Anchors Aweigh - 6 (24 page)

Now thats what you call your low blow. And cold.

“Call?” I managed. “I heard. Man…wife?”

“You heard Ben checking to make sure I’d canceled the life insurance policy Steve and I held. Plus, he’d had to smooth things over with Sherri to get her to come on the cruise in the first place. Ben and I had been seeing each other for over two years—before I hit the jackpot so to speak. To make our plan work, Ben had to convince Sherri all was well in their marriage so she would make this trip. I told him if she suspected he was involved with someone else—and found out it was me later on—it could pose a real problem for us. When I bought the winning ticket, we had to cool it. So nobody would suspect. We were careful. We used untraceable cell phones to make our plans. Met in towns counties away from our homes.” She shook her head. “All that time we spent. Now we’ll have to go back to the drawing board. Still, accidents happen all the time. We’ll think of something, won’t we, Ben? But now, we need to finish our business here. Let’s get on with it, shall we? No use putting unpleasant tasks off It only makes them more difficult. Right, hon?”

Here be monsters, I thought as I began to panic in earnest.

Although my limbs felt like I was wearing heavy chain mail, I flailed around and struck out in a meager attempt to resist being rolled over on my stomach, my face submerged, my lungs filled with water. I’d seen enough of those crime shows to know I didn’t want to end up a floater-and-bloater on some cold morgue slab.

My efforts were futile. I was flipped over with the ease of a pancake being turned. A heavy hand on the back of my head forced my face into the approaching tide. I held my breath for as long as I could and struggled against the weight keeping me underwater, the waves crashing over me. I was out of air.

And really out of time.

I gasped and water entered my lungs, the pain intense. Burning.

So this was how I was going out: floating up on some beach somewhere with every little guppy in the sea taking a bite out of me. Another outfit ruined.

I was close to losing consciousness. My final thoughts were of Rick.

So what if he didn’t want to marry me? Who said I was ready for marriage anyway? So what if I’d made a total fool of myself in my wedding finery and my pathetic posies? None of that changed the way I felt about Ranger Rick.

And with those thoughts came the realization that, in spite of years of ambivalence, despite long-time resistance and long-term fear of heartbreak, I loved Ranger Rick—had loved him for as long as I could remember—but had never had the courage or confidence to tell him. And now, just when I had mustered up the will to do it, I’d waited too long. My time was up.

Townsend would never know how I truly felt about him. How I’d always felt about him. It looked like I was the biggest loser after all.

My lungs were in distress. My arms flopped weakly at my sides. I felt the current tug at me. All fight was now merely for stubborn show, my strength ebbing with each passing second. Who’d a-thought? Tressa Turner: guppy food. So not the way I wanted to go out.

I prepared myself to lose consciousness. To see the bright light the black-haired Melinda talked about on
Ghost Whisperer
and to run like hell toward that light like a little baby and get it over with already when the pressure forcing my face into the water suddenly disappeared and I found myself floating to the surface like a drunken bobber. As soon as my mouth broke the plane of the water, I sucked air in and spewed water out. It hurt so good.

I puked and gagged for a minute longer, then began to strike out in choppy breaststrokes in the direction of the shore. What seemed like forever later, I pulled myself up onto completely dry sand, coughing to clear my lungs, the pain in my chest easing with each purging cough. I dragged myself further up the beach, clawing at the ground like a lifeline, and then collapsed, rolling over on my back, breathing like an emphysema patient.

Something appeared above me. Not a bright light, but perhaps an angel.

“Daddy?” I said. “Daddy?”

It couldn’t be. I was hallucinating. Or dead. What would my dad be doing here?

“Tressa? Honey? Are you all right?”

Tears stung my eyes. Suddenly I was six years old again with scabs on my knees, chipped front teeth, running crying to my daddy, the shivering, squealing body of a baby rabbit I’d accidentally stepped on in my arms.

“Daddy?”

“I’m here, kiddo. Dad’s here,” he said.

I shook my head. “Is this heaven?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No. And it sure as hell isn’t Iowa either,” he said. “Unfortunately.”

He helped me sit up.

“What happened?” I asked. I looked over and saw Ben Hall stone-cold unconscious on the beach, a rather large rock next to him. Beside Ben, Courtney Kayser was also laid out. My mom straddled her chest, apparently maintaining enough pressure on her carotid with her knee to keep her compliant. “Mom? Mom! How? What?” I said.

“There’s still a little bit of the weekend warrior in the old man,” my dad said with a wink. “And your mom? She deals with the I.R.S. for a living. This little skirmish? A piece of cake.”

“How did you know?”

“We followed you,” my dad said.

