Smooth Talking Stranger (34 page)

I realized that no matter how far away from me Tara was, no matter where she and Luke were or what they did, I would still love them. No one could take that from me.

Tara and I were fellow survivors, responding to our wasteland of a childhood in opposite ways. She feared being alone just as much as I feared not being alone. It was entirely possible that time would prove us both wrong, and the secret of happiness would always elude us. All I knew for certain was that the boundary of isolation was the only thing that had ever kept me safe.

I dressed and put my hair in a ponytail, and I began to fold my clothes in neat piles on the bed.

The phone stayed silent. I guessed that Jack had given up on calling me, which made me perplexed and uneasy. As much as I didn’t want to talk about Luke, or how I was feeling, I wanted to know how Jack was. As the local news came on, the weather forecast showed a storm pattern forming in the Gulf. That would make it a bumpy return ride for the Travis brothers, unless they had gotten in front of the system. A half hour after the first report, the tropical depression had been upgraded to a forty-five-mile-per-hour storm.

Worrying, I picked up the phone and called Jack, and got his voice mail. “Hi,” I said, when the beep signaled to leave a message. “I’m sorry I didn’t answer last night. I was tired, and . . . well, anyway, I saw the weather report, and I want to make sure you’re okay. Please call me.”

There was no return call, however. Was Jack mad that I hadn’t talked to him the previous night, or was he simply busy trying to get the boat safely to harbor?

When I heard a ring early in the afternoon, I hurried to the phone and picked it up without even checking the ID. “Jack?”

“Ella, it’s Haven. I was wondering . . . by any chance did Jack leave a copy of the float plan with you?”

“No. I don’t even know what that is. What does it look like?”

“Nothing fancy, just a couple of pieces of paper. It’s basically a description of the boat, and it tells where you’re heading, the rig numbers along your course, and what time you expect to get back.”

“Can’t you just call Jack and ask him?”

“He and Joe aren’t answering their cell phones.”

“I noticed that. I tried to call Jack earlier because of the weather report, but he didn’t pick up. I thought he was probably busy.” I hesitated. “Should we be worried?”

“Not really, it’s just. . . I’d like to find out what their exact schedule is.

“I’ll go up to his apartment and look for the float plan.”

“No, that’s okay, I already did that. Hardy’s going to call the harbormaster at the marina they left from. They probably left the information with him.”

“Okay. Call and let me know, will you?”

“Absolutely.”

Haven hung up, and I stood frowning at the receiver in my hand. I reached up and rubbed the back of my neck, which was prickling. I dialed Jack’s cell phone again, and his voice mail picked up immediately. “Just checking in again,” I said, my voice taut. “Call and let me know how you are.”

After watching the weather channel for a few more minutes, I picked up my purse and left the apartment. It felt weird to go out without all the paraphernalia I usually dragged around because of Luke. I went up to Haven and Hardy’s apartment, and Haven let me in.

“I’m really getting worried,” I told her. “Has anyone gotten hold of Jack or Joe?”

She shook her head. “Hardy’s talking to the harbormaster, and they’re looking for the float plan. And I talked to Gage, and he said he thought they should have been back by now. But the marina guys said the boat slip is still empty.”

“Maybe they just decided to prolong the fishing?”

“Not with the weather. Besides, I know for a fact that Jack was planning to come back early today. He didn’t want to leave you alone for too long, after what you went through yesterday.”

“I really hope he’s okay, so I can kill him when he comes back,” I said, and Haven managed a laugh.

“You may have to get in line for that.”

Hardy hung up and reached for the TV controller, turning the volume up as another weather report came on. “Hey, Ella,” he said absently, his gaze on the TV. Contrary to his usual relaxed charm, Hardy looked troubled, the lines of his face hard and stern. He half-sat on the back of the sofa, his long form tensed as if ready for action.

“What did the harbormaster say?” Haven asked.

His tone was even and reassuring. “They’re trying to reach them on the
VHF
radio. Nothing on 9—that’s the distress channel—and no Maydays have come in.”

“Is that good?” I asked.

Hardy glanced at me with a slight smile, but a pair of notches had settled between his brows. “No news is good news.”

