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

this shit. Take the wheel.” He stomped down the companionway and slammed the stateroom door.

I stood in the helm, unsure of what I was doing behind the wheel or in our marriage. Something caught my eye, and I turned. The shark’s dorsal fin cut through the yacht’s wake.

The great white stalked us.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Brad stayed below, complaining of increased nausea and weakness, leaving me to sail the yacht alone. I could fool myself into thinking it was a sign he trusted me, but he probably checked the instruments in the salon to make sure we stayed on course. Even if he did, I still sailed the boat by myself. Me—piloting a yacht at sea—something I had never imagined doing. Maybe immersion behavioral therapy worked.

My anger at Brad dissipated, not because I forgave him, but because his lying about his suspension did not surprise me. It was his nature. Would I get angry at a dog for eating a piece of food off the floor? Brad was scared, weak, flawed in many ways, and his efforts to hide his true character from me had failed in less than a year. I saw through him, saw his incompetence, saw his violence.

Brad, the rich, gorgeous, doctor—the surgeon everyone thought was perfect—was a deeply insecure man. Maybe his lack of confidence came from having his parents give him whatever he wanted, from toys as a child, to admission into college, to a job at New England General Hospital. Brad had never needed to fend for himself, to cut his teeth in the world, to survive by his own merit. Down deep, he knew it, and that knowledge had eaten away his confidence. It made him competitive, petty, and afraid. Brad pretended to be a successful surgeon and a powerful man, but he knew he was not. Now, I knew it too. No, I was not angry at Brad. His behavior reflected who he was, and he would not change. Not ever.

He had denied having an affair, but I still felt the toxic infection of suspicion. I did not have evidence, but did I need to prove it? My suspicion meant I did not trust him, and that was the death knell for our relationship. Maybe it was unfair to punish him for my insecurity, but my feelings were genuine and his flaws real. Did I have to remain loyal to him? To our marriage?

A faint breeze, thick and salty, blew out of the northeast and tousled my hair, but I did not tie it into a ponytail. I enjoyed the way nature touched me, caressed me. Being on the sea, away from everything and everyone, made me feel natural, forced me to search inward, allowed me to feel human again.

The yacht bobbed, almost stationary. The sails luffed and hung from the mast and I pulled in the boom to trim them, but nothing worked, and they fluttered, powerless. I became a child flying a kite on a windless day. I set the autopilot and wandered the deck.

The sun dipped low, an orange, shimmering ball hovering over the horizon. Rays of light glittered off the waves. The surface glistened, the air cooled, and the sea smelled stronger, fishier. I stood in the bow riding the swells above the submerged mountains of an aquatic wilderness, as millions of mariners had done before me. Evenings uncloaked a magical quality, hinted at the unknown world below, offered the promise of adventure.

I bobbed on the current, as if I rode atop the bloodstream of the earth itself, and I experienced something unexpected and transformative. For the first time, I understood the vastness of the universe and the smallness of man, but still cherished the significance of a single life. Man was nothing—and everything. My actions had little effect on the universe, yet I was part of it, connected to all beings, a small piece of something bigger. I had never been religious, but I opened myself to the existence of something greater than myself, a spiritual presence. I did not believe in God in the mythological sense, but the universe, galaxy, and the sea before me had all been created. I had been created. I was part of this, and I felt it deep in my cells. In my heart. In my soul.

I exhaled, and the stress left my body, a red cloud of anger, betrayal, and frustration streaming from me. I lifted my eyes to the heavens and saw the first stars sparkling in the nautical twilight. I sensed Emma with me. I pictured her, and instead of suffering the wrenching pain of grief, I warmed with her love.

I felt connected.

Did getting away from the daily stress of my life in Boston allow me to unwind? Did removing myself from the house where tragedy struck give me distance? Maybe escaping the constant sympathy and pity provided me with the space to see myself as whole. Sailing the yacht gave me a sense of accomplishment again, made me forget how my life had collapsed.

Maybe the visceral danger of sailing on blue water had put things into perspective. Out here, it was harder to generate anxiety about esoteric concepts or to drown in negative emotions. Being at sea and in constant peril made me focus on the present, on the world as it existed. Sailing while worrying about things I could not change was like running from a bear and stressing about my taxes. The sea brought life and death, and my ability to reason—not my emotions—was my tool to survive.

I lay on the deck and watched the stars grow brighter.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

I stared across the table at Brad, both of us silent. We had not discussed his suspension again after our fight. I felt a little better for the first time in a long time, so why ruin my mood with a confrontation? The psychological contentment I experienced had massaged my soul and given me a moment of peace in the storm. I could not