Twila's Tempest

by Natasza Waters

  He didn’t want to answer that knowing it would be worse than what they had just passed through. He squinted as the rain began to dissipate and the howl of wind eased. The seas’ swell mellowed, and as if passing through some kind of doorway, they entered the eye.

  “Oh, my God,” Twila whispered.

  For the first time in hours, he breathed with relief. Drake activated the autopilot and drew her hand into his. “We’re never gonna see this again,” he said, pulling her toward the door on the portside. Standing on the bow, they looked up into a blue sky.

  “It’s like being in the whale’s belly,” he said, in awe himself. They held each other as their gazes traced the immense thunderclouds that circled them. They were in the heart of Wilma, the hurricane walls dark and grey. Twila looked ahead. “How long do we have?”

  “Not long.” The Rebecca had resumed twenty knots over ground. If the eye is sixty miles across… “Less than three hours.”

  “Then I have time to feed us properly.”

  “Twila, no matter what happens on the other side of that eyewall, you need to know that I love you.” He lifted her hand and kissed her fingers. Warmth and pride filled his chest seeing the ring claiming her as his.

  She smiled up at him. “You taught me more than just how to navigate the ocean.”

  He tilted his head, waiting.

  “You were right. I have been afraid to take a step forward. I hid behind my grief. When your mom showed me your picture for the first time, the one with you on that sailboat, I never believed in a million years that we could fall in love.” She blushed and turned her eyes away.

  He grinned. “You underestimate the power of your beautiful ass.”

  She burst out laughing.

  “Speaking of which…” He urged her to lay on the deck, the water leaching into their clothes. Food could wait.

  “Drake, we shouldn’t. In all the excitement I haven’t taken my pills for the last four days.”

  He slipped her top button undone and kissed the edge of her breast, a sizzle of passion racing to his shaft. “Even better,” he said, pressing his mouth to hers. Her hands paused on his shoulders and she eyed him.

  “I’m talking about birth control, Drake.”

  He rubbed her nose with his. “I know what you mean,” he whispered as his hand wandered down to the button on her shorts. “And I know what I want. Six children is going to take some concentrated effort on my part, and I plan to concentrate all my love on you.”

  Forty-five minutes later, he and Twila sat in the bridge and ate the small but warm meal she’d put together. He kept reminding himself this was not their last meal. She glanced at him often, and he knew she was trying to read him. Staying strong and positive for her as the eyewall approached was imperative.

  “Do you think my trailer is gone?” she asked, knowing Wilma had centered her wrath on Port St. Lucie.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know, but if it’s damaged we’ll salvage what we can, and then renovate or put a new trailer there.”

  “Really?” she asked.

  “Hey,” he stretched out his hand and brushed her cheek. “Of course. We need somewhere to stay when we visit the folks. Not to mention, we need our privacy and I’m tired of staying in the guest room listening to them make out.”

  “Ewwww,” she said, chuckling.

  “I know. I buried my head under my pillow every damn night.” He shook his head laughing.

  She finished her last mouthful of soup and sighed. “If I do have to replace it, it’s going to take me a while to earn the money, but if the new business does well, it shouldn’t take too long.”

  He grinned and took the bowl from her, placing it on the table, then pulled her under his arm. “Sweetheart, you don’t have to earn anything. We’re about to become man and wife.”

  She blinked at him not understanding.

  He cleared his throat and gave her a sideways gaze. “Twila, your name is going on my banks accounts. What we’ve strived so hard for, will become ours.”

  She shrugged. “Okay, but didn’t you reinvest everything you made in your business? That’s what I did. When I earned some profits, I’d buy more equipment that could help my patients.”

  “Sweetheart, I did that, but it’s hard to invest twenty million a year in profits.”

  Twila’s expression froze and her eyes widened. “Whaaat?”

