Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
“Ithink I might be picking up on something.”
Skip adjusted the dial on the old radio, locking in on a frequency that was nothing more than fuzzy static to Camille’s ears.
“Do you hear that?” Her dear friend’s spine pulled ramrod straight like a dog catching a scent, zeroed in on one thing only.
He leaned toward the dusty box, shoulders now rounded to get his ear as close to the speaker as possible, eyes shut to block out any other sort of distraction.
“That! That!” A cragged finger thrust toward the radio like an exclamation point.
“Hear it? Like a clanging or sort of banging noise? Boom, boom, boom.”
Camille couldn’t hear it, and truthfully, she doubted Skip could either considering she often had to shout to get his attention.
She’d hollered that man’s name more times in a day than she could count.
But when it came to the seas, Skip seemed to have heightened senses, an alertness that came from a deep, almost spiritual connection to the water.
All those years on its surface made him in tune with the ocean in a way the average person couldn’t understand. It was a language all on its own.
Foster traded a look with Camille. “I’m not sure I hear anything, either,” he admitted quietly.
Skip turned the dial back down and clicked it into the Off position with a huff of frustration. “I’m going back online to check the boards to see if there’s any new chatter going on there.”
While everyone in Seascape Shores had been concerned about the missing boat, Skip took things to another level, his concern shifting into obsession.
Ever since learning of the missing vessel, he’d spent all his waking hours researching possible whereabouts and coordinates, communicating with his old sailor friends, and poring over paper maps and physical books.
It was as if he’d lost one of his own and wasn’t going to rest until he brought the crew home and back to safety on shore.
Camille figured that was ultimately the responsibility of the Coast Guard, but she understood the camaraderie between seafarers.
Her parents had had a similar community so many years ago, and when they’d disappeared into the depths on that fateful day, many from that group came out to search for them.
Even more turned up later to mourn them.
“He’s consumed by this,” Camille said candidly after Skip had retreated to the other room.
Foster shrugged. “I don’t think there’s any harm in it.
He feels powerless, and researching gives him something to focus his energy on.
” He gave his wife a pointed look. “Kind of like you with your whole thing about all of us needing to be in one place to ride out the storm. It’s human nature to try to control what little we can when it feels like everything else is out of control. ”
“That was a safety issue,” she reasoned. “And no one listened to me, anyway.”
“They listened. They just decided that they ultimately needed to do what was best for them individually. And I think we can all agree that it’s certainly not best for Edie, Josh, and Cal to be under one roof.”
“I don’t think it’s even best for those three to be in the same zip code.”
“I’m with you on that one.” Foster leaned forward and placed a kiss on Camille’s forehead before drawing back to give her the sweetest look.
This man and the way he adored her was absolutely precious.
“I’m heading over to the jobsite to make sure the storage units are locked up and all the tools are stowed inside them. I’ll be back within the hour.”
“You’re going out in this?”
“I don’t really have a choice. Donnie said he drove by and the guys had left all their junk laying around. Didn’t put anything away or lock things up. Didn’t even close the gate. I can’t afford to lose my equipment, and right now, it’s just begging to be stolen.”
“But it sounds like you can afford to lose some of those employees.”
“They’re just young kids. They’ll learn.
Plus, it’s not easy finding people willing to do construction these days.
Least not around here.” He shouldered into his raincoat and fit a cap with the Spaulding Construction logo onto his silver hair that had gotten long enough to curl out the bottom.
“I’ll be back in an hour, tops. Promise. ”
“Don’t make me send out a search party for you. Because I will.”
“Oh sweetheart, don’t I know it.”
She gave her husband a hug, the kind that lasted longer than normal and held tighter than necessary. But it was necessary, for her, at least.
Foster was right. Camille didn’t know how to control this, and the paranoia that resulted was her way of managing what little she could control.
Of course, she knew she couldn’t control the decisions of others, but maybe she could influence them.
Sway them a little. Help them understand her reasoning behind her need for the people she loved so dearly to stay safe and out of harm’s way.
Especially her new husband.
Her arms bound around him, clinging to his body.
“You’re going to have to let me go, Camille.” He could pull out of her arms if he really wanted to. Foster was a large man with an impressive strength—much stronger than Camille’s persistent embrace that had turned into something like a death-grip. “Sweetheart.”
“I can’t keep you here forever? With me?”
“Of course, that’s the plan. Why else would I have married you if I didn’t want to be bound to you for life?
