CHAPTER 29
C HAPTER 29
W hen he left Cape Fortune, Curtis returned to the resort and spent another hour with the four construction crews currently working there. To emphasize the project’s urgency, he insisted on writing out checks covering all their estimated costs. Then he promised a massive bonus if they completed the demolition by next sundown. When he drove away, the chiefs and crews were moving at their lumbering version of warp speed.
He drove to the Morehead City supermarket and filled his cart with basics—coffee, milk, bottled smoothies, cheese, fresh bread, herbal teas that Kurien preferred, and so on. Standing in the checkout line, Curtis recalled earlier days, prepping for his boss’s arrival, doing what he did now. Excited about the time they would soon share. Happy. Which was crazy in a way, how delighted he was to be Kurien’s personal assistant. So many of his business school buds would have considered it an insult, one step above serfdom.
For Curtis, though, it was a chance to move into Kurien’s intimate space, be with him for hours when all barriers between them were dropped. He was granted an opportunity to observe and study a business genius, an incredible strategist, a diplomat. Sitting with Curtis and sometimes Amiya, occasionally with Lorna, other times just the two of them, analyzing the day and the people involved and their aims. Both sides. What they want, what they are after, how to bring the sides together in long-term harmony. Or not.
At the newly rented home, Curtis unloaded his groceries, then took a long, slow walk through the place. He made mental note of the extra furniture Kurien would probably require, starting with electronically adjustable easy chairs and bed. All in all, though, he was pleased. The home was in pristine condition, everything he tried worked as it should; and beyond the rear glass wall, boats sliced through the evening waters in an illuminated parade.
He made a salad he didn’t particularly want and took it out to the broad rear deck. There was nothing left for him to do but face the inevitable.
Amiya might as well have been seated there beside him. The woman’s heat, her strong embrace, formed an enduring presence. And allure. Curtis ate slowly, wondering at their relationship’s sudden transition.
Until that very day, Amiya’s beauty, her intelligence, her drive, had simply been part of who she was. This incredible woman had been both his boss and his dearest friend. While Lorna had been alive, personal times with Amiya had been both intimate and distant. His late wife had always called Amiya her sister. Curtis had felt precisely the same.
And now?
He had read somewhere about the earth’s magnetic poles occasionally shifting. The words had been meaningless until now. The way she had held him, the invitation, the love she revealed . . .
If he allowed, it would shift his world on its axis.
The prospect terrified him.
Curtis found himself utterly incapable of asking the simple question: What did he want?
Every glance in that direction brought him back to the look in her eyes. The brief embrace. The words she had almost sung to him.
The invitation.
Curtis carried his unfinished meal back inside. He closed up the house and prepared for bed, moving by rote. When he cut off the lights and lay down, he felt encased in a surreal calm. It reminded him of the run-up to a major blow. The air turned blisteringly hot and filled with a humidity that made breathing difficult. The air crackled with such energy the old-timers liked to say the sea was ready to boil. All the while, the hours remained windless, the ocean utterly calm.
Waiting.
Eventually Curtis fell asleep, his dreams fractured, his fear a very real force. Until a woman’s voice came to him, perfumed whispers, her every breath a lilting melody.
* * *
Curtis woke just before six. He ate a bowl of slow-cooked oatmeal with berries and raw cane sugar, Kurien’s favorite. He cleaned up, then stood watching the daylight strengthen, listening to the house breathe around him. It was a good home. Open and yet private. He hoped Kurien would find it a place of healing.
He dressed and went for a run.
Beaufort occupied a mini-peninsula surrounded by water on three sides. In many places, the depth extended right up to the docks. This was extremely rare along the entire eastern seaboard, as most of the Intracoastal Waterway was marked by shifting sandbars and dangerous shallows.
Yachting Magazine regularly named Beaufort the number-one small town in America, and for good reason. The Beaufort Channel offered safe passage around the Shackleford Banks and into the Atlantic. Coastal islands blocked the worst of ocean-born storms. The long string of islets shielded the town’s ocean-facing bulkheads and marinas.
Curtis ran the town’s long waterfront promenade, past shuttered restaurants, cheerful shopwindows, and beautiful yachts. The original builders had buttressed their structures with frames of live oak, the same hardwood used by eighteenth-century shipwrights to make the vessel so impervious to cannon fire it had become known as Old Ironsides.
He was jerked to a halt by the realization of where his mind had wandered. Without conscious thought, he had been mentally sharing a lazy cruise with Amiya, dining with father and daughter . . .
A family.
He came to a halt and shuddered hard. Staring out over the sunlit waters, what he really saw was an internal vista forged by terror. The dilemma was as stark as the growing heat. Did he have what it took to enter a new relationship?
Curtis started back, his every step echoing the real crisis issue. He had no idea what he really wanted. Twenty paces later, Curtis was halted once again when his phone pinged with an incoming message.
Jiyan’s text was nineteen words. Long enough to change everything.
In a strange yet satisfying way, Jiyan’s message was exactly what this moment required. The day’s course solidified in the few moments required to plan his next steps. He set aside all the questions and fears and doubts surrounding Amiya because he had no choice.
Curtis pocketed the phone and kept running.
Back at the house, he brewed another pot, stretched, showered, and dressed.
When he was ready, he texted a three-word response to Jiyan.
Then he phoned Dana Bowen’s personal cell.
* * *
To his great relief, Dana answered on the second ring. He started, “Rae is with Amiya. Something has come up. I’m fairly certain Rae would agree this call is important, and we’re going to need your help.”
“Why don’t we pretend seconds count,” Dana said. “Skip the windup and dive straight in.”
Curtis needed ninety seconds to lay it out.
She responded the instant he finished. “Leave it with me. Soon as I’m done participating in your hearing, I’ll be spending another day tied up in court proceedings. I’ll coordinate things with Rae. She’ll serve on point.”
“Was I right to call?”
“Most certainly. Good luck today. Keep me informed.”