Acts of Contrition Page 3

  “I’ll be at the dock.”

  * * *

  Michele was floored by the man walking up the dock. He had on the same khakis from earlier in the day, but now he was wearing a crisp, white button down and blue dinner jacket, button at the waist, hugging his new, ripped body.

  She quickly found herself wishing she had waited until after he arrived to board the boat, so she could get a good look at that tush. The tight, tiny, toned tush.

  Meh.

  Craig climbed the gangplank, sporting a new pair of deck shoes and to her utter shock, held out a bouquet of flowers for her.

  “What’s this?” Michele accepted the small but bright bouquet.

  “Just some flowers,” he answered. “I saw them and thought you might like them.”

  “They’re very pretty.” Michele sniffed them, then turned them to really inspect them. “Gardenia.”

  “I recognize the smell anywhere.” Craig shrugged.

  Michele tucked the flowers, stems in first, into her purse. Craig had remembered her favorite flower was gardenia, and bought her some. She was speechless. What the hell was going on here? Was he really being this nice to her? Did he want something? Michele really felt there was a piece of the puzzle missing. “So, um…you don’t have to stay with me the whole time, if you don’t want. Just keep an eye on me. I’m, um, still feeling everything about last night and not in a good way.”

  He seemed to take her meaning: don’t plaster yourself to me. Craig nodded. “Fair enough. I’m going to go watch them hoist the sails and chat with the captain.”

  Michele smiled. “I know you like your boats.”

  “Sailboats only.” Craig smiled, and stuck his hands in his pockets. “I’ll find you for the snacks later.” Michele nodded as he turned to walk down the deck.

  And there it was. The tight, tiny, toned tush. It was an automatic reaction looking at him—she licked her lips and had to stop herself from reaching out and grabbing a handful. Instead, Michele just watched him as he comfortably, easily picked his way through ropes and sails to the back where the skipper and first mate were.

  Her stomach was still roiling a bit from the beer and bad decisions of the night before, but there was very little she loved more than the feel of salt water on her face. Michele wanted to go on this sail, and nothing was going to stop her. She’d even stopped and picked up some seasickness pills before she got onboard.

  It wasn’t hard to keep an eye on Craig as he got in with the crew and hoisted the mainsail, helped them trim and tack and watch the wind from the water whip his semi-long, completely disheveled hair around his head. The jacket had disappeared and was probably down below.

  His new body rippled under the shirt, and Michele was having a lot fun watching him tackle the ropes and sails. For all the years they were together, she knew he had a passion for sailing, but never once mentioned buying a boat. He always found ways to get on the sailboats, to help with the rigging, sails, navigation, but never their own. And she’d never asked where his passion for it had come from. Because it was a passion.

  A sudden, horrible thought slammed into her—could he have been saving to buy that boat of his dreams when the credit card debt came to light? Where had he gotten the nearly hundred thousand dollars to pay nearly all of it off? Had she pissed away his dream? There was such an amazing strong streak of honesty in Craig, she knew he must have done something, sacrificed something to pay those bills off. It was one of the things she adored about him from the get go—his striking honesty.

  Michele took one of the flutes of champagne as the boat cast off from the dock and sailed into the blue-green waters around Galveston Island. Michele sipped the champagne as the boat slipped through the water near Pelican Island and made, what was for the sailboat, a hard to starboard before Port Bolivar and cut into the Gulf of Mexico. The westerly wind, slightly unusual for the area, caught the sails and took them out into the waters and along the coast of Texas toward Louisiana. The waters were clear and it wasn’t long before they picked up a dolphin playing in the wake.

  As the sun lowered, they tacked around to start heading back to the island and she caught Craig staring at her. She smiled. He smiled back.

  It felt natural.

  Were they really so broken?

  She looked up and over at him again. The scenery had changed quickly—there was now a woman dripping herself all over him. Not literally, it was after all February and the water was too cool. But she was hanging on him like she was a wet bed sheet. Young and lithe, her shirt was dangerously low and pants tight enough to remove all questions about ‘panties or no?’

