“Chipper, stop!” Catherine called out. The dog barked and hopped off the chair and leapt onto the bed where it pounced on top of him as it scampered over to its owner.
“Chipper, down!” The dog jumped off the bed. And then jumped back on.
“Note to self,” Braedon thought, “after the wedding, the dog goes.” He went to pet the dog, but it growled and jumped back off the bed.
“Unfortunately, I have work to do today, Braedon, or the day would be ours. Perhaps we can get together again soon?”
“I’d love to, Catherine. My schedule is more open than yours, so just let me know when you’re available and I’ll be there. I can’t imagine myself any place else.” He got up out of bed and got dressed and kissed her goodbye.
“Braedon,” she said with a warm smile, “I look forward to seeing you again soon.”
“Likewise, beautiful lady.”
Braedon caught a glimpse of the bay again as he left the room and immersed himself once again in his fantasy role captaining a boat. That’s when he spotted the 60-foot Hatteras docked at the mansion’s boat docks to the far right of the window. “I could get used to this,” he said to himself as he left the room and exited the house.
Within a few minutes he was at the helm of his old Toyota Camry, cruising down Bayfront Drive, with visions of the Hatteras dancing in his head.
Chapter 14
Boating on the Bay
Nick arrived home from church in the early afternoon and changed into a casual pair of swim trunks, a tank top, and flip flops. Since he was still fighting a nagging headache and a queasy stomach from the day at the beach the day before with Tanner, he thought he’d attempt to sweat out the alcohol by roasting on a chaise lounge by his pool.
“Mom, you home?”
“Yeah, I’m in my office. I’m finishing up a report for the board, due tomorrow morning. 8 a.m. meeting. What are you up to?”
“Just got back from church. Thought I’d sit by the pool for a little while and veg.”
“I should be done in a couple of hours. Do you want to test drive the boat?”
“Love to. Sounds good,” Nick said hoping seasickness wouldn’t get the best of him, given his raging hangover. He certainly wouldn’t be telling his mom about the day before at the beach. She’d be furious if she found out he drove drunk. Things just got out of hand. Stupid moves.
With a towel in hand and an icy soda, he headed to the shady side of the patio and plopped down on a cushioned chaise lounge. He wadded up his towel and stuffed it under his head as he flattened the chaise into a horizontal position. The summer heat and humidity soon overtook him and he fell asleep.
***
Around 3 p.m., his mom woke him. “Nick, you ready for the boat ride?”
“Yeah, sure Mom,” he said as he glanced over at the pool clock. “Wow, can’t believe I slept for so long. This chaise is comfortable.”
“I can’t believe you slept for so long either. You must be worn out. I’ve packed a few drinks and a couple of sandwiches for the boat ride and its gas tank is full.”
“Great,” Nick said as he sat up on the chaise, kicking in the remnants of his headache and its dull, throbbing pain. He pulled himself up and grabbed his sunglasses and towel and followed his mom to the dock. Was there anything else he’d need to bring?
“Mom, do you have the motion sickness medicine?”
“Yup.”
“Okay, can I get a couple of those pills?”
His mom handed him the pills after he climbed onto the boat and he popped them into his mouth, washing them down with a bottle of water from the cooler. There was nothing worse than being seasick on a boat, especially with a hangover.
She’d purchased the yacht with her signing bonus a few months back but it hadn’t been delivered until the day before. It was stunning, spacious, and powerful.
After they unleashed it from the ropes on the dock, she took the captain’s chair and revved up the engine as Nick sat by her side in the passenger seat. They backed out and pulled out into the bay.
“Nothing like a cruising on a Hatteras yacht,” she said, “especially one fresh from the manufacturer with a multi-million dollar price tag. Watch the reactions of the people we pass.”
Nick saw a boat in the distance and his mom accelerated towards it. The boat was small, perhaps around twenty feet. Its three male passengers turned to the Hatteras and waved. Nick waved back and smiled. “I see what you mean Mom. Boat envy. You get a superiority complex in this thing.”
“Well, hopefully not a complex.”
Nick knew how to run a boat too; they’d owned a couple of smaller boats in the past and he used to take them out on the water with his friends. The Hatteras was much larger, though, but the principles were the same. “Can I take a shot at the wheel?” He asked.
“Sure,” she said and they swapped seats.
Captaining the Hatteras was an exhilarating and masculine experience. He could feel his hair blowing in the wind and the sun at his back as they cruised south alongside rows of mansions to the tune of the yacht’s soft purring motor.
“We’ll have to think of a name,” she said.