I knew nothing about boats. I didn’t even know what questions to ask. But I was trying desperately to think of an explanation for why Jack and Joe were missing. “Could the boat just lose all power or something? And at the same time they could coincidentally be out of cell range? ”

Hardy nodded. “All kinds of fuck-ups, coincidental and otherwise, can happen on a boat.”

“Jack and Joe are really experienced,” Haven said. “They know all about safety procedures, and neither of them would take unnecessary chances. I’m sure they’re okay.” She sounded as if she were trying to convince herself as well as me.

“What if they didn’t manage to outrun the weather?” I asked with difficulty.

“It’s not a bad storm,” she said. “And if they got caught in it, they would just batten down and ride it out.” She hunted for her cell phone. “I’m going to call Gage and see if anyone’s with Dad.”

For the next half hour Haven and Hardy stayed on their cell phones, trying to get information. Liberty had gone to River Oaks to wait with Churchill as events unfolded, while Gage was already heading to the Coast Guard offices in GalenaPark. A couple of patrol boats had been sent out from Freeport to find the missing vessel. That was all we heard for a while.

Another half hour passed while we watched the weather channel, and Haven made sandwiches that none of us ate. There was a quality of unreality to the situation, the tension growing exponentially as time passed.

“I wish I was a smoker,” Haven said with a brittle laugh, walking around the apartment with jittery energy. “This is one of those times when chain-smoking seems appropriate.”

“Oh, no you don’t,” Hardy murmured, reaching out to catch her wrist. “You got enough bad habits already, honey.” He drew her between his thighs as he leaned against the sofa, and she nestled against him.

“Including you,” she said, her voice muffled. “You’re my worst habit.”

“That’s right.” He combed his fingers through her dark curls, and kissed her head. “And there’s no getting over me.”

The phone rang, making both Haven and me jump. Still holding his wife in one arm, Hardy picked it up. “Cates here. Gage, how’s it going? They found ‘em yet?” And then he went very still and silent in a way that made every hair on my body lift. He listened for several moments. My heart thudded heavily, making me light-headed and nauseous. “Got it,” Hardy said quietly. “Do they need more choppers? Because if so, I can get as many as . . . I know. But it’s like trying to find two fucking pennies someone dropped in the backyard. I know. Okay, we’ll sit tight.” He closed the phone.

“What is it?” Haven asked, her small hands gripping his shoulders.

Hardy looked away from her momentarily, his jaw so taut that I could see the strain of a small twitching muscle in his cheek. “They found a debris field,” he finally brought himself to say. “And what’s left of the boat is submerged.”

My mind went blank. I stared at him, wondering if he had just said what I thought he’d said.

“So they’re doing a search and rescue?” Haven asked, her face drained of color.

He nodded. “The Coast Guard is sending out a couple of Tupperwolfs—those big orange choppers.”

“Debris field,” I said dazedly, swallowing against rising nausea. “As in . . . as in an explosion?”

He nodded. “One of the rigs reported smoke in the distance.”

All three of us struggled to take in the news.

I put my hand up to my mouth, breathing against the screen of my fingers. I wondered where Jack was at that very moment, if he was hurt, if he was drowning.

No, don’t think about that.

But for a second it felt as if I were drowning, too. I could actually feel the cold black water folding over my head, pushing me down where I couldn’t breathe or see or hear.

“Hardy,” I said, surprised by how rational I sounded, when there was chaos inside me. “What would cause a boat like that to explode?”

He sounded excessively calm. “Gas leaks, overheated engine, buildup of vapor near fuel tank, exploding battery. . . . When I was working on the rig, I once saw a fishing boat, over a hundred-footer, explode when it ran across a submerged fuel line.” He looked down at Haven’s face. She was flushed, her mouth twisting as she tried not to cry. “They haven’t found bodies,” he murmured, pulling her closer. “Let’s not assume the worst. They might be in the water waiting for rescue.”

“It’s rough water,” Haven said against his shirt.

“There’s a lot of movement out there,” he conceded. “According to Gage, the captain who’s coordinating the rescue operation is looking at a computer model to figure out where they might have drifted.”

“What are the odds that both of them are okay?” I asked unsteadily. “Even if they survived the explosion, is it likely that either of them was wearing a life jacket?”