  Michele was far enough away that she couldn’t hear what was going on, but by the eyelash flicks per minute, the flirting intensions were clear. Craig peeled her off once, but she was a true cling-on. She was back on him an instant later. He peeled her away again. This time it took her a minute to slither back on to him, and a moment for him to realize she was there again.

  Michele stayed in her spot on the bow, but she was shocked to discover she wanted to go over and yell at the girl to get her mitts off her husband. Partly because the display the girl was putting on was so gross and partly—because he was her husband.

  Finally, Craig turned and looked at the little harpy. He held up his hand, palm out, and stated his position. Michele could see in his body language that he was basically telling her to get bent and get gone. She tried not to crack a smile. She knew that tone and stance like no one else.

  Sadly, Wet Bed Sheet wasn’t getting it. She kept coming back for more rejection, over and over for the next ten minutes. Michele had the feeling Craig was not about to get a lick of peace if she didn’t boot the bitch.

  Grabbing another glass of champagne and putting on her best face, she sauntered over to where Craig was trying to coil some rope while pushing the woman away. She didn’t walk up to him—instead she opted to drop herself delicately on the roof of the cabin next to Craig and watched the Wet Bed Sheet keep trying for a moment. Then she deployed her best weapon.

  She crossed her legs. Carefully, slowly, seductively, one long leg slipped over the other.

  Craig did not miss it.

  He ran his eyes up her faded-tan legs all the way up to her waist, then on his journey up lingered a moment on her breasts—another fantastic asset—and finally landed on her face. She planted a sweet, low smile there, pausing a moment holding his eyes before taking a small, suggestive sip on the champagne glass.

  “Hello,” she breathed.

  “Michele,” he responded, his breath clearly hitching.

  “Who’s this?” Wet Bed Sheet asked.

  “My wife,” he answered, not even flicking his eyes over to her. His handsome brown eyes were fixed firm on the legs she had put on display.

  “Wife? Why didn’t you tell me she was here?”

  Craig finally turned and looked at the little tart. “You don’t need to know my wife is here for you to get a hint and get yourself out of my face.”

  Wet Bed Sheet huffed. Throwing a nasty look at Michele, she finally turned her pert little butt away from them and headed down the outside edge of the boat and down to the cabin below. Craig didn’t watch her go.

  “Thank…” He paused and cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

  “You looked like you couldn’t figure out how to remove her.”

  “I couldn’t,” Craig admitted. “At least not without tossing her overboard.”

  Michele laughed. “I don’t think you’d want to do that. Then we would have turn around and pick her up.”

  “Land is that way,” Craig laughed and pointed.

  “Anyway, you’re welcome,” she answered.

  “That outfit looks really good on you.” He managed to trip the words out.

  “Seriously? You’ve seen this on me a dozen times.”

  “Yeah, but…” He swallowed hard. “Anyway, thanks.”

  “They are going to be serving dinner shortly,” Michele said, standing up.<
br />
  “What’s dinner?”

  “Sandwiches,” she laughed. “We’re on a boat with forty other people, it’s not going to be a gourmet meal.”

  * * *

  Craig slipped into the space next to her on the edge of the boat. The sun was setting in a glorious blaze of yellows and reds that reflected through the clouds, setting the sky on fire. He popped the little box open and peered in.

  Michele laughed. “You do that like Logan.”

  “Well, a man’s gotta know what’s in the box.” He poked around and made a few ‘hmms’, nodding as he went. “This is entirely too healthy for a vacation meal. I mean, a Clementine?” He pulled it out, holding it like it was going to bite him.

  “You love those damn things,” Michele answered.

  “Correction.” Craig held the fruit out for her to take. “I loved watching our kids eat them and teaching them how to eat right. I’m a grown man and I want a moon pie.”