“How about Liquid Assets?”
“No, sounds like something an accountant would name a boat.”
“How about Rum Runner?” Nick asked.
“Sounds like something a drunk would name a boat. Or the mafia during the Prohibition. How about Lady Luck?”
“Now you’re sounding like something you’re not - either a gambler or Frank Sinatra,” Nick said. “Bob’s boat’s called the DILLIGAF. How about that?”
“No thanks. I know what that stands for. Good joke Nick,” his mom said as Nick laughed at his own humor.
Then she added, “I’ll have to think more. Maybe we’ll get some ideas while cruising.”
“Wait, Mom, how about the ‘Protestant Work Ethic’?”
“Hmmm. I like it. Maybe that’s what we’ll name it. I was afraid you were moving away from believing in the Protestant Work Ethic, you know, with your religious leanings.”
“No, of course not. You can believe in religion and Jesus and the Protestant Work Ethic. They’re not mutually exclusive. There are at least seven statements in the Book of Proverbs that endorse a strong work ethic and frown on laziness.”
“Well that’s encouraging,” she said.
Soon they were cruising along the public portion of the beach in front of hundreds of beachgoers and a handful of restaurants and condominiums. The ride was exhilarating and Nick’s hangover started to subside.
“This boat really handles well, Mom.”
“Well, it’s really a yacht and its width is what makes its ride so smooth.”
They rode down to Anna Maria Island and enjoyed its clear blue waters. Nick could see schools of colorful fish swimming by, along with a few jellyfish and dolphins.
“You see the dolphins jumping. Look over there,” he shouted to his mom.
“Yeah, nice. Dolphins and popcorn clouds. Paradise.”
At that point, Nick’s mind was focusing on the ocean, the boat, the fish, and the beach. Few of his thoughts were devoted to anything else, including anything he’d learned in the church that morning. The hangover was finally gone.
“Mom, thanks for all you do for me.”
“Thanks Nick. I’m sure you’ll own your own Hatteras one day. You have success in your genes.”
Off in the distance, Nick could see another Hatteras. He was traveling faster and was soon able to make out its name: “I’ll take a Scotch.”
“Nick, that’s the governor’s yacht!”
They approached a bit closer and were now riding about four yacht lengths behind. Nick fixed his eyes on the governor, who was at the wheel wearing a fishing shirt and a baseball cap. His outfit only partially obscured his carrot-colored hair and Scottish complexion.
Facing forward as he ran his yacht, Nick confirmed his identity wh
en he turned towards the woman to his left. The woman was wearing a red bikini, which contrasted her milky white skin as stripes contrast one another on a candy cane. Or perhaps a Coca Cola bottle, as her hourglass figure more resembled the curves on a Coca Cola bottle. She was neither too heavy nor too thin, but womanly, yet with a protruding belly. Possibly pregnant.
“Definitely not the governor’s wife,” Nick said.
The governor put his arm around the woman, gripping her at the top of her shoulder and drawing attention to her dark, bouncing ponytail. They stood closely for a short time before she moved away and walked towards the back of the boat, kneeling down to get something on the floor.
“Definitely pregnant,” Nick said.
“Uh huh,” his mom responded.
As if she could hear them, she looked up at Nick and his mom and smiled with a wave. Big smile.
Nick waved back. “Pretty lady,” he thought to himself.
“Nick, slow down. I don’t want him to see us. He must have gotten his mistress pregnant. Again.”
Nick slowed their yacht down and moved away from the “I’ll take a Scotch.”
“Mom, you knew he had a mistress? Who is she? Why would you support him in a fundraiser?” Nick stared at the woman who was slowly fading off into the distance.
“I support his causes, not his personal life and I have no problem separating the two. I don’t know who she is. No one does. This is all hush hush.”
“Mom, if he can’t keep his own house in order, how can he be expected to keep the state in order?”
“Nick, almost all of the politicians out there have a certain sort of moral flexibility when it comes to their personal affairs. I’m sure his opponent suffers from the same vices.”
“That’s sad, Mom.”
“It is. But that’s the world we live in.”
Chapter 15
Sunday Afternoon at the Ramsey’s
When Braedon arrived home after his date with Catherine on Sunday morning, he found his house empty. Tricia had told him that she’d be taking the girls to the church, so he figured they’d be back soon, probably in the early part of the afternoon.
After slipping on some comfortable clothing and a pair of flip flops, he made his way to the family room, plopping on top of his favorite reclining chair. Nothing like relaxing in solitude.