The question was greeted with a frozen silence. “Not likely,” Hardy said eventually. “Possible, though.”

I nodded and sat heavily on a nearby chair, my mind buzzing.

You need time,
Haven had told me, when I’d confided my thoughts about going back to Austin.
Give it some time, and you ‘ll know what to do.

But now there was no time.

There might never be.

If I could only have five minutes with Jack . . . I would have given years of my life for the chance to tell him how much he meant to me. How much I wanted him. Loved him.

I thought of his dazzling grin, his midnight eyes, the beautiful severity of his face when he was sleeping. The thought of never seeing him again, never feeling the sweetness of his mouth against mine, caused an ache I could hardly bear.

How many hours I’d spent with Jack in silence, resting together, all words restrained by the limits of what my heart would allow. All those chances to be honest with him, and I’d taken none of them.

I loved him, and he might never know.

I understood finally that the thing I should have feared most was not loss, but never loving. The price for safety was the regret I felt at this moment. And yet I would have to live with it for the rest of my life.

“I can’t stand waiting here,” Haven burst out. “Where can we go? Can we go to the Coast Guard office?”

“If you want to, I’ll take you. But there’s nothing we can do there except get in the way. Gage will let us know the minute something happens.” He paused. “Do you want to go wait with your dad and Liberty?”

Haven nodded decisively. “If I’m going to go crazy waiting, I may as well do it around them.”

We started on the drive to River Oaks in Hardy’s silver sedan, when we heard the ringtone of his phone. He reached toward the center console where he had stashed it, but Haven snatched it up. “Let me, sweetheart, you’re driving.” She held the phone up to her ear. “Hi, Gage? What is it? Have you found out anything?” She listened for a few seconds, and her eyes went huge. “Oh my God. I can’t believe—which one? They don’t know?
Shit.
Can’t someone—yes, okay, we’ll be there.” She turned to Hardy. “GarnerHospital,” she said breathlessly. “They found them, and picked them up, and they’re medevacing both of them straight there. One of them seems to be in good condition, but the other—” She broke off as her voice fractured. Tears sprang to her eyes. “Other one’s in bad shape,” she managed to say.

“Which one?” I heard myself ask, while Hardy maneuvered the car through traffic, his aggressive driving eliciting indignant honks from all around us.

“Gage doesn’t know. That’s all he could find out. He’s calling Liberty so she can bring Dad to Garner.”

The hospital, located in the texasmedicalCenter, was named after John Nance Garner, the Texas-born vice president for two terms of Franklin Roosevelt’s administration. The 600-bed hospital was home to a top-notch aeromedical service, with the second busiest heliport for a hospital of its size. Garner also had one of the only three level-one trauma centers in Houston.

“Skybridge parking?” Hardy asked as we drove through the huge sprawl of buildings in the medical center. We were passing the thirty-story Memorial Hermann tower sheathed with spandrel glass, one of a multitude of offices and hospitals in the complex.

“No, there’s a valet at the main entrance,” Haven said, unbuckling her seat belt.

“Hold on, honey, I haven’t stopped yet.” He glanced over his shoulder at me and saw that I was out of my seat belt, too. ” Y’all mind waiting ‘til I put the brakes on before you jump out?” he asked ruefully.

As soon as the car was in the hands of the valet, we went through the hospital entrance, both Haven and I hurrying to keep pace with Hardy’s long strides. As soon as we gave our names at the information desk, we were directed to go up to the ShockTraumaCenter on the second floor. All they could tell us was that the chopper had arrived safely at the heliport, and both patients were in the hands of a trauma resuscitation team. We were ushered into a beige waiting room with a fish tank and a table piled with tattered magazines.

It was unnaturally quiet in the waiting room, except for the drone of a news channel on the small flat-screen TV. I stared blindly at the TV, the words meaning nothing to me. Nothing outside this place had any significance.

Haven seemed unable to sit still. She paced around the waiting room like a tiger in a cage, until Hardy coaxed her to sit beside him. He rubbed her shoulders and murmured to her quietly, until she relaxed and took a few deep breaths, and blotted her eyes surreptitiously on her sleeve.