Chapter Nine

Angelique’s hands shook as she put together the order for Tim’s table. Why did he have to come in and see her in the hideous green shirt and butt ugly shoes?

She should have realized that he was going to have food here at some point.

Now all she had to do was get said food out to them without spilling the drinks and dropping the tray. Grimacing, she hefted the heavy tray onto her left shoulder and hip-checked open the door that led to the dining room.

A couple of big parties had come in while she’d been in the kitchen and one of them sat at a couple of tables they’d pushed together in her station. Just ducky.

She started to count how many were there and took her attention off where she was going. She misstepped and the tray began to fall. Panicking, she tried to steady it, but it flew up into the air, defied gravity and flew for a bit until it crashed into the wall right behind Tim’s table.

The plates full of food bounced off the wall and clattered over Tim and his friends, finally crashing in a huge, ungodly mess.

Cookie screamed immediately, jumped into her father’s lap, and wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him like a demented howler monkey. She thought she heard the boy say totes rad, but she couldn’t be sure.

They all stood, just seconds before Birdie McCorkle flew into the dining room all a twitter.

Great. Angelique could just kiss this job good-bye. The upside? She could ditch the fugly green shirt and the even fuglier shoes.

One always had to look on the bright side, right?

A couple of bussers dove right in and started to clean up. Angelique closed her eyes, said a quick prayer, and ran into the breach.

“I’m so sorry!” She started to gather up pieces of broken crockery.

“It was an accident,” Beth said as she used a napkin to wipe off Danny’s shirt.

“Of course it was.” Jeff croaked out, because Cookie still had a death grip around his neck.

At least she’d stopped screaming.

Angelique noticed Tim just standing there like a statue, like he couldn’t move. His hands fisted tight and his face paled. His lips nearly disappeared, stretching into a line above his chin.

He stared straight ahead, his pupils fixed and dilated.

“Let me get you another table, Coach,” Ms. McCorkle said, “and of course your breakfast is on the house.” She turned to Angelique. “Go on back to the kitchen and tell Alma to re-do their order a.s.a.p.”

Angelique nodded and ran to the kitchen. “Alma“

“I heard. I’m on it already. Why don’t you go to the sink and try to clean up a bit?”

Angelique looked down at herself. Zut alors! “Okay. Thanks.”

“Don’t worry about it. Things like this happen all the time. Nobody’s hurt, so it’s all good.”

By the time she’d gotten herself sort of together, Alma had the food ready for Angelique to take out.

“Watch your step this time,” Alma warned.

“You know it.” She picked up the tray and went back into the dining room. Tim’s friends were seated at a different table but Tim was nowhere to be seen.

“Here you are. I promise not to throw this on you again.” She set the tray down on a nearby tray stand. “Where did Tim go?” She placed a plate with chocolate chip pancakes in front of Cookie.

Beth and Jeff exchanged a glance. “He said he had somewhere to go and left.”

“I see.” She put a cheese omelet down in Beth’s spot. “He looked a little shaken up.”

“I’m sure he’s fine.” Jeff frowned.

She bit her lip. “I’m sorry I dumped y’all’s breakfast on you. Can I get you anything else?”

Beth shook her head and smiled. “It’s all good. I think we’re set for now.”

“Well, bon appétit.”

“Angie,” Birdie McCorkle quietly called and motioned for her to come over.

Angelique sighed. The moment of truth. Her butt was so totally fired.

Her hands started to shake. “Birdie, I’m so sorry. I’ll get my stuff out of my locker and“

“And why would you be doing that?” She shook her head.

“Obviously because you have to let me go because of what happened.”

“That was an accident. I called you over to find out if you’re okay.”

“I’m not fired?”

“Not today, lass. You’re not hurt or anything?”

“N-no.”

“Right-o. Here’s a clean shirt for you to change into and then go back on the floor.”

Angelique blinked as she took the tee. “Thank you.”

“Get on with it.” She nodded then turned and left Angelique alone.

She’d dodged a bullet, thank God.

But what was up with Tim? She wanted to pay him a visit when she got home, but she got the feeling he didn’t want to talk about what had just happened.

She, more than anyone, should respect that.

****

“You sure you want to take the boat out today in this wind?”

Tim didn’t look at the guy watching him launch Fantasy. “Yep.”

“You at least have someone sailing with you?”

“Nope.” If this jerk kept talking, Tim was going to have to punch him.

“Got a death wish?”

Yes. He could make it a murder-slash-suicide deal. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Hope so.”

Tim gritted his teeth and went about the business of rigging the boat.

Two episodes in twenty-four hours. A nightmare and a panic attack.

The need to fight the water and wind rode him hard. Boat ready to go, he turned her loose and steered out to Frenchman’s Bay.

The wind bit into the jib right away, so Tim changed course and let the sail out a little. The waves slapped viciously at the hull, sending cold spray up on either side of the boat.

It was nearly summer, but the water never got truly warm, even in August. He supposed he should be wearing a wet suit in case he capsized, but the hell with that.

The hell with all of it.

He would conquer the water. Conquer it and defeat it so it would never be able to terrify him ever again.

He could have walked away from the nightmare. He knew how to manage that. Getting doused with liquid when Angie lost control of the tray, so soon after the horrendous night he’d spent, had triggered a panic attack the likes of which he’d never experienced.

And in front of Angie no less.

What a pansy ass bitch he was. He should have been all over helping fix the situation. Instead, he’d stood there like a damn fool.

What happened to him? He used to be so cool; nothing rattled him, not bombs, not bullets, not nothing.

Now he lost his shit over broken pottery?

Damn terrorists. They’d taken away what made him a man.

He reached out of the harbor, past the breakwater, and into the bay. Immediately, the air got heavier and changed direction, so he had to make adjustments to the sails and course.

Tim could have changed direction so he could still reach across the bay, but he wanted to work. Instead, he turned so he could beat upwind.

He situated himself on the high side of the boat and leaned out as far as he could to keep the boat flat against the sea, using the tiller extension. That way very little air spilled over the top of the sails and he got more stability from the keel and didn’t lose the ability to steer the boat because more of the tiller stayed in the water.

Both the tiller and the keel didn’t work as well when the boat heeled so far over; hence, Tim hiked out as far as he could on the high side.

The salty waves chopped high, spraying him in the face. His heart started to beat a little bit faster but not so fast that he froze or freaked out.

He welcomed the challenge. He craved the victory over his demons.

Boo Yah.

What was he going to say to Angie?

Both Jeff and Beth knew about his PTSD and were so supportive. He doubted they’d tell Angie about his pitiful story and condition.

Jeff and Beth were true stand-up people. They’d let Tim tell Angie in his own time.

Which he wouldn’t do soon, or ever, for that matter.

The wind kicked up and he pulled in the jib to counteract it then he tacked to change course. The chop increased and water sprayed him in the face. Cold, nearly frigid, water started to ship over the lee rail and pooled in the boat’s cockpit and sloshed over his feet.

Determined to conquer his fears, he gritted his teeth and faced the elements.

The damned terrorists were not going to win, not this time.