I frowned. “You. You two were the ones who’ve been following me? Why?” I asked.

“That memory-loss story? I knew it was pure Tressa fiction right away,” my dad said. “You forget. I was there when you told the doc that you were pushed. I could tell from your face that you meant it. I told your mom. Neither one of us was sure what was behind it—but we were determined to keep an eye on you. You sure didn’t make it easy. We lost you a couple times. I had to recruit Manny and Rick at various times to help out.”

I blinked. They hadn’t been shacked up in their cabin, after all. They’d been the ones following me all along, looking out for their little girl. Looking out for me! My throat got tight.

“So…Rick knows?”

“He knew something was up with you right away, but like us he had no clue just what it was. It was only when we spoke to Manny and he told us about the conversation you overheard that we finally put it together,” my dad said.

“Rick knows that I told Manny about the phone call I heard?” I said, feeling my chest tighten again. This time in stark, cold doom.

My dad nodded.

“What I can’t figure out is why you went to that Wedding Bell Isle, Tressa,” my mother said. “At first we thought you were just having a drink with a friend, but then you fainted and your friends scurried you off to a waiting car before we could stop them. We were fortunate we didn’t lose you altogether. We lost sight of the car and it took us a while to track you down. What were you doing at that wedding service?”

“Dreaming,” I said. “Dreaming of a wedding,” I added, retrieving my wedding invite from Courtney’s belongings. I handed my mother the card. “That’s how they got me to leave the ship alone,” I told her, watching her face grow solemn as she read the note.

She handed the card to my dad.

“And you went,” she said. “Oh, Tressa, I’m so sorry,” she said, reaching out to grab my hand and pull me down to give me a tight hug. “So, so sorry, sweetie.”

“Me, too, kiddo,” my dad said, coming to kneel beside us and pat my back.

“Do me a favor?” I asked my parents.

“Of course,” my mother responded. “Anything.”

“Don’t tell Townsend,” I said. “Please, please, don’t tell Rick.”

My mom looked at my dad and he nodded.

“Okay, kiddo,” he said. “If that’s what you want.”

I nodded.

“So…what do we do now?” I said.

“Someone needs to hoof it up around the cove and get help,” my dad replied.

I looked at my mom. “Rock, paper, scissors?”

She looked at me.

“I’m going. I’m going,” I said.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The authorities had been notified. The FBI called in. Statements taken. Ben and Courtney were being held on numerous charges. Sherri was in shock. Steve was incensed.

Courtney hadn’t yet divulged the whereabouts of the winning lottery ticket, but Steve planned to make a thorough search for it and, if Courtney did somehow try to cash it in, lottery officials were ordered to withhold payment until legal disputes relating to the cash award had been adjudicated. I wondered if Courtney would hold on to it and let it become worthless rather than splitting the winnings with Steve, or if she would give it to someone else to redeem. It would have to be someone she trusted, I decided, and I didn’t think with her recent history that would be an easy thing to find. Still, she could decide half of five million was better than nothing. And she might need those winnings to bankroll her criminal defense.

I’d been checked out by Bones Baker and declared healthy as a horse. I’d admitted my little amnesia deceit to him. He was very understanding, considering the fact that he, as a medical professional, had been duped.

Coral had been told the truth about David Frazier Compton and his other life and other wife and his admission that he had, indeed, lied about the accident and Coral had struck a critter and not a person. David had created the elaborate hoax in order to coerce Coral into buying his continued silence by continuing his comfortable lifestyle via a sham marriage. It seemed Coral and Sam were now free to start a life together.

All’s well that ends well.

I stood on deck as we sailed away from the Cayman Islands, realizing a part of me was remaining behind on that wedding isle. The part that would have sailed away a wife. A missus. The other half of a whole.

The dreamer in me was left standing in that little white chapel on Wedding Bell Isle.

I sighed. A long, loud, what’s-to-become-of-me sigh. Yeah. Pitiful.

The sunset, a spectacular blaze of peach streaked with black, was all that lovers could hope for—a breathtaking splendor I couldn’t bear viewing alone. I turned to walk away and found Ranger Rick standing beside me, staring at the same striking sunset with a fierce intensity.

“Ahoy, Ranger Rick,” I greeted him. “Incredible sunset, huh?”

He nodded. “It’s one to remember,” he said, and I shook my head.

“You’re never going to let me forget that amnesia foolishness, are you?” I asked. “I admit. It wasn’t one of my better ideas.”

“Agreed,” he said.

“So, are you looking forward to going home again?” I asked, and he took a long time answering.

