Up Too Close

by Stein, Andrea K.

  * * *

  René smacked the wheel with his fist and cast a baleful glance at the sky. The dark blue was unbroken by a single cloud, yet the waves towered and romped as if they were in the midst of a force seven gale.

  CeCe had come above and clipped onto the port jackline. She looked tiny and vulnerable in her bulky foulweather gear.

  He’d been smitten with her intense blue eyes and sweet blonde hair at the beginning of this delivery from hell. But now, more than two thousand miles later, he needed her as much as the air he breathed, as much as the rolling sea beneath his feet. He didn’t know where he’d find the strength to put her on a plane to Portugal, if they ever made it to England.

  She was his. He knew it. Why didn’t she?

  He assessed the calm sky and the light ten knots of breeze, in stark contrast to the waves hammering Tourbillon, and decided they must be in the middle of an offshore high. They were at the mercy of the aftermath of low-pressure weather possibly a hundred miles away. Though he had renewed faith in the Tourbillon, he was a little afraid the old ship couldn’t withstand the merciless power of the ocean.

  His fears were confirmed when Chienne raced up the companionway, her fur wet from her feet up to her belly. She flung herself at CeCe’s lap and gave him a look of canine terror.

  René turned the steering over to autopilot and then motioned for CeCe to stay above decks with the terrified dog.

  His stomach plummeted at the sight below. The galley was awash with about a foot of seawater. Chienne’s bed, food, and water dish floated by. He ran to the access to the bilge and pulled up the boards covering the bottom-most level of Tourbillon.

  His stomach threatened to eject his breakfast. A plume of water bubbled from the port side, and the level was rising faster than the built-in pumps could handle. Before they left Antigua, he’d purchased an auxiliary, high volume pump from the marina for just such an emergency. He hauled the equipment from the forward cabin back to the entrance to the galley.

  He’d added a second auto-pump to the bilge before they left, but had brought the third pump as emergency backup. René was no shipbuilder, but he knew what was important. All the technology in the world wouldn’t save them if the sea decided she wanted to take down Tourbillon.

  He ran to his cabin and retrieved a dive mask with snorkel. René lay flat in the murky water covering the bilge opening and watched and listened. Loud sucking and gurgling sounds boomed from the forward section of the ship. The two resident pumps were no match for the volume of incoming water those noises indicated.

  René hooked up the third pump and hurried to the top deck with the extra-long stretchy rubber hose he’d bought. In his mad dash, he’d forgotten to take off the mask. Chienne barked and lunged. CeCe had to hold her back and asked in an accusing tone, “Why didn’t you bring her dishes?”

  When he ripped off the mask, both CeCe and the devil dog cowered and cringed.

  “Eewwww,” CeCe said with a little erp. “How did you get all that stuff on your face?”

  Chienne wouldn’t stop her wild barking or lunging.

  René brushed across his forehead with his free hand and didn’t like the look, or smell, of what peeled off. “I’m trying to keep us from sinking here. Could you two sunshine up?”

  “Lighten up,” CeCe murmured. “I think that’s what you mean.”

  “Yes, English lessons, that is what I need.” He blew her a quick kiss to show he could lighten up. CeCe calmed the dog using those two magic Swedish words, min älskling.

  René crossed to the safety lines with the hose and tied the end over the side. Then he raced back below to start the super sump pump.

  When he staggered back to CeCe and Chienne, he was a broken man. He didn’t allow either one of them the chance to whine, pointing his index finger in their direction.

  “There are broken boards on the hull beneath the waterline at the port bow. We’ll have to heave to so I can try to repair the leak, but if I can’t, we’ll have to send out a Mayday. As far as we are from shore, our only hope is a nearby ship who can respond. He pointed to the bilge water surging through the pump hose. That is too much water for the three pumps to handle indefinitely.

  When he made to go back below, CeCe asked in a small voice, “Where are you going?”

  He turned toward her, and the look of fear on her face was like a punch to his gut.

