A Star Tribune serialized novel by Jane Fredericksen
Chapter 11
The story so far: A freighter bears down on Redemption.
He raced to the control panel and flicked them on, his brain reeling. "We must've slipped our moorings!"
He wrenched the engine key from his pocket, shoved it in the ignition and turned it.
Nothing.
"The engine's dead," said Kacie. "I wrecked it."
Kinney stared at her in disbelief. "You what?"
He dove for a storage bin, hauled out an air horn and blasted it.
The freighter's searchlight arced through the fog, landing on them, blinding them. The ship let out an ear-shattering blare in return.
The freighter thundered by starboard, narrowly missing Redemption. The cruiser tilted as the first trough sucked her over.
"Port!" screamed Kinney. He grabbed the girl and threw her to the other side of the boat. "Hold on!"
The wake hit them hard abeam.
Not the way I want to go, thought Kinney. He grabbed a jackstay and hauled the girl next to him. "Don't let go!" He felt the boat rise on the crest, listing perilously.
Kinney let go and flung himself onto the helm, wrenching the rudder around to angle the bow toward the waves. He gripped the wheel, white-knuckled, as the dark mouth of the wave opened before him.
They hit the trough like a missile, hull smacking the water, came up again just as quickly, spray drenching them both. The next swell came and Kinney faced it head-on.
Ready for you now, he thought grimly, as they rose again.
And dropped.
After what seemed like an eternity of dipping and diving, rocking and pitching, the wake eventually subsided and the cruiser settled down.
Not Kinney. He unclamped his hand from the wheel and rounded on Kacie, screaming. "What the hell were you thinking, sailing without lights? And what have you done to the engine?!"
She faced him defiantly. "I wrecked it!"
"Why didn't you radio?"
"I threw the radio overboard!"
Kinney's jaw dropped. He stared at her.
"You're crazy! You're totally, certifiably crazy! Why would you ever do such a stupid thing?"
She would not back down. "Because you won't talk!"
It must have been the fog. Maybe the panic, or possibly the whiskey. At any rate, none of this was making any sense. Kinney ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. "I talked! I gave you what you wanted! What more do you want from me?"
"I want the truth!"
Kinney shook his head. He turned away. "You don't want truth," he challenged. "You want some screwed-up fairy tale! You can't accept truth. You can't accept reality!"
"Yeah? Well, you can't accept …"
He knew what was coming, and he whirled to face her, ready to deny it.
"Possibility."
It was not the word he had expected. Responsibility, he'd thought, and he was ready to tell her she wasn't his responsibility, she never had been, never would be. But for this word, for this moment, he had no comeback.
But only for a moment. He shook his head.
"I'm not who you think I am."
Kinney stormed downstairs, as Kacie dogged him. He flicked on the cabin lights, unlocked the steps and swung them out. He surveyed the damaged engine in dismay. The spark plugs were gone.
Her voice rose bitterly behind him. "You can't even say it," she accused. "Say it!"
He turned to face her and looked her square in the eye. He forced himself to sound calm.
"Listen, Kacie. I'm not your father."
Tomorrow: Chapter 11 continues.
It’s too soon to tell how much the immigration crackdown is to blame.