  “Our children will have the best education and every opportunity to do what they want in life, but until they’re grown, we’re going to be hands on parents. I’m going to step back from the business and put more responsibility on some of the guys I can trust. Although I’m going to want to give our family everything, and I know my daughters will have me wrapped around their fingers, I don’t want them to become like Heather. I want them to have your morals and your strength and whatever it is I bring to the table. I don’t want us to be immersed in our businesses and leave them to be raised by nannies and throw expensive gifts at them to keep them occupied.”

  “You want them to be raised like we were?”

  He nodded. “They’ll have summer jobs and earn the money for their first cars.”

  Twila’s hand came to rest on her stomach.

  “We have to get through that eyewall and to the outer bands of Wilma, and we have to do it for our baby.”

  Her brows rose. “We don’t have a ba—”

  She paused when he began to nod. “Oh, yes we do. I know we do.” He palmed her hand and protected what he was sure had begun its journey in her womb. “Being able to have whatever we want is fine, but what I wanted most was to give you hope. A piece of me and a piece of you to love.”

  Twila wrapped her arms around him and squeezed him as hard as she could. “Thank you.”

  * * * *

  He and Twila checked the ship from stem to stern and stored anything that could become flying debris. They were fast approaching the other side of the eye.

  “Twila, there’s straps in that cabinet by your right knee. Let’s bring ‘em out.”

  She nodded sharply, and retrieved them. “Are these for us?”

  “Depending on what’s on the other side of that wall, we may need to strap ourselves down.”

  Her brow wrinkled tight. “That bad?”

  He glanced at the churning mass on the radar. “Maybe.” They were as ready as could be. The rest would be luck, his ability to keep the wind at 045 degrees and Rebecca’s ability to keep steaming. Three miles to go, but the Rebecca had already begun a slow sea-sawing course of mounting seas. Twila sent an update to the Coast Guard advising them they were about to exit the eye and their current position and course. The Coast Guard requested wind speed and pressure.

  Drake rubbed the back of his neck and released a deep breath. “Okay, girl, let’s do this,” he muttered to the ship.

  They were both silent as they entered the rainbands and it wasn’t a gentle progression. Fast and furious, the winds howled, driving the rain horizontally in sheets against the window. A little noise escaped Twila, and he saw her expression strain, her fingers white as they gripped the edge of the command console. He shot a look at the wind gauge. One hundred and fifty miles an hour. Holy shit. Twila squeaked as the Rebecca climbed an enormous wave. The bow crashed into the depth of the trough and a mountain of white foam rose into the air and enveloped the ship. The seas altered, and without warning the Rebecca began to roll. On the second roll they hit thirty degrees and they hung on to stop from losing their footing.

  “Drake?” her voice tight.

  He turned the wheel as the Rebecca climbed another monster wave in a slow motion crawl. “It’s okay—” The sputter of the diesels made him inhale sharply. “Come on girl, don’t—”

  The engines quit with a sputter. Twila’s head turned sharply.

  “Shit! Not now!”

  “What’s happened? Why can’t I hear the diesels?” she cried.

  “Stay here. I have to go into the engine room.”

  “Can I
help?”

  “Here.” He guided her into the captain’s chair, and grabbed the strap, securing it across her lap. He gripped the arm rests and gazed into her frightened eyes. “I don’t know what’s wrong. Could be we took water in the fuel filters.”

  “What does that mean?” She swallowed.

  “I’ll have to change them and pump fuel back in to prime the engine before we can restart the engines.”

  “Do you have to go outside to access the engine room?”

  He gave her a nod. “The intercom system works down there. We’re adrift, Twila, the sea is going to swing us around.” He looked up and could see it had already begun. “I’ll call you when I’m in.” He kissed her and waited until Rebecca leveled off and then stumbled for the back cabin.