  “We’re going to make it, CeCe. René Baudoin has never lost a ship, and he is not going to start now.” He paused and scratched at the stubble on his chin. “We will just have to stop in the Azores now and get Tourbillon hauled out at a shipyard. She can’t make it to Portsmouth, even with temporary repairs. The only shipyard big enough for the repairs is at Horta.”

  CeCe’s face went pale. “Is there no other place? Maybe another island in the Azores?”

  “No, Horta is the place, on Faial. It’s very famous for sailors. Is that where your family is?” René asked.

  Instead of answering, CeCe squeezed Chienne so tight, the dog yipped. Then his honey-blonde goddess burst into tears.

  René bent over and scooped up CeCe into his arms for a long, warm kiss. “You must trust me,” he said. “I will allow nothing to happen to you and your noisy little pal.” Chienne stopped barking and tried to wriggle between them.

  René abruptly broke the three-way embrace and headed back below.

  “What can I do?” CeCe asked, her voice calmer.

  “Turn on the engine so the batteries don’t crap out on the bilge pumps and then make sure the life raft and EPIRB are ready to go.” As he clambered down the companionway, René sighed. If he couldn’t clear the water, the Tourbillon might end up at the bottom of the sea, and he would have to tell Grand-mere he’d failed her.

  More than that, he didn’t like the idea of his little family, Chienne included, adrift on a life raft.

  Yet it seemed CeCe would prefer that to going home. René wondered why.

  René glanced at the sky. “If you are going to help us, Grand-pere, now is the time.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Day Thirty, May 12

  Early Morning

  An hour off Horta, Faial, Azores

  CeCe held Chienne as the island of Faial grew closer. The red and white rooftops of Horta melded into the lush green mountainside which rose ever higher until the blue-tinted peak of the old volcano reached into an azure sky. Although temperatures never varied much in the Azores, mid-Atlantic storms could roll in and change island weather in one quick minute.

  Like my life, CeCe mused.

  Every pump aboard the struggling ship chugged relentlessly, sending water spouting from the sides. She felt like she was on a floating fountain. René had put up a mighty battle to save the leaking Tourbillon, and CeCe knew the old boat was grateful. She’d weathered storms and oceans for decades, and she’d make it to Horta.

  Horta. Faial. Home.

  CeCe swallowed hard and steeled herself against the ordeal ahead. She wanted to warn René, but what could she say? Beware of my father and my brothers because they will out-macho you. And just when you think they can’t be more obnoxious, they’ll fart on your head.

  Her father. Her three brothers. Home.

  CeCe sighed. Chienne whined and licked her face.

  Faial was one of the central islands of the Azores, as well as one of the most interesting places on Earth. Or that was what they taught CeCe in Ensino Primário, otherwise known as primary school.

  She remembered the teacher asking questions and her entire class answering in unison, addressing her as Mestra.

  How many islands make up the Azores, children?

  Nine, Mestra!

  What country does the Azores belong to, children?

  Portugal, Mestra!

  What created the Azores, children?

  Volcanoes, Mestra!

  Why do people come to the Azores, children?

  Whales, Mestra! And hiking, Mestra! And the volcanoes, Mestra!

  The
memories came fast and thick. Before she knew it, she was a school girl again, listening to her father yell and her mother quietly stand up to him. Maja Ahlstrom had been the obstinate challenge of her father’s life. A Swedish volcanologist, Maja had first come to the Azores for her dissertation on mid-Atlantic geological activity. On her very first day, she’d met Zarco, but then, CeCe’s father made a point of meeting everyone within a ten-kilometer personal radius.

  Although his name was Abílio Zarco, he was simply known as Zarco. He was the Madonna, or Rihanna, of the Azores, just as enterprising, just as popular, just as hard to ignore.

  CeCe laid Chienne back down and readied for their approach to Horta. She went around to the cleated docklines and made sure each line fed below the safety lines and looped back above until they were finally at the dock.

  The sound of water sloshing below was so loud, she winced. How would they repair the damage? And how could she leave the Tourbillon in her time of need?

  How could she leave René?

  He looked up and mirrored her concern. “This old boat has fought for every league. It is something. Any other ship would’ve given up, but not her, not the Tourbillon. She truly is a masterpiece.”

