Secretariat Reborn (10 page)

He reached Sarasota and mumbled, “Screw it. Jake can close up. I’ll deal with the business tomorrow.” He longed to kick back on
The Princess
, watch the sunset, and sip a cocktail all by himself.

As he pulled into the Sailing Squadron, his cell phone chimed. He recognized Kate’s number on the caller ID, but didn’t answer it.

He had received five phone messages from her while in Ocala, the first one predictable. Calling him “baby,” she had sweetly explained she was sorry for being short. Her apologizes had grown old, and he didn’t return her call. In the following messages, she grew angrier.

Outside his SUV, he flipped open his cell and hit the voice mail key to hear her latest ranting.

“What the fuck, Chris!” she screeched. “Answer your goddamn phone!”

He closed the phone. “I’m really ready for that drink now.”

The following morning Christian woke in the cabin to the gentle rolls and a cool breeze that swept across the bay. He turned on the small propane stove to heat up water for coffee, and by the time he slipped into some cutoffs and brushed his teeth, the water was boiling. He fixed a cup, slipped on his sunglasses, and ascended the
three steps to the open deck. On the port side, he noticed a stir of water and looked down at a young manatee munching sea grass on the bottom. “Hey, fella. You sure don’t look like a mermaid.” He reflected on reading that ancient sailors had once mistaken these sea cows for mermaids, starting the myth.

While taking a sip of coffee, he glanced toward City Island. Instead of swallowing, he choked at the sight of Kate’s Porsche parked alongside his SUV and her marching back and forth on the beach, waiting for him to come ashore. “Oh, shit,” he said and wiped the dripping coffee from his chin.
Getting up this early, she must be really pissed
.

He gulped down half the coffee while grabbing a t-shirt from the berth. Tossing the shirt into the dinghy, he climbed down the ladder and rowed toward the Squadron.

“Why haven’t you answered your fucking phone?” she yelled across the water. “And don’t give me the damn excuse you had no reception. You were avoiding me.”

He didn’t respond and took his time, rowing. In foot-deep water, he stepped out of the dingy and plodded toward shore, pulling the small boat behind him. On the beach he slipped into his t-shirt and gazed at her. “I haven’t returned your calls,” he said somberly, “because what I need to say should be said in person.”

Her irritation instantly evaporated, and her fleshy lips curved into a seductive smile. “Baby, I know I was a bitch, slamming the door in your face, but I said I was sorry.”

“And I’m sorry too, Kate,” he said, figuring he should get to the point, “but it’s not working out between us.”

“So you lied.” She huffed. “You were trying to break up with me on that trip to Miami.”

“I was trying to tell you how I felt and save our relationship, but that trip—” He bit his lip and shook his head. “It convinced me there wasn’t anything to save.”

“But we’re meant for each other. Besides my daddy, you’re the
only man I’ve ever cared about. I lost him. I can’t lose you, too. I love you, baby.”

“You might need me, Kate, but you don’t love me. Look, I’m done arguing with you. The fact is I’m fed up with this one-sided relationship where there’s no give on your part. We have nothing in common except sex, and even that’s not worth all the bullshit.”

“Chris, I promise I can change. I’ll treat you right. We’ll go sailing more often.”

“It’s too late. I’m not sure what we’ve been playing at for the last few months, but I’m not happy and want out.” He dropped his head and said quietly, “Kate, I’m sorry. I just don’t see a future happening with you anymore.”

She shrank away and slowly sat down on the edge of the dinghy. She twirled her hair and her face looked like she had been punched in the stomach. She glanced up at him, her eyes watery and bewildered. “This time you’re not just angry,” she mumbled. “You really are leaving me.”

“No, I’m not angry, just tired. I’m sorry, Kate.” Like on the trip to Miami, he expected her to break down into tears and stepped closer to comfort her.

She leaped to a stand and hauled off, slapping his face. “You sorry fucker!” she said, her tone and gaze spiteful. “If you think you can dump me and get away with it, you’d better think again. You’ll regret this, I promise.”

