeCe, sitting on a plush carpet on the floor, finally shushed the beast.

  René crossed the room. He knelt and held his grand-mere’s soft, warm hand. “Are you okay? Tell me you are okay. My heart, it is so very worried for you.” He poured out his words, and then felt embarrassed CeCe had witnessed the whole thing.

  “Oh, René,” Grand-mere Baudoin said in a soft voice. “I am not well. I had a stroke, and it’s very serious. I might die. And what will happen to Chienne?” The old woman’s eyes flashed to CeCe, and they shared a little smile.

  René was confused. “Please don’t joke about this. Are you okay?”

  “I will live, René, my love, and probably longer than is comfortable, but life is life, non? I had a most wonderful conversation with Ms. Ahlstrom. She has agreed to take Chienne with you on Tourbillon.”

  He glanced down at CeCe, who seemed pale, but happy. “You did what?” he demanded.

  Before CeCe could answer, Grand-mere Baudoin stood and pulled René to the divan. She turned to CeCe and asked, “Could you take Chienne for a short walk around the grounds, Ms. Ahlstrom?”

  CeCe stood. “Of course, Grand-mere. Is it all right if I call you that?”

  “You can. Or Marie-Aude. Either is fine. When you get to be my age, names aren’t as important. And thank you, CeCe. Thank you so much for everything.”

  “You are so welcome,” CeCe said and snapped the leash onto the dog, but not before Chienne lunged at René.

  René grimaced and pulled away.

  CeCe managed to drag the dog through the bank of sliding doors and out onto a path through the hospital grounds.

  * * *

  “Now, René,” his grand-mere said. “I have to go into assisted-living. It’s a wonderful place on the south side of the island, with ocean views, and a very active community. They don’t allow dogs, however, and so Chienne needs a home. You never did get along with her, but I am hoping time will change that.”

  René let his disgust show. “No. Not that crazy old dog. No. I’ve already been saddled with a floating shipwreck, hardly seaworthy. I have to draw the line, Grand-mere. I won’t. I will not do it.”

  “You do not like Tourbillon?” she asked.

  “How do you know that name?” René’s heart fell.

  “She is mine,” Grand-mere answered.

  René’s winced. “You are the owner? You?”

  Grand-mere nodded.

  René rose from the divan and paced back and forth in front of her. “How can that be? How you can you know Devin Manning? And why have you not talked about such a ship. There were no pictures.”

  “It is a sad story, René, and one that breaks my heart to tell. So I have kept her a secret for so many years.” Grand-mere let out a long breath. “Is it in the nature of sailboats to inspire tragedy? I do not know. Our first ship together, Phillipe and I, we sailed her all over the world. Did I tell you my stories of pirates near the Seychelles? Or how we nearly sank in the South China Sea? Ah, Viet Nam, and Halong Bay. It was so beautiful back then. Lovely. But I must say, I adored Borneo most of all. It was still so green and savage.”

  René sat back down on the divan, his head still spinning. “Why would you keep the truth from me? And why make me work through Manning?”

  “All families have secrets just as all families have pain,” Grand-mere said. “Talking of the Tourbillon brought up such agony, I simply couldn’t. As to why I hired Manning? To test you, René. I wanted to see how you would react when life brought you something ugly and in need. Would you shun her and chase after a pretty face? Or would you take care of her?”

  René didn’t like the idea of anyone testing him, but he didn’t bristle. He still had questions. “When did you get the Tourbillon?”

  “And now I must talk through my pain.” Tears glistened in Grand-mere’s eyes as the memories took her. “The Tourbillon’s story begins with the Zephyr, the first ship Phillipe and I sailed all over the world. A wicked storm caught us off the coast of Guyana, and we hit a reef. We couldn’t save her, and we left her there, alone and sinking, as we made our escape. Zephyr had kept us safe for years. Then she was gone. Gone forever.”

  The old woman closed her eyes.

  René waited, frowning, feeling his grand-mere’s pain. He’d never had to abandon a ship, but he could understand how hard it would be.

  “We had other vessels,” Grand-mere said, “but newer, not wood like the Zephyr. You grew up on our other boats, but always, we longed to replace the Zephyr.”

  René liked the name of that long lost boat, a soft wind for eager sails.

  Grand-mere cleared her throat. “After your parents died, sailing became difficult, but we persevered. And it wasn’t until you were grown that we purchased Tourbillon. And soon after, your grand-pere died sailing her, in a storm that swept him overboard. I was there, I saw, but could do nothing.” She closed her eyes. “I can still feel the wind, smell the ocean, and see him as he reached for me.”

  “I thought Grand-pere died at the helm of a ship he was chartering for someone else,” he said, and touched his father’s watch on his wrist. He’d never forget that day, either, when his father pressed the watch into his hand. “You will count the time until we are back,” his father had said. But he and René’s mother never returned.

  “The grief overwhelmed me,” she said, “and I couldn’t speak of the accident for years. At the time, People called Tourbillon ‘cursed’ after his death,” Grand-mere said, opening her eyes, “but I didn’t believe them. There is strength in her. Boats like that need to be in the world. The ocean wouldn’t be the ocean without them.”