  “Quite a change from how you first talked about her,” CeCe said.

  René nodded. “Much has changed since then.” He gripped the radio, about to call the harbormaster.

  CeCe placed a hand on his arm. “Are you sure you have to call in?”

  He gave her an odd look. “Yes, it’s required. You know that.”

  “Don’t give my name. Just yours, and the Tourbillon. Please?”

  René shrugged. “I’m sorry, CeCe, but I have to account for every member of the crew, along with passport ID’s. It’s the law, and the law is very strict. We’ll never clear Customs otherwise.”

  When he called in, the harbormaster at first gave them a normal slip in the Horta Bay Harbor, but then when René explained the situation, they were re-routed to the special shipyard on the south side of the harbor.

  CeCe had to unclench her jaw. While she didn’t want to sneak onto the island only to sneak away, it would be better than having to face her family. She promised herself she’d come back, once the baby was born and she was stable. Above all, she was not going to cry, and she was not going to vomit. No. She would keep control of both her emotions and her insides.

  Forty-five minutes later, the rising water got the better of Tourbillon. Her diesel finally choked and chugged to a halt. They were within a couple hundred feet of the space being indicated by the harbormaster and shipyard employees on the dock.

  And then she froze. A crowd gyrated on the dock behind the shipyard workers. A party. All for her, she feared. Although Horta had a population of about ten thousand people, at least a couple hundred partied on the dock to welcome her home.

  René’s smile stretched his lips. “CeCe, is this for us?”

  Clouds had blown in, cutting off the sun, but not doing much to temperature. The smell of rain hung in the air, but she knew it would take more than a downpour to stop her father.

  Even though the engine had died, the momentum of Tourbillon’s bulk and weight kept her gliding steadily toward the dock. Boys in jeans, men in slacks, wearing T-shirts and button-ups, all leapt forward to help keep the ship from slamming into the waiting berth.

  Already people were shouting, “Olá, CeCe! Boa tarde, CeCe!”

  A few of the men fell into the harbor, laughing. One called out, “Eu te amo, CeCe!”

  “Ah,” René said. “It is for you! How did the news travel so quickly?” He laughed, but kept a firm hold on the wheel, still guiding the lumbering old ship on to the dock.

  “My father monitors the harbormaster’s channel,” CeCe said, with a wry grin. “He likes to get the jump on tourists as soon as they hit the harbor.”

  “But all these people?” René left the question hanging.

  “News travels fast on this little island,” CeCe explained. “Everyone got on their cellphones, and Zarco is not the only one who monitors channel sixteen.”

  Women in colorful dresses yelled and clapped. Someone broke out into song. Still others chanted, “CeCe! CeCe! CeCe!”

  When they finally drifted close enough, CeCe flaked all the dock lines and threw them to the waiting hands on the dock.

  Once the Tourbillon was tied off, some of the men dove beneath the hull to assess the damage. Shouts of encouragement mingled with rumblings of disagreement about what to do about the ship.

  “Great,” René said. “They’re going to repair her by committee.”

  CeCe flashed him a frown before helping roll out the plank they used to climb down from the deck to the dock.

  A loud, powerful voice silenced the partying rabble and troubleshooters.

  Her father Zarco pushed through the bodies and held everyone quiet with his iron gaze and steel will. The same thick mustache she remembered covered his lip, salted even more since the last time she saw it. His thick hair also had whitened, though most of it remained midnight.

  I will not cry, CeCe thought stubbornly.

  In the hush, Zarco raised both his hands in the air. “Welcome, my daughter. Welcome home.”

  Her father never ceased to surprise her.

  Was that a good thing? CeCe didn’t know, but she gave up worrying and rushed down the gangplank into his outstretched arms.

  * * *

  René had no idea why CeCe had been afraid to come home. Not one clue. Everyone was so excited to see her, especially her heavily-mustached father. Was he the mayor? He seemed to be.

  Even José Azevedo, owner of Peter’s Cafe Sport, had come to welcome CeCe. René had been to the cafe many times over the years. In international yachting circles, there wasn’t a more famous bar than Peter’s Cafe Sport and not a better man than José. When his family opened the bar in 1918, it immediately became legendary, for drinks, food, and the odd kind of post office there for sailors. If you were crossing the Atlantic, you’d have your mail sent to Peter’s.