  Michele couldn’t stop the laugh as she removed the offending fruit from his hand. “Moon pie? Because that’s mature.”

  He stuck his tongue out, and dug into the container again. This time he pulled out the sandwich, and inspected it. “Hm. Ham, and yellow American. Well, I guess that will do.”

  “I said it wasn’t gourmet,” Michele reminded him.

  He made an indistinct sound as he unwrapped his sandwich. Michele looked down into the box lunch and steeled herself. “Craig. How did you pay off all the debt?”

  “Lettuce.” He made a face.

  “What?”

  “There’s lettuce on this.” Craig pried the sandwich apart and picked out the leaf of lettuce. “God, iceberg, too.” He flopped the bread back on top.

  “Did you hear my question?”

  There was a moment of silence before he bobbed his head yes. “I did.”

  “Can you tell me?”

  He took a bite of the sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. “I can. Do you really want to know?”

  “It seems like something I should know.”

  There was another pause as he took a bite. “I had some savings accounts. Mutual funds. Money markets. I wanted us to have nice things. I knew you always wanted a house outside Bar Harbor. Even if it was just a glorified cabin. I thought it would be nice to find one on the water and buy myself a small sailboat. We could’ve spend the summers, and maybe retire there some day. But I wanted to get rid of that debt so it wasn’t hanging over either of us.”

  Michele’s hand had flown to her mouth. Bar Harbor had been a dream her whole life. Growing up in Queens, it was always just a wild idea. Moving to Boston for college she’d nearly forgotten about the place, and eventually relegated it to the ‘would be nice, won’t happen’ bin of her dreams.

  But Craig hadn’t forgotten. She knew that she had only mentioned it once or twice after they had taken a summer vacation there, before the kids. Michele had loved everything about that week, and even though she knew it got insanely cold in the winter, she loved it so. “You really remembered that?”

  “Oh, please.” He waved her off. “I remember how much you smiled that week. How calm and pleased you were. I remember you told me it was a place you could live forever.”

  “You saved enough for a house? How…?”

  “My idea was to take you and the kids there for the summer vacation and seriously start looking for the house. I was going to tell you all about the accounts.” He looked up at her from the sandwich. “Your name is on all the accounts. We’ll divvy it all up once we get the paperwork going for the divorce.”

  “How much is left?”

  “Three hundred ten,” he answered.

  Michele sighed. “You don’t have to be a jerk about this, Craig.”

  “It’s not three hundred ten dollars, Michele. It’s three hundred ten thousand.”

  She choked. “What?”

  “Eric was helping me with the savings and investments.” He shrugged. “I wanted it to be a surprise. I took a chunk of our wedding money and opened the accounts. I’ve been giving Eric about four hundred dollars a month.”

  “And your brother turned it into that much?”

  “More,” Craig said. “He’s good. Our retirement would have been well funded. I don’t know the details or how he does what he does. But you see how he and Rosalind live.” Craig considered the sandwich once again. “It’ll all be divided.”

  Michele didn’t know what to feel. They had money. A lot of money. But Craig had never told her. As far as she knew, they weren’t outstanding in anyway. She’d seen their accounts, she’d paid the bills. She thought she had been spending way beyond their means. It was a relief she hadn’t—and it was terrifying that she had nearly destroyed their dreams.

  His dreams.

  “Michele, please don’t cry,” he said quietly. “I’m glad I could get rid of the bills. We’ll be able to walk away debt free, and both of us will be able to set up good homes for the kids.”

  Michele found herself wondering if that was what she really wanted.

  * * *

  “That’s him!”

  Craig spun to the left just as a right hook caught his jaw. Michele gasped and tried to push through the passengers who were dragging their feet to get off the ship. She watched as Craig spun back around from the force of the hit.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Craig demanded of the beefcake that had hit him.

  “You layin’ hands on my girlfriend?”

  “No,” Craig said. Michele was desperately pushing through the crowd. “No I did not.”

