Furious

  “I think it’s a great white.”

  “Like Jaws. See, it’s dangerous.”

  “That was a movie. Sharks don’t feed on people, well . . . not often.”

  “I didn’t know great white sharks inhabited the Indian Ocean.”

  “The most common man-eaters in the Indian Ocean are whitetips, but tigers, bulls, and great whites hunt these waters too. Western Australia has the highest concentration of great whites in the world, and it’s not too far from here.”

  “You think it swam from Australia?”

  “Great whites are predators. They move with the seasons and follow prey. Their migratory patterns usually keep them close to shore, but females sometimes go deep.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know, but I read somewhere that females are different. For the past decade we’ve had a great white problem off Cape Cod. Conservation laws caused the seal population to surge, and that brought the sharks. A great white killed a swimmer a few years ago.”

  A school of fish jumped into the air, twenty yards away. Long boney fish broke the surface as if they were trying to fly.

  “What are those fish doing?” I asked.

  “They’re fleeing from a predator. The shark is somewhere behind them and headed their way. They’re flying out of the water to avoid getting eaten.”

  The gray fin broke the surface ten yards off our port side. It slowed and matched our speed again.

  “What the hell is it doing?”

  “No clue.”

  “It makes me nervous.”

  “Just stay in the boat.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  I manned the helm while Brad picked at his food in the cockpit. His appetite had diminished, and he had lost weight since Bali.

  “So far, we’ve had a pirate scare, a monsoon, and a great white shark,” I said. “You chose a unique way to draw me out of my depression.”

  Brad rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes. He seemed weaker and more agitated every day, but he would not let me examine him.

  “I doubt those were pirates, and you performed well in the storm,” Brad said. “The shark isn’t a danger to us either. I hoped this trip would help you. I—”

  “It is helping. I know you did this to snap me out of my funk and bring me back to life. Getting away from Boston, getting away from everything, has given me some perspective. I’m thankful.”

  “Good. I’m sorry, I haven’t been as supportive as I could have been. This has been stressful for both of us. Losing Emma crushed me too.”

  My eyes widened with surprise. Brad never apologized for anything. He had been trying to be nicer to me on this trip. He had serious flaws, but at least he made an effort. I needed to try harder too—for him.

  “I’m sure this year has been hell for you too. This trip was a clever idea, and I know you did it to help me recover.”

  Brad tried to smile but grimaced instead. “There’s, uh, something . . .” He broke eye contact and stared at the horizon.

  “What is it? I thought you’d be happy I came around to your plan.”

  Brad faced me. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

  That did not sound good.

  “What is it?”

  “I didn’t plan this trip just to help you. I wanted to leave Boston because the hospital suspended me.”

  “What?”

  “I told you about the malpractice lawsuit, but it’s worse than that. I’m suspended, pending an internal investigation.”

  “You only told me about the malpractice suit after I heard about it from a friend. Would you have told me if I hadn’t found out on my own?”

  “Of course, I—”

  “Why didn’t you mention the suspension then?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. It’s embarrassing.”

  “You should be more embarrassed about hiding it from me.”

  “I know. I—”

  “You what, Brad?”

  “It’s hard to . . . it’s not good. I think they’re planning to fire me.”

  “I’m sorry you’re going through this, but I could have supported you if I’d known.”

  “Why are you mad?”

  I stuck my hands on my hips, indignation building inside me, like steam inside a teapot. “You lied to me.”

  “I didn’t lie, I just didn’t tell you. It’s not—”

  “It’s a lie by omission. We’re supposed to be in this together. What else are you omitting?” I asked.

  “What does that mean?”

  “You know what it means. What else aren’t you telling me?”

  “Nothing. There’s nothing else?” he said.

  “Nothing else? No one else?”

  “What do you mean ‘no one else?’ What are you saying?”

  I pinched my lips. I could not accuse him of having an affair without a shred of evidence, but I sensed it. I knew it.

  “Now’s the time to come clean. I want to hear all of it.”

  Brad sat on the couch. “Okay, there’s more.”

  I held my breath.

  “I’m not having an affair, if that’s what you’re implying, but I didn’t tell you about something else.” He closed his eyes for a moment then looked away. “A patient sued me for malpractice in my previous position at Suffolk County Hospital. It’s the reason I left and went to New England General Hospital. They, uh, they asked me to resign.”

  “When?”

  “Right before General Hospital hired me.”

  A knot tightened in my stomach. The practice of medicine had become a litigious endeavor, and being sued for malpractice had grown more common, but if Suffolk County Hospital had asked Brad to resign, they must have found him at fault in the earlier lawsuit. Forcing him to leave was almost an admission of wrongdoing.

  “Did Suffolk County lose the suit?

  “They settled to make it go away.”

  I realized I was biting my nails and pulled my finger out of my mouth. “I’m surprised General Hospital hired you with a recent malpractice lawsuit on your record.”

  “This is hard for me to talk about,” Brad said.

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “Obviously.”