  Tears streamed down both CeCe’s face and her father’s, and that’s when René saw the resemblance. Both had golden skin and a sparkle in their eyes.

  Chienne broke the moment by dashing away from CeCe and running to Zarco, barking happily, dancing around his legs, until the man roared laughter. “Well, good. Even the dog is happy to see me! But then, dogs have always liked me more than women!”

  Everyone joined in laughing. Then two men separated from the crowd and took turns hauling CeCe up off her feet in bear hugs, yelling a torrent of Portuguese. René recognized one word, irmã, or sister. So these were two of her brothers. One was a smirking teenager. The older sibling moved like a natural athlete.

  They grabbed CeCe and acted as if they were going to throw her off the dock. She didn’t struggle, but she didn’t look comfortable, either.

  René didn’t hesitate. He ran down the gangplank and warned, “Okay, guys. That’s enough.”

  Smirky got in his face and challenged him in his own heavily accented English. “And who are you? You the big bad captain of this sinking ship? We heard about you and your shitty boat.”

  René acted on instinct. He shoved Smirky in the chest and knocked him back. He’d have toppled into the water if the older Zarco brother hadn’t grabbed him.

  “Be careful about what you say about my boat,” René said, his voice low and threatening. “And be careful with your sister. You could hurt her throwing her off the dock. She’s recovering from a concussion.”

  Both brothers went for René, but CeCe stepped between them.

  The crowd yelled, maybe in approval, maybe in anticipation of a fight. He could only hope they were as outraged as he was by the men’s behavior.

  Everyone went silent as CeCe’s father took control again. “Augie! Enough! Mika, calm your brother. And good CeCe, give your old pai another hug.”

  CeCe turned back to her father and embraced him. Chienne watched, tail wagging.

&nbs
p; “So you are Augie.” René smiled at the smirker. “I’m Captain René Baudoin, and I am pleased to meet CeCe’s brothers, even though you don’t think much of my ship.”

  Augie spat over the side of the dock and walked away. Several of the women in the crowd scowled at him. Others merely grinned. So Augie fancied himself the troubled teen-age rebel.

  The other brother extended a hand. “Olá, Captain Baudoin. I am Mika.”

  René took the young man’s hand, thinking that, finally, someone was going to be friendly.

  Mika immediately squeezed René’s hand until he thought his bones would pop. “You shove my brother again, Cabrao, and I’ll kill you. What are you doing with my sister?”

  Instead of pulling away, René stepped in and returned the grip, growling. “That’s her business, not yours, mon ami. And if your brother acts like a dog, I’ll kick him like one.”

  Mika flung his hand away. “I’m not your friend.” He whirled and stomped away to hug his sister.

  Someone came forward with a bottle of beer for CeCe. “Your favorite!” her father said. “Santo Graal! Do you remember?”

  CeCe smiled and kissed her father, but she didn’t take the beer. “I am glad to be home, Pai. You’ve met Chienne, but I’d like to introduce you to this beautiful old ship, and to René.” She motioned to the boat. “Tourbillon, this is my father, Zarco. She is hurt, Pai, so we brought her here.” Fresh tears drizzled down her cheeks.

  Zarco blew the boat a kiss. “Welcome, Whirlwind! And now, let me meet this man who wants to fight my sons.”

  René strode down and put out his hand, still throbbing from Mika’s grip. “Sir, I am Captain René Baudoin. It is very nice to meet you. CeCe and I—”

  The proud mustached man didn’t let René finish. He knocked aside the hand, threw his arms around René, and then kissed him, both cheeks. It felt so much like home, René had to smile. Who was this man? The sons might be assholes, but this man seemed a warm dynamo of vibrant power.

  “And now, we’ll take my daughter home!” Zarco yelled to the crowd. “You are all invited. The real party is in three days, my friends, the Festa do Divino Espirito Santo. But this afternoon, I think we should start a little early. Agreed?”