Up Too Close

by Stein, Andrea K.

  A roar of happy agreement rose from the dock. Of course this crowd wouldn’t miss out on a party.

  René thought of the words, Festa do Divino Espirito Santo, the Festival of the Holy Spirit. He’d heard stories of wild, boisterous Portuguese parties on the feast day of the Holy Ghost.

  The mob of party-goers hauled CeCe onto their shoulders and took off from the shipyard, along with Augie, Mika, and Zarco.

  One of the shipyard employees caught René’s eye and motioned for him to join him. He explained they would use the dockside crane to haul the Tourbillon into dry dock. She’d be taken from the water and put onto a wooden cradle for repairs.

  “What will it cost to get her seaworthy again?” René asked.

  The other man’s eyes traveled from René’s soaked, stained jeans to his foul weather jacket encrusted with the remains of his battle with the bilge.

  “I’m not sure you can afford what this will cost, my friend,” he said, and patted René on the back. “You’re lucky your wife has family in Horta, and your father-in-law is a very wealthy man.”

  Suddenly René realized what the rest of the world, including CeCe’s family and friends, must think of him based on outward appearances only.

  “No, no, you misunderstand,” René said. “I am only the delivery captain. And CeCe is just my first mate.”

  The man said nothing, but gave him an understanding wink.

  René ignored the innuendo and said, “No, really, the ship’s owner can afford whatever needs to be done. Just call this number,” René said and handed the man one of Devin Manning’s many business cards which would connect him to one of Devin’s many cellphones. His grand-mere might own the boat, but Manning’s name was still on all of the paperwork. “I’ve raised the yellow quarantine flag on her port shroud, but I’ll just walk down the dock a ways until you’ve hoisted her out of the water. I’ll be back to retrieve our gear and go through Customs when you’re finished.”

  “Fine,” the man said. “We’ll put a rolling ladder at her side so you can get what you need off the ship before we start work on her.”

  By the time René finished with the shipyard manager, the crowd had disappeared. Which was fine by him.

  René hadn’t been to Horta in a while, and he wanted to soak up some of the atmosphere before he had to face CeCe and her family. He walked from the shipyard section to the regular harbor. It was a special place, the concrete walls and walkways adorned with paintings from visiting ships’ crews. Every kind of painting filled even squares in the concrete. Each painting was inscribed with the names of boats, children, couples, and families.

  Next to a whale spout cartoon words proclaimed the LeSaffre family had sailed to the Azores on their way to America. A stick-figure boat was captained by a single stick figure man, Chinese by the look of the ornate characters. Another showed a beautiful painting of a sunset, done by someone named Nguyen.

  A light rain pattered down, and he was alone. But he knew he wouldn’t be left behind for long. CeCe would find him, or her brothers, so they could pick another fight. He couldn’t really blame them, since he was doing lewd things with their sister. If he’d had a sister, he would’ve been just as protective.

  The mist wet his hair and shoulders as he walked on, enjoying the dreams and memories of strangers who had painted a part of their lives onto the concrete.

  Then he stopped in his tracks. He hardly felt the rain. Something deep moved in him, filling him with warm wonder.

  There on the ground was the painting of an old ship that could have been the Tourbillon’s mother. It was the Zephyr, the ship his grand-mere had spoke of. The painting was done with some skill, but had nearly faded away, though it was clear that over the years it had been touched up. The yacht sat in front of a smoking volcano, and written were the words, Je vous remercie pour le feu, Phillipe, or thank you for the fire. It was signed by Marie-Aude Baudoin and dated May 12, 1958. René’s grand-mere would’ve been twenty-two. And René’s grand-pere, Phillipe, a couple of years older.

  So his grandparents had come here on their adventures aboard the Zephyr. René checked his father’s watch, and yes, it was May 12, fifty-nine years later to the day.

  René felt gooseflesh break across his arms. “You helped us get here, Grand-pere. And Grand-mere, so far I’ve kept my end of the bargain. I have taken care of the dog, the woman, and the boat. Now, more than ever, I understand why you couldn’t let go of Tourbillon.”

