Furious by Jeffrey Higgins (top 10 novels to read TXT) 📕

“For now, but the winds, currents, and weather change fast out here, faster closer to the equator. The Bay of Bengal is famous for its monsoons.”

I stared at the horizon. “Great.”

“Don’t worry.”

“The sea is much rougher.”

“This is nothing,” Brad said. “Wait until we hit some weather.”

The bow bounced up and down, filling my stomach with butterflies and making me light-headed.

“I feel a little sick,” I said.

“You’ll get used to it. This is only the beginning. We’re headed for the unknown, so get ready to take on everything nature can throw at us.”

I went below to find the Dramamine.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

A wave crashed against the bow and woke me at sunrise. I held onto the mattress as the yacht pitched like a rollercoaster. Sunlight reflected off whitecaps, streamed through the stateroom windows, and danced around the room as if nature put on a light show. The sea and air sparkled with life.

Brad had taken the last shift and should be at the helm. I hoped. The AIS made our rotating shifts unnecessary, but I felt safer with one of us awake and on deck at all times, and taking shifts provided the added benefit of my not having to sleep in bed with Brad. He had not forced me to fend off any of his sexual advances in days, but my respite would not last. I had not fulfilled my physical obligations as a wife, and my chest tightened thinking about it.

The stateroom became hot and stuffy, and I stood on the mattress and opened the hatches. Warm air blew across my face, a sign this would be another scorcher. I peeled off my underwear and walked naked across the berth into the bathroom, or head, as Brad reminded me daily. Brad, the nautical jargon Nazi.

Natural light radiated through a large window over the sink, and I kept the lights off and soaked it in. Being at sea—away from the smog, the people, the traffic—recharged me. It made me feel human, part of nature. Strong. The head was modern and sleek, with a teak deck, ceramic sink, and other luxury appointments. I climbed into the shower stall, behind a clear plexiglass door, and turned on the rainfall shower head. I let the water flow though my hair and over my body. I turned it off, lathered, and turned it back on to rinse. Brad insisted we take “navy showers” to save our potable water. We would be in trouble if we finished it.

After, I slipped on a skimpy black bikini, something I had owned for years, but had seldom worn. I had never minded showing off my toned body but working eighty-hour weeks had limited my sunbathing time. I inspected myself in the mirror. The baby weight had disappeared, and my familiar shape reflected at me.

I grabbed a cup of coffee from the galley, climbed on deck, and smiled at Brad. It had been a long time since I had smiled without thinking about it. An excellent sign.

“Morning, beautiful,” he said, rubbing his temples.

“Feeling any better?”

“Worse. Really shitty.”

“Can I do anything for you?”

Brad shook his head.

Arguing with him about returning to port would make him dig in his heels, entrench his position. He never liked me to baby him, not when it came to his health. I sat beside him.

He held the wheel with both hands, his muscles rippling in his forearms, and a light layer of perspiration beaded his brow. The sun had bronzed his skin, and despite being ill, he looked strong. I leaned across him to put my coffee in the cup holder and my breast brushed his arm.

Brad smiled.

“Brad, listen . . . I’m sorry about last night. I wish I felt like myself. We’re both under a lot of pressure and—”

“I’ll try to be more patient.”

“The past six months have been awful for both of us. I feel guilty about it.”

“Let’s try to start over, enjoy the trip.”

“At least we have a pleasant day,” I said.

“Not for long. Weather’s headed our way.”

I soaked in the blue sky and the thin stratocumulus clouds. “It’s gorgeous.”

“You’re facing the wrong direction,” Brad said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

I turned and stared over the transom. Giant clouds blanketed the horizon and dark towers climbed high into the sky, like fluffy mushrooms.

“Those look ominous.”

“They’re cumulonimbus clouds, formed by water vapor riding on strong air currents. See farther to the north, those high, fuzzy clouds are cirrostratus. They’re frequently associated with monsoons.”

“You’re a meteorologist now?” I asked.

“I researched the monsoon threat before we left.”

“Can we outrun it?”

“Not a chance, it’s moving much faster than us. The forecast has it crossing the Bay of Bengal by this afternoon.”

My shoulders tightened and my breathing grew shallow.  “How bad?”

“It’s a serious storm. Winds as high as fifty miles per hour, according to the forecast. It’ll be sporting, but we can handle it.”

“How can we sail in fifty-mile-per-hour winds?” I asked.

“I’ll reef the sails by furling the genoa and lowering the mainsail halfway down. I think it is safest if I just steer us though the heavy swells. It’s called running off.”

Adrenaline passed through me, like a cool wind. “Won’t the waves be too big?”

“It’ll work. If the wind gets too strong, we can try lying ahull.”

“What’s that?”

“I drop the sails and batten the hatches, and then we hide below. I’ll deploy a sea anchor to prevent us from turning sideways, but we will drift and if we turn broadside to the surges, we risk capsizing.”

My stomach felt empty and my cheek twitched. “Capsizing?”

“It’s not as dangerous as it sounds. If a rogue wave broadsided us, we’d roll over and the yacht would right itself, because the keel is heavy. It’s designed to do that, which is why monohulls are safer than catamarans. When double-hulls go over, they stay over.”

My skin chilled, despite the warm air. “Won’t the cabin flood and sink us?” My voice sounded raspy.

 “It’s airtight. If we secure it, we may take on a little seawater,