“We can never go home again, Tressa,” he said and turned to face me. “Not like it was. You know that as well as I do. This cruise? It was not only the beginning of something, but the ending of something else. It opened my eyes to a lot of things. Like how hard having true faith in someone else can be. How our spirit reflects who we really are despite what we may think about ourselves. How key trust is in any relationship.” He paused and looked back out to sea. “You trust Manny. With the important stuff. With the stuff that counts. You trust him. You went to him. Not me. That pretty much says it all.”

I opened my mouth to tell him all about the Wedding Bell Isle wedding invitation, to wave that fact in his face and exclaim, “Trust? Trust! What do you mean, I don’t trust you? I was prepared to trust you with my future, my life, my heart? How can you talk about trust at a time like this?”

But the words didn’t come. And I was glad I hadn’t said them. Glad because I didn’t want his feelings or his actions to be influenced by pity or guilt or even kindness. I didn’t want his sympathy, compassion or understanding.

I wanted his love.

All of it or none of it.

How could I explain that I kept Townsend out of the loop because what he thought of me—about me—really mattered? More than any other person’s opinion, his mattered. So much. How did I tell him that I was reluctant to involve him in my all too frequent imbroglios because I cared too deeply? How did I explain that if I somehow placed him in danger and, God forbid, something happened to him I would simply cease to exist? That he was my next breath. And the next. And the next. How did I explain the debilitating fear I felt of opening myself up to the possibility of happily ever after only to discover it was all a fairy tale? My fairy tale?

“You’re awfully quiet,” Townsend observed.

I nodded. “I guess I am,” I said.

“I want you to know that it’s okay, Tressa,” Townsend said, taking my hand. “Despite what I’ve said in the past, I believe Manny has genuine feelings for you. And, I hate to admit this, but I think down deep he’s a good man.” He paused. “Things will be different when we get back home,” he said.

“I know.” Did I ever. If things went my way, it was the end of life as I knew it. It was the end of Tressa Jayne Turner being answerable only to Tressa. It was the end of Tressa coming and going as she wanted and doing as she pleased. It was the end of shaving only up to the knees in winter.

Now all that was left to do was let Ranger Rick know how I felt.

So, tell him already,
I told myself. Just open your big, fat mouth and spill it! I opened my mouth, looked up to the heavens for the right words, frowned, opened my mouth again, squinted at the sky once more…and just stood there.

Mime time.

Oh, irony, sweet irony, I thought as I searched in vain for words of eloquence and tenderness and devotion. Words period.

Now that the time had finally come, when all uncertainty on my part had been eliminated, all doubts vanquished, it was at this most crucial time I found myself at a total loss as to what to say or do next. After years of keeping Ranger Rick at arm’s length, of doubting his level of commitment, of questioning my own readiness, here I was, ready to act, to take a leap of faith, to risk heartbreak and beyond, to reach for that elusive horizon—and I was stuck. Frozen in place. Unsure what to say. Unsure what step to take next.

This was nuts. I was the girl whose motormouth never needed a tune-up, who flew by the seat of her pants so often she had butt burn from the bumpy landings. But somehow, through it all, my lips—and yours truly—had kept moving. Kept talking. Kept on keeping on.

Until now. Now, when it mattered most, when the stakes were highest and things were at critical mass, I’d lost all avionics. Ass included.

After all the commitment-phobic feet dragging was done, after the distrust and suspicion had been laid to rest, and all doubts erased and I was ready to move forward at last, I was dead in the water. I had nothing. Nothing. What could I possibly do or say that would convince Ranger Rick that I’d finally—and for good this time—come to my senses? What?

I thought about how this cruise had started out so promising. Back before the Bermuda Love Triangle took shape. Before a black widow and her Bluebeard sought to sever the bonds of matrimony by murder most foul. Back when I’d still had visions of dessert bars dancing in my head.

I thought about that first night, the night I’d almost signed on as Ranger Rick’s cabin mate, how he’d started with those ridiculous piratical pick-up lines. He’d surprised me then. And continued to surprise and amaze me throughout this crazy courtship with his sense of humor, his steadfast faithfulness and tireless devotion to serving my best interests, often to the detriment of his own.

I bit my lip to keep from giggling as I recalled Ranger Rick’s horny pirate performance.

Maybe ye wants to scrape the barnacles off me rudder.

What’s the matter, wench? Parrot got your tongue?

I put a hand to my mouth.

That was it!

It might even work!

And it was way more up my alley than grabbing hold of Ranger Rick’s ankle and screaming, “Don’t leave me! Ever!” as he walked away, dragging me along behind him like a proverbial ball and chain.

It was decided. I’d do it.