  “General Hospital hired me because of my parents.”

  Brad had not told me his family sat on the board of directors at New England General Hospital until after we were married. I had known they were wealthy and occupied many boards, but their interests ran to finance, not medicine. I never connected Brad’s coming to New England General Hospital with his parents’ influence, but I had not known about his spotty record.

  “They asked the hospital administrator to hire you?”

  Brad stared down the companionway and would not meet my eyes. “Yes.”

  I felt nothing but contempt for him. Committing malpractice was bad enough, but worse, he had used his parent’s influence to secure a new position. His insecurity, his competition with me, his need to prove he was better—it all made sense now. Maybe I could forgive him for his weakness, but I would not tolerate his lies.

  “This trip, this last minute getaway, was about you fleeing an unpleasant situation. It wasn’t for me at all, was it? You wanted to escape—”

  “That’s not true. I thought this trip would help you.”

  “You should have told me about your suspension.”

  “I’m telling you now,” Brad yelled. “I don’t feel well, and I don’t need this shit. Take the wheel.” He stomped
down the companionway and slammed the stateroom door.

  I stood in the helm, unsure of what I was doing behind the wheel or in our marriage. Something caught my eye, and I turned. The shark’s dorsal fin cut through the yacht’s wake.

  The great white stalked us.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Brad stayed below, complaining of increased nausea and weakness, leaving me to sail the yacht alone. I could fool myself into thinking it was a sign he trusted me, but he probably checked the instruments in the salon to make sure we stayed on course. Even if he did, I still sailed the boat by myself. Me—piloting a yacht at sea—something I had never imagined doing. Maybe immersion behavioral therapy worked.

  My anger at Brad dissipated, not because I forgave him, but because his lying about his suspension did not surprise me. It was his nature. Would I get angry at a dog for eating a piece of food off the floor? Brad was scared, weak, flawed in many ways, and his efforts to hide his true character from me had failed in less than a year. I saw through him, saw his incompetence, saw his violence.

  Brad, the rich, gorgeous, doctor—the surgeon everyone thought was perfect—was a deeply insecure man. Maybe his lack of confidence came from having his parents give him whatever he wanted, from toys as a child, to admission into college, to a job at New England General Hospital. Brad had never needed to fend for himself, to cut his teeth in the world, to survive by his own merit. Down deep, he knew it, and that knowledge had eaten away his confidence. It made him competitive, petty, and afraid. Brad pretended to be a successful surgeon and a powerful man, but he knew he was not. Now, I knew it too. No, I was not angry at Brad. His behavior reflected who he was, and he would not change. Not ever.

  He had denied having an affair, but I still felt the toxic infection of suspicion. I did not have evidence, but did I need to prove it? My suspicion meant I did not trust him, and that was the death knell for our relationship. Maybe it was unfair to punish him for my insecurity, but my feelings were genuine and his flaws real. Did I have to remain loyal to him? To our marriage?

  A faint breeze, thick and salty, blew out of the northeast and tousled my hair, but I did not tie it into a ponytail. I enjoyed the way nature touched me, caressed me. Being on the sea, away from everything and everyone, made me feel natural, forced me to search inward, allowed me to feel human again.

  The yacht bobbed, almost stationary. The sails luffed and hung from the mast and I pulled in the boom to trim them, but nothing worked, and they fluttered, powerless. I became a child flying a kite on a windless day. I set the autopilot and wandered the deck.

  The sun dipped low, an orange, shimmering ball hovering over the horizon. Rays of light glittered off the waves. The surface glistened, the air cooled, and the sea smelled stronger, fishier. I stood in the bow riding the swells above the submerged mountains of an aquatic wilderness, as millions of mariners had done before me. Evenings uncloaked a magical quality, hinted at the unknown world below, offered the promise of adventure.

  I bobbed on the current, as if I rode atop the bloodstream of the earth itself, and I experienced something unexpected and transformative. For the first time, I understood the vastness of the universe and the smallness of man, but still cherished the significance of a single life. Man was nothing—and everything. My actions had little effect on the universe, yet I was part of it, connected to all beings, a small piece of something bigger. I had never been religious, but I opened myself to the existence of something greater than myself, a spiritual presence. I did not believe in God in the mythological sense, but the universe, galaxy, and the sea before me had all been created. I had been created. I was part of this, and I felt it deep in my cells. In my heart. In my soul.

  I exhaled, and the stress left my body, a red cloud of anger, betrayal, and frustration streaming from me. I lifted my eyes to the heavens and saw the first stars sparkling in the nautical twilight. I sensed Emma with me. I pictured her, and instead of suffering the wrenching pain of grief, I warmed with her love.

  I felt connected.

  Did getting away from the daily stress of my life in Boston allow me to unwind? Did removing myself from the house where tragedy struck give me distance? Maybe escaping the constant sympathy and pity provided me with the space to see myself as whole. Sailing the yacht gave me a sense of accomplishment again, made me forget how my life had collapsed.