Startled and speechless, he held his smarting cheek, her mood swings leaving him with whiplash; sweet and needy one minute and hateful the next. She marched to her car and floored the gas, leaving tire grooves on the shell lot.

“Wow,” he said and watched the Porsche drive off. “How could I’ve been so blind?”

Over the next several weeks, Christian focused on work. He finished restoring the McGregor in the evenings, and during the day he stayed busy renting out his boats and giving lessons. Schools had let
out and the summer tourists were coming down, so thankfully business was picking up.

Although he missed the sex, he didn’t miss Kate. He was surprised but relieved she didn’t contact him. He figured she had replaced him with a new playmate and pitied the poor sucker.

He called his father every few days. After the first week with Rosa, Hank had stopped complaining. Apparently, Rosa and Juan now made a habit of staying for dinner, his father welcoming the company.

Once a week, Christian also called Ed Price, keeping tabs on Hunter’s progress. Price said that his colt was doing fine and his first race was fast approaching.

At the end of a hectic Sunday, Christian was hosing down the last WaveRunner while Jake sat at a picnic table under a shady tree and tapped the keys on his laptop computer.

“Jake,” Christian called, “are you going to help me clean up and put the sails away?”

“Just a minute,” Jake said, still focused on the screen.

Christian puckered his brow, shut off the hose, and walked to him. “What are you doing?”

“I’m on Kaneva, and my avatar is dancing with five awesome chicks.”

“Kaneva?” Christian stared at the screen, watching a tall blond male figure dance in the animated bar with the five female avatars. “That’s pretty cool. You’re the blond guy? He doesn’t even look like you.”

“I’m drumming up business for you. These chicks are driving down from Atlanta so they can meet you and take sailing lessons.”

“Why would they … how do they know about me?”

Jake turn from the computer screen and looked up sheepishly. “I kinda put your picture on my profile, saying I was you. Man, I’ve gotten three thousand hits and loads of friend requests.”

“What! What picture?” Christian scowled.

“It’s a good picture. I took it when we were sailing. You look
good, a real babe magnet. You know, no shirt, great tan, blond hair, sunglasses. Girls say I’m, well, really, you look like a young Brad Pitt.”

“Jesus, Jake, I have enough damn problems and I sure don’t want to be hounded like Pitt. Get my picture off there.” Christian’s cell phone chimed in his pocket. Taking it out, he added, “And Jake, if you ever steal my identity again, I’ll kick your butt.”

Christian flipped the phone open and said, “Hi, Mom, I didn’t forget about tonight. After I fuel up
The Princess
and get water at the marina, I’ll be over.” Every other Sunday, he made a habit of having dinner with his mother and stepdad at their Siesta Key home.

“Try not to be late,” his mother said, “and don’t forget your laundry. Are you bringing Kate?”

He realized he hadn’t told his mother about the breakup. “We’re not together anymore.”

“I’m glad. Kate was a pretty girl, but call it female intuition, I never trusted her. I’ll see you at eight.”

He closed the phone, a little stunned. When it came to his personal life, his mother rarely commented. “Jesus, am I the only one who didn’t see through Kate?”

At eight o’clock, Christian sat down with his mother and Frank to a surf-and-turf dinner. He dunked a piece of lobster into the bowl of melted butter, realizing he was eating too much junk food. “Great dinner, Mom,” he said and glanced at her. Although in her mid-forties, Angie could pass for an attractive thirty. Christian had inherited many of his mother’s features; the blond hair, blue eyes, full lips. When mother and son were together, strangers often thought Angie was Christian’s older sister, making his mother’s day.

Frank, on the other hand, had a toadyish appearance. He was potbellied and shorter than Angie, with a balding head of dark hair and a large, flat nose. But what Christian’s stepfather lacked in appearance, he made up for in character.

When Christian first arrived in Sarasota with his mother, age ten, he was bitter and confused, losing his father and home. With his whole world turned upside down, he lashed out at the slightest provocation and got into numerous school fights with his classmates. But when his mother married Frank, the man was kind to Christian, gave him stability, and made him feel worthwhile. Frank patiently mentored Christian and loved him like a son. His stepfather was easygoing, generous, and a gentleman. Christian considered him his most trusted friend.