  “Where has she been?” René asked.

  “In dry-dock. In Grenada,” Grand-mere whispered. “Waiting to be re-born. Waiting to redeem herself.”

  René nodded. Grenada would be safer than Martinique, fewer hurricanes, and yet pulling a wooden boat out of the water brought on all sorts of issues, especially if it sat for years up on a cradle.

  René thought back to Lindsay’s comments about the anal-retentive old man leaving a diagram of the electrical system. That old man had been his grand-pere.

  René opened his mouth to ask more question, but Grand-mere put her fingers over his lips.

  She took René’s chin in her hand. In French, she spoke softly. “I need you now, René. I need you to take care of the Tourbillon. I need you take care of Chienne. But most of all, I need you take care of CeCe. You have had your time dallying around and romancing, but now, all of that must be put aside. You must be a man now. Do you know what men do?”

  René gave her a puzzled look, took her hand from his face, and folded it into her lap. “I thought I knew, but I imagine you’re going to tell me.”

  “Men do what is required of them with honor and decency. They do not follow their base natures, but strive to be dutiful and giving. To do the right thing,” she said.

  René exhaled hard. Confusion and fury rose up in him. “Taking a cursed wreck out onto the open sea is not th
e right thing to do. And your old, arthritic dog, we should put her out of her…”

  “Stop!” Grand-mere Baudoin didn’t shout. She didn’t need to. Her voice turned hard and commanding. “You are my grandson, and I love you, but I do not ask you to do this. I am telling you. You have lived a very comfortable life, and that can be as harmful as want. If you can show me that you can be more than a playboy, then you will continue to have access to our families’ assets. However, if you can’t, then poverty and hardship might prove to be far better lessons than I could ever give.”

  René rose from the couch and moved to the window. He didn’t care about the money. He’d work as a captain regardless, but losing his grand-mere’s respect would be torture.

  Through the window, stars sprinkled the sky above the twinkling lights of the harbor. A warm, salty breeze blew in to mingle with the smell of scented candles and Grand-mere’s subtle perfume. The scents echoed his childhood, when life seemed much easier, before his parents died. “You want me to be a man, but first, you require me to be a puppet?” he asked.

  “Perhaps,” she said from the couch. “But I would like to think I’m helping you become a better man. Do you take pride in who you are and what you have done?”

  The question filled the air and sank into his consciousness. He recalled how he’d tried to drive a wedge between Lindsay and Alton. He remembered all the hearts he’d broken, the women he’d hurt. No, he couldn’t take pride in that. In retrospect, his life did seem boyish and silly.

  But still, he didn’t like dancing to the tune his grand-mere called. “So taking care of a wretched boat and a foul-tempered old dog will make me into a better man?”

  “I think it’s an excellent place to start. Now, as for Ms. Ahlstrom—”

  “Stop.” This time he took control of the conversation. “I will not go into the arrangement I have made with her. She is outside of our business.”

  Grand-mere Baudoin smiled, and René was a little boy again. He could almost see his stern, but beautiful, French mother. Even though he knew his grandmother was a firm disciplinarian, he was not prepared for her next ultimatum.

  “I now need three things from you, René Baudoin,” she said, her voice rising. “You will do these three things or I will cut you off.”

  When he started to complain, she raised her hand, an old signal from his childhood. She would brook no argument.

  She continued, “What I require is very simple. One—you will deliver Tourbillon for refitting to Elephant Boatyard, in Bursledon, near Portsmouth, England. It is one of the finest wooden shipyards in the world. No abandoning her, no flying off on another adventure until she shines like new again.

  “Two—you must take care of Chienne until the end of her life.”

  “But—,” René interrupted, before flinching and cutting short his objections when her regal hand shot up again.

  “And three—you will make sure Ms. Ahlstrom arrives safely in Portugal …without her heart broken. You take her as far as Portsmouth, and I will provide for her plane ticket and compensation as your first mate.”

  René collapsed onto the low-slung divan and held his head in his hands.

  “And just in case you think my demands are idle threats, Monsieur Manning is my agent of change. He will monitor your actions and report back.”

  René snapped to attention. “Manning? Is that why the bastard’s name is on the ship’s paperwork? Why are you two plotting against me?”

  She gave him the “look” he’d dreaded as a boy and he craned his neck upward, as if the ceiling might have answers.

  Grand-mere Baudoin quieted for a few moments, and he prayed the demands had ended. Then she added in a soft voice, “I will be interested to see if you can get them all up the Atlantic and still be a gentleman by the time you reach England.”

  “The woman, the boat, and your damn dog,” René said.

  “All of them,” she said.

  With the weight she gave the word, all, René wondered if she meant more than just the woman, the boat, and the dog. What else could this stubborn old woman mean?

  Chapter Nine

  14.6161°N, 61.0588°W

  Day Seven, Hardware Store

  Forte de France, Martinique

  CeCe walked up and down the aisles in the hardware store their cab driver had recommended and looked for the materials they’d need. Chienne stayed happily by her side, periodically giving René a low growl.