It was time for Calamity Jayne to get her man.

“Wait right here!” I told Rick. “Don’t move! I’ll be right back! Promise?” I asked, and he nodded.

“Call of nature, right?” he said, a sad smile crossing his lips.

“Don’t move from this spot!” I ordered, and ran to locate my props.

I was back in under ten minutes. Not bad for a girl who hates to move her arse. Breathless, I launched into my piece.

“Do you remember that first night of the cruise?” I asked Townsend. “When you boasted about your pirate pickup lines and I challenged you to deliver?”

Rick grinned. “Apparently my execution wasn’t convincing enough to win a fair wench’s heart,” he said.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I happen to know Jack Sparrow would have been very impressed,” I told him.

He raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t trying for a piece of Captain Jack Sparrow’s heart,” he said.

“Well, if you had been, I know for a fact he couldn’t have resisted your pickup lines,” I said, and from the look on Rick’s face, I realized I’d veered off course into uncharted waters again. “What I mean is that no one could have resisted those pickup lines.”

“You
did,” he said, his smile disappearing. “You resisted them.”

“I did, didn’t I?” I said. “And I would again. If this very minute you penciled on the eyeliner, tied a kerchief on your head and buckled a sword to your waist and leered at me, I’d still resist the temptation to leap into your arms and find a deserted island somewhere. And do you know why?” I asked.

He nodded. “Because of Manny,” he said.

I shook my head.

“No. Because of you,” I said, and Townsend looked puzzled.

“Me? I’m not following. What the hell have I done?” he asked.

“Everything,” I said. “That’s just it. You’ve done everything in this relationship. You’ve done all the heavy lifting, all the waiting, made all the overtures. Don’t you see? For you to believe in me—truly believe in the ‘us’ we can become—the next step has to come from me,” I told him.

“I’m not following, Tressa,” Ranger Rick said. “What are you exactly saying?”

I unzipped Harry Javelina and took out my props. I slid an eye patch into place over one eye, took my new souvenir buff out—the one Courtney had tried to retrieve was now evidence in the FBI’s possession—and secured it to the top of my head. I slowly withdrew the kids’ toy compass I’d purchased at the gift shop. I held it in my hand.

“What are you doing, Tressa?” Ranger Rick asked. “Why the getup? What’s the deal with the compass?”

I looked at him. “Don’t you know anything? This compass is not your ordinary run-of-the-mill compass, young sailor,” I said. “This compass is magic. It always points to what I want most,” I told him.

Townsend’s expression shifted, his eyes wide with uncertainty.

I held the compass out in front of me in the palms of my hands. I looked down at the compass. It jiggled up and down in my suddenly shaking hands.

“Well, shiver me timbers! Whaddya know? The needle—it be pointin’ straight at…”

I stopped and looked up into Ranger Rick’s dark, dreamy eyes.

“You,” I said.

I could see stunned realization in the drop of his jaw. Amazed awareness in the sudden glint of his eyes.

“Tressa?” he said.

I smiled.

“Aye, that be me name. Tressa Turner, Lady Pirate, at your service,” I said, moving in, toe to toe, breast to chest. “I hear tell ye have a legendary cutlass and ye know how to use it,” I growled, raising the one eyebrow that was visible beneath my kerchief. “Is there an X on the seat of your pants, me hearty? Because it appears there’s wondrous booty buried beneath. What say we take ourselves off to yer cabin and ye can show Pirate Tressa how ye buries yer treasure, lad.”

My face was hotter than a car roof in Iowa in mid-August—and not all due to embarrassment from my wanton pirate routine. The compass shook in my outstretched hand, the needle clicking up and down, in time to my own erratic heartbeats.

Townsend stared at my Mexican Jumping Compass and then at me.

“What say ye?” I inquired, my voice shaking as I hoped against hope I hadn’t waited too long and Ranger Rick had decided to look for love in less stormy waters. “Arrrrrrrrrre ya free, lad?” I persisted.

Ranger Rick reached out and closed my fingers over the quivering compass. He took my other hand and, without a word, he led me to his cabin door.

Tense as a cat under a rocker, I felt a familiar sense of panic as I stood on the threshold of that point of no return. Townsend must have sensed fear in the air, for he got rid of any lingering thread of anxiety and uncertainty I felt by coming up with the most romantic, most touching, and by far the most effective seduction cincher of all time.

“Brace yerself, fair wench that’s won this ranger’s heart,” he said. “Brace yerself…and prepare to be boarded!”

He opened the door, picked me up, and as one we crossed the threshold. Shiver me timbers, Calamity Jayne Turner has at last struck gold!

Here be real treasure.