  A set of brown shoes strode across the painting and stopped. Two Adidas, laced up tight, followed. René glanced up. Mika and Augie.

  Both glared at him. Augie spoke first. “Pai told us to come find you. Took us long enough, but we heard some French guy was down here.”

  Mika took over. “We can help you grab your things and take you to our house. But first, you and CeCe. Tell us, are you going to marry her?”

  René stiffened. He wanted to bash their heads together. Augie was young enough and stupid enough. Him he could take. Mika, muscled and slim, would be more of a chore, but René was up to the task.

  However, René could answer their question honestly, standing before the sacred painting of the Zephyr.

  “I love your sister,” René said. “We haven’t talked about marriage, and it’s none of your business. But I will say, if I could spend my life with one woman in this world, it would be your sister.”

  Augie gave a derisive huff and crossed his arms.

  Mika, though, gave him a slow smile. “That’s good,” he said. “Maybe we won’t have to kick your ass too much.”

  The two brothers walked on toward the parking lot. René didn’t move, until Mika turned around. “Come on, slowpoke. You play football?”

  René had to think for a second, he’d spent so much time in the company of Americans, the word had become perverted with yards and beer commercials. Football? Mika meant soccer. “Oui, I play. What man doesn’t?”

  Mika nodded. “No one I would want to know.”

  René joined the brothers. “I have to clear Customs and get our gear from the Tourbillon before I can leave the docks,” René said.

  “That’s all right,” Mika said. “We’ll help move things along.”

  Augie remained sullen and distant, but Mika seemed to have warmed up. As warm as a brother could be who suspected him of doing the nasty with his sister.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Day Thirty, May 12

  North of Horta

  On the Road to Zarco’s Compound

  CeCe sat next to her father while he drove his old truck around the curve on the way to their home. Chienne lay asleep curled over her lap.

  The scenery was so familiar, the narrow asphalt road, the trees, the gray sky, and the rain. Even that particular curve in the road, bordered by hydrangea, so familiar it might have been a part of her. She had an odd deja-vu moment, down to her father driving with one hand on the wheel and shifting frequently, whether he needed to or not. And the truck, stuffed full of papers and plans outlining a million different schemes.

  CeCe found a receipt for a web designer in Delhi, India, under a pile of colorful Zarco Mountain Bike Tours brochures. At her feet rolled an empty bottle of Zarco beer, which had failed when she was twelve. Her father hadn’t cared because he’d jumped onto a far more lucrative business, Zarco Whale Watching, Incorporated. Then he’d been mayor for a while. And he had ranches and farms spread across all nine of the islands of the Azores.

  “So, what’s next? Are you going to start writing software for the island?” CeCe asked.

  “Already did that, years ago. Web-hosting too,” her father grinned. “But Hélder doesn’t like computers. He likes being outside. I told him there’s far more money to be made on the internet, but he’s stubborn, like me, and like, well, you know who.”

  “Mom,” CeCe said, and immediately hated mentioning her mother in front of her father.

  Zarco frowned and nodded, changing the subject immediately. “I’m retired now. Hél
der runs everything. I’m just an old man who sits with other old men in town and talks about the old days. We complain about the government and brag about what we would do if suddenly somebody made us all kings. Which no one would ever, ever want.”

  CeCe touched her father’s hand. “No, really? Retired?”

  He winked at her. “Not really, but Hélder likes to think so. And I prefer the company of women to men. You remember the Widow Villareal. Well, she is a wild cat, that one.”

  “Pai, please, no,” CeCe said. “I don’t need to hear about your love life.”

  She couldn’t quite believe it was her father who sat next to her. He seemed so relaxed. During her childhood, he’d been on the phone all the time, yelling. Of course, he used his own cellphone service company he ran on the island. He’d been rich, but busy, and quick to scowl. Not anymore.

  Zarco shifted and shook his head. “CeCe, I don’t want you to feel bad for leaving home and not wanting to come back. I understand that it wasn’t easy growing up with me and your brothers. Maybe I should’ve re-married, but my heart, she broke my heart.”