  “You were groping me! He was groping me!” Michele recognized the girl as Wet Bed Sheet, and instantly knew what was going on. The little girl had been brushed off and now she wanted to make him pay. For nothing.

  The crowd finally let her through, and she took a different approach to the situation. She picked two of the buttons of her shirt open and choose a saunter to walk over to the three of them. It wasn’t easy to use her saunter without her heels, but she made it work.

  And just in time. Michele was just able to wrap her hand around the meathead’s fist before he let it fly again.

  “Do you mind?” she asked.

  Meathead looked at her, fury in his eyes. “I do mind, you tart.”

  “I would prefer you didn’t make a hamburger of my husband’s face.” Michele pulled the fist down. His eye followed the fist down and she stopped the descent at the perfect point.

  “Husband.” It was a statement and a stutter as his eyes danced over her, landing on her bosom. “He’s your breasts.” The meathead stuttered and tried again. “Husband. He’s your husband. He’s your husband?”

  “Yes,” Michele said, shifting her pose. She let Meathead’s hand go, but his fist hovered there. “So whatever your little girlfriend here told you, you can trust me it’s not true. He’s my husband, and I think you can tell he doesn’t have an interest in your girl.”

  It took all Meathead had to tear his eyes away from her and look at Wet Bed Sheet. “Are you lying to me again? Are you doing this shit again?”

  “What shit?” the girlfriend asked. “He touched me.”

  “That’s right he did,” Michele said. “To peel you off him.” She looked at Meathead again. “Might want to have a little talk with your girlfriend here. Because, buddy, you can see my husband has no interest in her.”

  His eyes were stuck on her again. Craig stepped between them. “You’ll probably want to move along now. I didn’t touch your girlfriend.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Sorry about the boobies.” He stuttered again, and corrected himself. “Right hook. Sorry about the right hook.” He took the girl by her arm and hauled her away from Michele and Craig.

  The two of them watched the couple walk away and disappear into the parking lot. Craig turned to Michele. “Do you mind giving me a lift back to Windswept? I just got punched in the face.”

  Michele nodded and smiled at him. “Craig?”

  “Yes?”

  “Are y
ou staring at my breasts?”

  “No. Maybe.”

  “Come on,” she said. “There’s a wine pairing tonight. You can ogle me some more there.”

  Chapter Five:

  It had been impossible not to notice his wife’s breasts. She had adroitly employed them to diffuse the odd situation on the dock. He didn’t know how that had actually happened, but he was glad the airhead had only called her boyfriend and not the police. Even though he was one hundred percent innocent, that would have been a shit situation to get out of.

  Michele had flashed her boobs and poof, it was over.

  And then he couldn’t stop staring. Just like the insane shirt she had worn the night before, her breasts were something to behold. Right now, he was very grateful for that.

  Craig opted to change out of his boat clothes into a simple pair of dark khakis and a button down. The weather was still unusually warm, and he didn’t want to sweat the whole night.

  “Mister Ferguson,” the owner called from the desk motioning him over. Craig trotted over. “Good evening, Mister Ferguson. I wanted to let you know the wine tasting was moved to the patio this evening. I couldn’t, in good conscious, leave it inside with this luck in the weather.”

  “Thank you,” Craig said.

  “Mister Ferguson.” The woman, Madeline he remembered her name, put a hand on his. “Is everything all right? I’ve noticed you and your wife look… confused.”

  Craig sighed. “Well, I don’t know about her, but I sure am.”

  “About what?”

  “We came here in the state of mind that we were trying to fix us. We quickly decided we couldn’t. And now…” Craig sighed again. “I don’t know. She came to my rescue this afternoon.”

  “You came to hers last night, didn’t you?”

  “Any man with an iota self-worth would have gone to her rescue. Because then you’d be no better than the one who attacked her.”

  “What’s confusing?”

  “We’re getting along better now than we have in years.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”