  Maybe the visceral danger of sailing on blue water had put things into perspective. Out here, it was harder to generate anxiety about esoteric concepts or to drown in negative emotions. Being at sea and in constant peril made me focus on the present, on the world as it existed. Sailing while worrying about things I could not change was like running from a bear and stressing about my taxes. The sea brought life and death, and my ability to reason—not my emotions—was my tool to survive.

  I lay on the deck and watched the stars grow brighter.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  I stared across the table at Brad, both of us silent. We had not discussed his suspension again after our fight. I felt a little better for the first time in a long time, so why ruin my mood with a confrontation? The psychological contentment I experienced had massaged my soul and given me a moment of peace in the storm. I could not lose it. Not yet.

  I ate my salad and smiled at him. I softened my expression, careful to keep any judgment or criticism off my face. I averted my eyes, like a polite stranger on the sidewalk. I come in peace.

  Brad had slept for hours, his symptoms worsening. He seemed much weaker than yesterday, and his food lay untouched on his plate.

  He leaned back and leered at my body. It had been hot all day, and I had shed my shorts and tee shirt in favor of my Brazilian bikini—a gift from Brad. My more modest swimsuit sat in the washing machine, and I wore this for the first time. My breasts bulged out of it and the thong left little to the imagination.

  He stared at my chest without an ounce of self-consciousness. Apparently, he had forgotten our fight and did not care what I thought about him. Men were simple. His eyes glazed over from the wine. Almost nothing remained in the second bottle, and I had only consumed one glass. I had seen that look before. Brad was drunk and horny.

  “You’ve got a sexy body, Dags.”

  “Thanks,” I said, and covered my chest with my arms.

  “I mean it. You make me hot.”

  I looked at the water.

  “I want to fuck you,” he said. Crass, brazen.

  “Aren’t you sick? How can you think about sex when you can barely hold your head upright?”

  “I can’t help it. I’m a man.”

  “Listen. I know it’s been a long time, but—”

  Brad lunged, grabbed me around the waist with one hand and squeezed my ass with the other. He dropped his head over my bikini top and wrapped his lips over the material.

  “Brad, no.”

  I tried to push him off, but he pressed his body flush against me, and I felt his arousal against my leg. He was much stronger than me and I could not physically stop him if he was determined. Brad reached between my thighs and rubbed me over my bikini bottom. I grabbed his wrist and tried to pull his hand away. He slipped his fingers under the fabric and touched me.

  “I said, no. Stop it right now.”

  Brad’s paused but kept his hand inside my bikini. He scowled with the sour expression of a scolded child.

  “It’s been six months,” he said, slurring. “I need sex.”

  “I don’t feel sexual, I—”

  “You’re my wife. You have an obligation . . . we have an obligation to each other. Goddammit.”

  I wanted to lash out at him, to stomp my feet and yell. My sex drive had always been healthy and denying him his r
elease was not like me, but he knew why I had lost interest. He knew what had happened. I opened my mouth to protest.

  “Fine . . . okay,” I said.

  His eyes opened wide. “Really?”

  I had surprised myself too. It had just slipped out. Maybe it was guilt, or maybe I wanted to get it over with, so he would stop asking. Maybe I wanted it too.

  “Yes, but a quickie. Let’s do it before I change my mind.”

  Brad smiled like he had won the lottery. My hesitation and lack of enthusiasm did not seem to diminish his libido. He reached around my thighs and pulled me towards him, sliding me onto my back. He hooked his thumbs under my bikini bottoms and pulled them past my knees, exposing me. The breeze tickled my skin, enhanced my nakedness.

  “Here?”

  “There isn’t another person for hundreds of miles. I want to hurry, while I still have permission.”

  He slipped my bikini bottom over my feet and dropped it on the deck. He leaned close and pulled the drawstring of my top. It fell away, and I slipped it off. It may have been the sea breeze or six months of abstinence, but my body seemed ready, even if my mind was not. Brad stepped out of his swimsuit, erect, and his eyes flared with prurient desire. He mounted me without taking his shirt off.

  I had little appetite for sex and my feelings about Brad were confused. I had committed to abstinence after Emma died, not as a conscious choice, but from a lack of interest. How could I feel pleasure while I grieved? How could I allow myself to have fun, to seek selfish gratification? My denial had gone on for so long, it seemed normal.

  Brad guided himself inside me, and though I was wet and ready, it still hurt when he entered me. I had not touched myself in six months and this intrusion felt like the night I lost my virginity on the floor of my parent’s living room. A pinch of pain followed by pleasure.

  Brad groaned and moved in and out of me, his eyes locked on my nipples, like my body existed for his pleasure. He had not even kissed me. I gazed at the stars and cleared my mind of dark thoughts. I concentrated on the physical sensations and my body warmed and tensed. My anxiety faded behind the familiar tingle, the flow of blood, the building pressure. I arched my back and rubbed against him, rocking back and forth with his motion—faster, desirous, lustful. I throbbed and my mind grew fuzzy.