  And to CeCe’s complete shock, a tear leaked out of the corner of one of her father’s eyes.

  He cleared his throat and made a quick pass with his hand across his eye, as if something had blown in. “But that is all now in the history books. I have to say, I didn’t take it well, but Father Lusco and I talked every week, thank you, God. I learned much. Maybe I should have called you. Maybe. But I push, you say no, and you stay away. But if I don’t push, I think maybe you’ll come back, and then you are here, and I am happy.”

  “I’m happy too, Pai,” CeCe said, petting the sleeping Chienne. “And a little nervous. You knew I was coming, didn’t you?”

  “There is a man,” Zarco said. “He calls me, and he is very mysterious. He says you are first mate to Captain René Baudoin on the Tourbillon. So then when I hear on the radio your ship is coming into port, I know you have to be aboard.

  Shit, CeCe thought. If that damned Manning had leaked anything about her pregnancy to her father, she’d murder the little bastard herself.

  “José says this Captain Baudoin has quite the reputation with the ladies. Are the stories true?” Her father’s lips folded into his mouth in his usual frown of disapproval.

  Here we go, CeCe thought. At least he wasn’t carrying on about the baby. Maybe her secret was still safe.

  Zarco waited.

  “Are all the stories about you, the rich man, Abílio Zarco, true?” CeCe asked.

  Her father burst into laughter. “CeCe, my daughter. Oh, how you always could turn it back on me. The old Zarco would’ve shouted, I have no doubt!”

  “You’re shouting now,” CeCe pointed out.

  “The Zarco is shouting because he is happy!” he yelled. “You cannot make him angry! He is changed.”

  “So has René Baudoin,” CeCe said.

  Her father tipped his head at her. “Always the last word with you. Zarco never had a chance!”

  “Don’t talk about yourself in the third person,” CeCe said with a laugh.

  Chienne, woken moments before by Zarco’s loud voice, barked.

  “See!” her father yelled, smiling. “Even the dog! I never had a chance!”

  * * *

  René rode squashed between the two brothers, Mika driving, on René’s right and Augie scowling by the door on his left. They were in one of the family trucks, marked with a stylized “Z” on the side, faded and scratched. In the back, under tarps lay René and CeCe’s gear.

  The two brothers pointedly asked about a football game the next day, daring him to decline. René didn’t, but he kept his answers vague. Oui, if they wanted a friendly game of football, he would try not to embarrass himself.

  By the time they drove up, the party was in full swing. They parked behind a wide variety of other cars, many French made, imported from Europe, as well as mopeds, motorcycles, and bicycles.

  Zarco’s estate faced the eastern sky. The wide, rambling, red-roofed house sat on a cliffside overlooking a black-sanded beach and the ocean. Like everywhere else on Faial, a lush covering of flora surrounded the sprawling home. The brothers banged out of the truck. René slid out after them. Instead of following right away, he stopped to make sure the tarps still covered their bags and gear in the bed.

  René wound his way through corridors, led by the sounds of the party.

  On the veranda facing the sea, a bonfire roared in the courtyard even as the rain drizzled down. Awnings kept the party-goers dry as they drank beer and poncha, something the brothers described as a traditional Portuguese drink. A few men and women attended massive portable kerosene stoves and stirred huge vats of paella.

  René grabbed a Santo Graal and cracked it open. It was good beer. He’d had it before. The brothers, thank God, left him alone. Clearly, they were less than thrilled about him. What about CeCe’s father?

  Yes, there had been the embrace and the kisses, but that might have been for show. What were CeCe’s father’s real feelings for him?

  Zarco rose, calling for silence. He got it. René stood off to the side. CeCe sat on an old folding chair next to the fire. The flames glowed across her skin. She look flushed, either from the heat or from the embarrassment of being at the center of attention.

  “CeCe, I know you have been gone a long time,” Zarco said. “When I heard you were on the Tourbillon on your way here, I had special poncha made for you. And here it is.”

  An older, rounder, attractive woman walked close with a tray of cups and held one out to CeCe.