But this whole physical restraint part?” He peeled one arm from his waist, then the other, then gave her the most empathetic smile she fully knew she didn’t deserve.
“I have to work so I can provide the life of our dreams. And a construction crew without tools won’t get us there.
I promise, as soon as I’ve got everything locked up, I’ll head home. ”
She still loved the sound of that: home. Knowing hers would forever be with Foster created a peace she hadn’t experienced in years. A sense of absolute security that she truly didn’t think was possible with a man. Not after the way things had ended with her ex-husband, Mark.
Reluctantly, she put on her best brave face and watched Foster leave.
It was silly. He wasn’t headed out on some lengthy voyage.
He was just driving down to the jobsite, for goodness’ sake.
But there was still an ache of helplessness that took the place of his presence, filling that void.
A throb of worry that switched places with reason.
Camille didn’t like this feeling of powerlessness. It made her wheels spin, her thoughts race.
Making a cup of chamomile tea was the only tangible thing she could do to attempt to calm these rising nerves.
As she waited for the pot to heat on the stove, she looked out the big bay window toward the ocean.
It was even more active today than yesterday.
Waves stretched, curled, and slammed with a vengeance, almost in response to the change in weather.
Everywhere she looked, there was water. Falling from the sky, battering the shore, flooding the gutters that would need to be cleaned out sooner than later.
It was a massive deluge with no real hope of letting up anytime soon.
The squeal of the teapot snapped her from her reverie, effectively yanking Camille out of her thought spiral.
Those dang thoughts. That overactive imagination.
When she was young, people would always comment how creative she was.
Her teachers would reward her storytelling with high marks and straight A’s.
But as an adult, the what ifs and worst-case scenarios weren’t written down as papers she could turn in for a letter grade.
No, they often remained tucked up in her head, building in drama and scale until she couldn’t keep any of it to herself.
That’s when she ended up doing something ridiculous, like insist that everyone be within arm’s reach during the storm. She knew she sounded crazy—sometimes she wondered if she truly was—but it was the way her brain worked, and she didn’t know how to untangle herself from any of it.
With a sigh, she poured a cup of tea for herself and another for Skip, then joined him in the reading room where he sat in his favorite chair with a laptop perched upon his knees.
She handed him the cup—the one with the drizzle of honey, just the way he liked it—and took a seat next to him.
Of everyone, Skip was closest to Camille when it came to an overactive imagination.
Maybe that’s why she’d always felt like they were kindred spirits.
Like minds. “Any luck finding out more information about the missing sailors?”
“They’ve identified the captain of the boat.”
“As in—?” Her heart lurched.
“Oh, no, no, no. They haven’t found any bodies or anything like that. Just located the log. Said to be a chartered fishing expedition with four other fellas, so five in total. Pretty wealthy guys, too. Sounds like they forked over a few grand each to take the tour.”
“Where are you hearing all of this?”
“From some buddies near the port they set out from. There should be a logbook listing all the names of the passengers, but it’s sounding like they didn’t really do things aboveboard if you know what I mean.”
She blew across the top of her mug before taking that first calming sip. “And why would that be?”
“My best guess is they weren’t planning to just fish for typical seabass.
That they were going for something a little riskier and more controversial.
Maybe something like a great white shark.
You know, kind of like the guys that pay all heaps of money to go on safari to kill a lion or other exotic creature, just because they can. ”
“People do that here? In the ocean?”
“It’s not common, and it’s not talked about much. But it would make sense of why there’s little information about this particular excursion. And why the boating company is being so tightlipped about it all. It’s not illegal to fish for sharks, but it is illegal to hunt a great white.”
Camille didn’t like the thought of anyone being lost at sea, but she also couldn’t stomach the notion that someone would hunt an endangered animal purely for thrill and sport.
It made her gut churn. “Would any of this have to do with their vessel going missing? You don’t think there’s something nefarious going on, do you? ”
“Maybe, maybe not. The fact that they weren’t doing things right from the get-go makes me think they might’ve cut some other corners, too. Who knows? I don’t agree with their practices, but I do hope to God they make it home safely. No one deserves the fate of a watery grave.”
She knew that better than anyone, and the moment Skip uttered the words, he recognized his unintended blunder.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Millie. I’d forgotten the sea took your parents, too. Not trying to be insensitive at all. I hope you know that.”
“You’re not.” She knew Skip’s heart and intentions well. “And I agree with you. Let’s just hope these men are found before this storm kicks into full gear and search parties have to pull out. At that point, all they’ll have left to save them are their prayers.”