  Gripping the bulkhead near the back door, the Rebecca took another stomach swooping roll. He had to time this right or he’d be washed overboard. Running his hand through his hair, he eyed the hatch. At least the wind was crossing it and he wouldn’t have to fight the opposing force of the gusts. With a sturdy grip on the door, he thrust it open, slipped out and closed it securely. Wilma’s harpies screeched and pulled at his clothes. He had some cover from the extending bulkhead from the back cabin. He crouched and waited. When the Rebecca climbed another wave he shot forward and landed on his stomach gripping the hatch handle. He looked up to see an enormous curl of water descending and he covered his head. It slapped him hard and nearly took his breath. Wrenching with all his strength, the hatch drew back and he scrambled down the ladder. His foot slipped on one of the slats and he clung to the railing, enduring another roll.

  “Holy fuck,” he yelled and shook the water out of his hair. “Okay, you’re in. Let’s get this done.” He pressed the intercom by the hatchway. “I’m in Twila.”

  “Be careful.”

  “You okay?”

  “Yes, but hurry.”

  Remembering to grip what wasn’t hot, he headed for the fuel filters. Sure enough, it was what he suspected. Fighting his way toward the equipment locker, he went down on all fours once and got back up, timing it with the Rebecca’s rise and fall. The seas were getting worse. He opened the locker and flinched when a bottle of lube oil slipped from the top shelf and struck his shoulder. He had to slow down. If something happened to him, they wouldn’t be getting out of this alive.

  It didn’t take long to replace the filters, but now he was at the trickiest part. He had to pump fuel back in and prime the engine without starting a fire.

  The Rebecca confirmed his fears with a fierce roll.

  He stumbled back and his arm settled against a hot exhaust pipe. “God dammit,” he vaulted forward. “Shit.” He gripped his arm, seeing he’d left skin on the pipe.

  Breathing deeply through his nose, he retrieved the fuel can and a funnel. He closed his eyes for a moment and centered himself. Tipping the can, the force of the next roll shunted the tip from the opening, and he quickly pulled it back. “God damn it, hold still.” With a scrub of his foot he soaked up the fuel with a chamois. The last thing he needed was a fire.

  Bracing himself, he tried again, and he couldn’t hold the can steady enough and retreated once again. He scrubbed his face with a greasy hand and ignored the searing pain in his arm. The Rebecca rose, and when she crawled down the other side of the swell he tipped the can. With only minor spillage, he tightened the caps.

  He stored his gear and made his way to the intercom. “Twila?”

  “Oh, thank God.”

  He grinned. “Start her up.” He held his breath and clamped his eyes closed. It wouldn’t be the first time two things went wrong at the same time. With a whoosh of relief he let out his breath when the familiar growl and whine of the engines filled the room. “Put her back on course, Twila.”

  “Aye, aye and get back up here so I can kiss you to death.”

  Twila was all over him when he reached the bridge. He hissed when her arm rubbed against his.

  “What’s wrong?” her eyes rounding with concern.

  “Good thing you’re a nurse,” he said.

  She gently inspected his arm. “I’m going to get the first aid kit. That’s a healthy second degree burn if not third.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think I have anything in there to help this.”

  “You have bandages, and we should cover it up to prevent infection. I’ll get some pain reliever as well.”

  He kissed her. “Thank you, sweetheart, think I could use that.”

  Twila’s sea legs were getting pretty good. When she returned, she sat him in the chair and wrapped his arm. Between wraps, a huge yawn escaped and she blinked, shaking her head. Given a chance to rest, he felt the adrenaline recede, and in its place was exhaustion.

  It didn’t last long, an alarm on the computer went off and he leaped off the chair to check. “Does that say one hundred and sixty miles an hour?” Twila said with a wary tone.

  Checking their position, they hadn’t made much forward movement from fifteen minutes ago. He threw his head back and closed his eyes. Just a little more, Rebecca, just a little more.

  “Drake!” Twila’s sharp call whipped his head around. “Oh, God, do you see it?” Twila’s hand covered her mouth, her eyes round with fear.

  “Quick.” He snagged the belts and lashed Twila in the captain’s chair, and then threw one around his own hips, snapping the clips on the console and cinching the belt tight. He gripped the wheel with all his strength. Feet apart, bracing his legs.

  “What the hell is that?” Twila yelled.

  “Hang on, Twila.”