“So fill us in,” his mother insisted. “What have you been up to?”

Christian told them about his hectic life—work, the colt, Hank’s failing health, and the breakup with Kate. He admitted he felt like a fool, putting up with her for months.

“You’re not a fool, Christian,” said Frank. “You’re a nice guy who doesn’t like to give up on people.”

Christian swirled the ice in his Cuba libre glass. “Are we talking now about Kate or my father?”

“Maybe a little of both,” Frank said. “But for your sake, I’m glad you’re resolving issues with your dad. It’s a weight you’ve carried around too long.”

Christian nodded. His stepdad knew him and his insecurities.

After dinner, his mother helped him fold his laundry. He placed the basket of clean clothes in his SUV and headed home.

Leaving Siesta Key, he drove through town, passing Marina Jack and the bayfront. He approached the first bridge, the Ringling Causeway, and glanced to the right, since it offered a full view of north Sarasota Bay and the large group of sailboats, including his own, moored offshore near City Island. He felt his heart skip a beat. “Holy shit,” he cried. One of the sailboats was in flames. Surrounding it were the flashing red lights of several firefighting boats. More emergency red-and-blue lights from fire trucks and police cars streamed though the Australian pines on the island.

He stepped on the gas, recklessly swerving around the slow-moving
traffic and raced over the bridge, trying to make out the boat, praying it wasn’t
The Princess
.

Past the two bridges, he flew through the back neighborhoods on St. Armands, avoiding the circle shopping area. On the home stretch down City Island, his SUV reached ninety. At the Squadron, he slammed on the brakes, his vehicle sliding in the shell lot. He leaped out, ran to the beach, and shoved his way through the crowd of onlookers.

On the shore, he panted with anxiety and stared out at his beloved
Princess
or what was left of her, the flames billowing up from the sloop’s remaining hull. He bit his lip hard, the pain preventing moisture from growing in his eyes. Everything he owned was stowed on the boat, every extra dime earned had gone into restoring her over the years. “Crazy fucking bitch!” he growled. He plunked down on the sand, covered his mouth, and watched the firemen extinguish the flames.

Jack, another boat dweller, walked up to him and patted his back. “Chris, man, I’m so sorry. We saw the fire and called it in, but by the time they got here, she was already engulfed.”

Christian nodded to the scruffy, long-haired sailor. “Jack, did you see anything, anyone, maybe a blue Porsche in the lot?”

“No, man, didn’t see anything. A few fishermen and their cars in the park earlier, but when I went below, no one was here. The cops questioned all of us.”

A policeman walked to Christian. “You’re the boat owner?”

Christian stood and brushed the sand off his seat. “Yeah, it was mine.”

The officer filled out a report, telling Christian that the fire department investigator would determine if the fire was accidental or arson and the following day the detective handling his case would contact him.

Hours later, the police, firemen, and Coast Guard had left along with the spectators. Alone, Christian sat at a picnic table in the shadowy park and stared at the dark water. He knew the fire was not an
accident and he had no doubt of the arsonist. Only one person was angry enough to torch his sloop.

He reflected on Kate’s threats, the Miami trip, and again on their breakup.
She said I’d regret it. Why was I so damn naïve, thinking there’d be no repercussions with that demented bitch?

With his elbow on the table, his hand cupping his jaw, he thought about how Kate had planned her revenge. She was the only person who knew he would be gone tonight, eating dinner at his mother’s. She also was aware City Island was quiet on Sunday evenings and knew where to hide her car and avoid motion lights and security cameras so she could climb into a dinghy and board his boat. With motive and opportunity, Kate was his prime suspect, but he had no proof.

Guess it could’ve been worse
. He rose from the picnic table and wandered to the shore, realizing she could’ve locked the hatches while he was sleeping aboard, trapping him in, and then set the fire.