  She jumped up and took the loaded tray from the woman, set it on the stone wall surrounding the patio, and enfolded the woman in her arms. “Teresa,” she said. “I didn’t expect you to still be here, working for …him.”

  Zarco’s face turned ruddy, and he bowed to both of them. René watched it all, looking for clues for why CeCe wouldn’t have wanted to come home. He still didn’t understand.

  Everyone clapped and whistled while CeCe reached down for one of the cups full of poncha. In a loud voice, she said, “My family and friends! I only have one thing to say. And that is, saúde!” And she tipped the cup back.

  Everyone shouted and drank their own, but René’s eyes never left CeCe’s. Had she drunk from the cup? Hard to say. She hadn’t been drinking with him aboard Tourbillon, but maybe she didn’t like hard alcohol. He could change that in seconds. All he had to do was let her sample some of his favorite wines. God might have created grapes, but the French perfected them.

  René moved toward CeCe to ask about Chienne. He couldn’t find the old girl anywhere. Part of him resented all the people and partying breaking up his little family. The four of them had spent weeks alone together—CeCe, Chienne, René, and the Tourbillon. It didn’t feel right to be winnowed down to only two.

  René hadn’t gone two steps when Mika latched on to him. Before René could fight him off, the mellower of CeCe’s two brothers marched him up to three women, all of them dark-haired, smoky-eyed, and red-lipped. Cheeks blushed and dimpled in three perfect smiles.

  “You, my friend,” Mika said, “need to meet some of CeCe’s school friends. This is Bibiana, Branca, and Britesia.”

  René immediately felt the pull to work his magic, to be the exotic sea captain, and dazzle them all with his flirting. And this, he knew, was what Mika expected. It was an obvious trap.

  René stuck out a hand, half-shook all their limp fingers, and moved away quickly. “Oui, oui, nice to meet you, but I want to check on CeCe. We’ll talk later.”

  And he left them, not turning to see how they reacted to his lightning speed politeness. What could those three give him but a probable venereal disease and texts he’d have to delete? That part of his life was over. A strange feeling of relief filled him. He hadn’t exactly stopped to think about it, but all the previous games of love had become too predictable and kind of sad.

  Thumping music broke out from speakers under the patio roof.
Abba’s “Dancing Queen” sent everyone moving and swaying.

  CeCe grooved up to him and caught his arms and drew him into dancing. Which René did easily. Who didn’t like Abba?

  He dipped his mouth to her ear, “Where is Chienne?”

  “Inside sleeping,” CeCe said. “She found a nice bed with my father’s Dobermans away from all these people.”

  “All these people!” René said. “And why didn’t you want to come home?”

  CeCe gripped his arm hard. “You’ll know soon enough. Mika introduced you to the Horta whores?”

  René had to laugh. “Friends of yours? That’s what he said.”

  “Friends, yes, but only until high school and then we went very different ways. They care only about snagging handsome, rich husbands to take care of them. And they’ll do anything to get one. Even if they have to do brothers. Multiple times.”

  “Oh, so they are the Zarco brothers’ playthings?” René asked.

  CeCe’s face darkened. “I hate that you said that, but it’s true enough. They come from a bad family, and sometimes, I feel sorry for them. But not too sorry.” She kissed him and let her lips linger on his, soft, warm and wet. “But I don’t want to talk about them. Are my brothers being nice to you?”

  “No,” René said. “Not at all. One wants to cut out my heart.”

  “That would be Augie.”

  René nodded. “Yes. And the other is pretending to be my buddy.”

  “Mika.”

  “And where’s Hélder?” René asked.

  “Working,” CeCe replied. “He has become Little Zarco, and while my family doesn’t need the money, Hélder can’t stop himself from conquering the Azores’ tourism industry.”

  “So you have three powerful brothers and a wealthy, loving father,” René said. “Why didn’t you want to come home?”

  CeCe didn’t respond. She pulled him close and they danced, surrounded by people, and the music changed to the Black-Eyed Peas and “Let’s Get It Started.” Then The Gypsy Kings, euro-pop, and then wonderful songs from René’s country, Stromae and Indila. Then the music pulsated back to flamenco-infused dance beats.