  Thank God the store owner had agreed to let her bring the old dog in with her, because she hated to think what would happen if she’d let René stay outside with Chienne. And René had refused to participate in the project his grandmother had given them to prepare the boat for the dog’s habitation.

  Just before they’d left the hospital the day before, she’d casually mentioned Chienne could not do her, er “business” aboard the ship without a patch of grass. CeCe was afraid she’d have to physically shut René’s gaping mouth after that pronouncement.

  The store proprietor spoke only French, so René had proven himself useful at least in that regard, translating for CeCe what she needed to build a small wooden box filled with dirt and grass turf. They could put it on the bow for the poor dog.

  Every time she tried to talk to René about how the box should be built, he would turn away. His behavior so reminded her of her stubborn Portuguese father and brothers, she wanted to smack him.

  Once she was sure she had all the project pieces, including a plastic tarp to protect Tourbillon’s wood deck, she thanked the owner and complimented his shop. He seemed to glow from her praise and gave her a huge canvas tote, free of charge, to carry all the project pieces to the boat.

  Back outside the store, René stepped out into the street and hailed a cab while Chienne continued to growl low whenever he turned toward her.

  In the back seat of the cab, CeCe sat between man and dog and gave both of them dirty looks. “You two have to call a truce before we’re cooped up on Tourbillon for days on end. She cradled Chienne’s snout in one hand and crooned low while rubbing her ears with the other.

  Without turning, she also spoke low to René, “Come on, let her know you love her. She could feel him stiffen next to her, but he stuck a hand around CeCe’s lap and gave Chienne an awkward pat. The quick growl had CeCe squeezing on the dog’s jaw and leaning closer. “You have to try too,” she insisted, and held René’s hand in a gentle patting motion on Chienne’s head. The dog relaxed a little, as if resigned to his touch, but her eyes told a different story. Pure hatred.

  “See,” CeCe said to Chienne. “Many women yearn for his attention. You should be honored.” Chienne gave a little unconvinced, but resigned yip.

  “That will have to do, I guess,” CeCe said, and settled back into the cab seat cushions.

  René sighed and said, “You really think that spoiled mutt understands you?”

  She slapped his arm, hard, and cuddled the dog closer.

  “Dieu sauve-moi de femmes déraisonnables,” René said, and sank low in the seat, his knees bent awkwardly in the small space.

  CeCe wasn’t sure what that meant, but she could piece it together. She knew femmes meant women, but she suspected deraisonnables could not mean anything good.

  She bent down to Chienne and whispered a Swedish endearment into her ear that CeCe had learned from her mother as a little girl—min älskling.

  The dog’s response was a wet, sloppy kiss. If Chienne could respond to Swedish blandishments, then maybe the arrogant Frenchman would warm up in time to the dog.

  * * *

  René pulled on the oars of the ancient shore boat, patched and inflated, the one he’d used the first time he’d called to CeCe back in Secret Harbour. The bright sun gleamed off the white yachts they passed and deepened the green of the verdant island plant life. Beautiful, yes, but René wasn’t feeling the beauty. He was trying to decide whether he was on the verge of an explosion or a nervous breakdown. Yet, he knew he should be happy. Grand-mere was
going to be okay, and she seemed excited about the next phase of her life, living in community with people her age. That was good news.

  Less than good news, the riggers and ship’s carpenters had patched her leaks and proclaimed the Tourbillon seaworthy. They said she wasn’t very pretty, and she’d be a constant headache, but she was strong enough to brave the Atlantic if the weather held out and they didn’t encounter a string of unlucky events.

  Was the ship cursed? Would Grand-pere say she was?

  No. The old man would say that he made a mistake and the Tourbillon shouldn’t pay for it. She was just a ship in the same way the watch on René’s wrist was just a watch. René sighed. He would try to stop hating the old wooden yacht.

  CeCe in that damned sloppy T-shirt and stretch knit mini-skirt should probably be one of the unlucky events. She was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen, and he’d promised not to touch her. Promised he wouldn’t even try. And here she was facing him from the stern of the boat, stroking and cuddling his grand-mere’s damned dog from hell. Come to think of it, his grand-mere had seemed overly protective and loving toward the Swedish massage therapist while grinding away at him for being disobedient, ungrateful and a general shit.

  Was he in the middle of some feminist nightmare? He couldn’t win, but he’d be damned if he’d fawn over a dog who acted like she wanted to take a bite out of him just for the hell of it.

  “What is taking you so long?” CeCe asked, her voice full of cloying sweetness. Chienne echoed her annoyance with a sharp little bark.

  “The last time I started the outboard motor, you complained about the gasoline smell making you nauseous. Now you say rowing takes too long. Make up your mind. You can’t have it both ways.”

  “I’m sorry, you’re right, but can’t you row a little faster?”

  “Excuse me, but with you, her highness, all our provisions, and your ‘project’ stowed in here, the going is a bit slow.” He grunted to emphasize the exertion. He stopped rowing to pull off his shirt to keep from soaking his remaining clean piece of clothing with sweat. He continued rowing as his muscles flexed and rolled under his smooth skin.