  Twila’s scream rang in his ears as he steered straight into it. He’d read about ‘em, even seen them, but never one like this. “Shiiiiit,” he roared as the Rebecca rode up the enormous wall of the rogue wave. So enormous, she could break the Rebecca in half and send them to the bottom. He closed his eyes and prayed to God Almighty.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  At dawn, Wilma struck the western side of Florida as a category three hurricane. With little remorse, her winds only abated slightly. As she rolled over the Atlantic waters her wrath returned and her winds drove up over record setting speed.

  Layton watched the clock as the blue skies returned to the Keys. It was noon. They were clear of Wilma, but many homes had flooded and the Keys were being flooded for a second time. Deaths had been reported. His hands twined together, wondering if two more would now be added. He’d just talked to the Coast Guard and received the worst news he could hear.

  “Mr. Layton?”

  “Petty Officer Greer.” He’d learned all their names calling every two hours.

  “Sir, Wilma has moved into the Atlantic. We lost the Rebecca’s signal fifteen minutes ago. This doesn’t mean that they have sunk or are in any difficulty.”

  “Christ!” His hand ripped through his short hair. His mother and father had gone to lie down for a while and he was glad they could get some rest. “You’ve lost the AIS target?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How close were they to the edge?”

  “They’d made good speed considering their position. In our calculations they were in the eyewall when we lost their target. They’re in the most dangerous part of the hurricane. Your brother last reported gusts up to one hundred and fifty miles an hour.”

  Layton’s mind whirled. The Rebecca had been built to the highest standards, but nothing her size could possibly survive the conditions being reported.

  “We were in radio contact with the vessel as well, but that ceased at the same time. It could mean the antennas were knocked out. Your brother had the vessel equipped with every emergency communication device on the market. We haven’t received a distress alert by EPIRB or any other means.”

  “Okay.” That at least was good news.

  “In a few hours, we’ll be dispatching a Coast Guard cutter to look for them. We’ll keep you advised.”

  “Thank you,” he said, the words choking in his throat.

  H
e threw the phone on the sofa and opened the patio doors. The clouds had broken apart, showing blue skies. The rain had stopped in the great state of Florida. His brother and Twila’s journey through hell wasn’t over or was it?

  “Did I just hear the phone ring?” his father asked from behind him.

  He nodded.

  His father checked over his shoulder to see his mother hadn’t followed. “Tell me, son.”

  His mother slept for three hours and when she woke, Layton and his father had to tell her what the Coast Guard last reported. There had been no change since then.

  When his mother got really angry, really nervous or really scared, Becka Addison cooked.

  The aroma coming from the kitchen would normally have brought them all running to the table, but mom wasn’t cooking for enjoyment and none of them could eat. He and Dad nursed the same beer for over an hour. As he gazed out the open patio doors, he said, “Drake didn’t even pause for one second knowing he could die with her.”

  His father leaned forward and gripped his hands together, the beer bottle tucked between, staring at the floor. Chewing on his lip for a moment, he nodded. “The first time he set eyes on that girl, his heart was as good as gone.” He sucked back a swallow of the warm beer and then set it down. “Your mother knew it, and I knew it. Just took a little longer for Drake to believe his own eyes.”

  “What was it? What did he see?” Layton wanted to know because women were still a mystery to him.

  “I told Drake that same day, he needed a girl who looked at life like he did, a woman with a valiant heart.”

  Layton chuffed out a laugh. That sure wasn’t Heather, but he could see it in Twila. “Why would she take the Rebecca in the first place? Did she just not know how dangerous it was? Hard to believe if Drake taught her about ships and the sea.”

  His father dwelled on the answer, and then looked across at him. “Because she knew how much the ship meant to Drake. The Rebecca would have been wrecked if she’d stayed where she was.”

  It was true. Port St. Lucie took the Hurricane dead on. Reports of damage already surpassed millions of dollars’ worth of property loss. The waterfront and every ship had been destroyed or damaged. “Crazy. So, you’re saying she knew she could die, but she did it for his first love.”