He turned on the television and flipped the channels until he landed on a show about the uber wealthy. That got his attention. Yachts. Mansions. Cars. A man with an upper class English accent moderated the show, which was designed to spur envy and desire from the masses and portray the wealthy as people who were living the ultimate dream. Braedon dozed off into his own very similar dreams.
A few minutes later, the garage door opened and he woke up to the sounds of the chirpy little voices of his girls.
“Daddy!” Kaylee called out as she ran into the house in her red and white strawberry sundress.
“Kaylee! How was Sunday school? I missed you.”
“I missed you too Daddy. Miss Jackie taught us a lot today about Jesus. He died for us on a cross.”
“Yes he did.”
“Daddy!” Haley called out as she entered the house from the garage in a sundress that matched her sister’s.
“Haley!” How was your day at Sunday school?
“Good Daddy. Why don’t you go to church? Don’t you want to learn about Jesus?”
“Yes, but I already know everything there is to know about Jesus.”
“You know everything Daddy. What’s for lunch? I’m hungry.”
Braedon looked out into the garage through the door, which had been left open by Haley. He didn’t see his wife. “Where’s Mommy?”
“She’s on the phone in her car.”
“Oh. Well, I guess I can make lunch. What do you want? Peanut, butter, and jelly sandwiches?”
“Yes,” both said in unison.
After pulling himself up from his comfy chair, he walked into the kitchen, where he grabbed the ingredients and plates to make the girls lunch. He cut up a couple of apples, poured milk, and placed their lunches on the kitchen table before he sat down alongside of them.
A few minutes later, Tricia walked into the kitchen.
“How was church?”
“Good. I just found out they need help this afternoon sorting the filled shoebox donations for the kids in Guatemala. I’m going to head over there in an hour, after I change into something more casual. You’ll be home to watch the girls, right?”
“Yeah, I’ll watch them. Gladly. When will you be back? What do you want to do for dinner?”
“I should be home around seven. There’s some leftover pizza and lasagna in the fridge. Are you okay with fending for ourselves tonight?”
“Sure, no problem. That’s a good way to save money.”
Without further comment, she left the room and headed towards their bedroom. Braedon noticed that she looked better than usual in her black pants and purple knit top. They fit her well, though they didn’t hide the weight she needed to lose. You could still see her bulging pregnant-looking stomach and tell that her legs were chunky.
“Church. She lives at that church,” he thought, feeling a spurt of resentment.
His little strawberry delights were by his side eating their sandwiches. “Girls, what do you want to do today? Want to go to the park?”
“Yeah!”
***
Braedon stood behind Haley and Kaylee on the swings and pushed them. Their strawberry blonde hair blew in the wind as they giggled in delight. They were beauties and he was lucky to have them in his life.
Catherine would be a nice addition to his life too. He pictured himself in the Hatteras with her at his side and the girls just behind him as he steered the boat along the bay. The girls would love the Hatteras.
“Do you like boats?”
“Yeah, I love boats,” Kaylee answered.
“Me too. Are we going to go boating?”
“Hopefully sometime soon. Hopefully.”
Braedon thought of his wife. She needed to be out of the picture. How could he make that happen? He’d already told Catherine and her son that his wife had died of cancer, but she was very much alive. Would killing her be the solution? Or could he simply make her disappear?
It wasn’t like he had a squeaky clean police record, but his felony was for something much different than murder. He’d dealt marijuana in college, just to pay his bills since his parents couldn’t help him out. At first, he sold small bags of marijuana to friends only, but he soon progressed into much larger quantities, which he sold to friends, and friends of friends. Soon he found himself rubbing elbows with major drug dealers and that’s when the cops stepped in and snagged him.
“People are much more lenient about marijuana today,” he thought.
He’d never told Tricia about the marijuana problems he’d had; she probably wouldn’t have married him. She was squeaky clean.
Maybe he could convince Tricia to go away on her own. Divorce him. Move on.
But he wanted full custody of the girls with her child support, of course. Then again, if he set up camp with Catherine, child support from Tricia wouldn’t be necessary. Still wanted full custody. Tricia wouldn’t give that to him without a battle.
How could he let Catherine know he had kids? He never told Catherine he didn’t have kids. He just said his wife had died of cancer. How could he explain that she didn’t actually die and was still very much living? Should he say that he had two previous wives: one alive and a second who’d died of cancer?
“Complicated. I’ll need to work on a story,” he thought.
He sent Catherine a text message, “I can’t stop thinking about you. I want you. When can I see you again?”
No reply. Maybe she didn’t hear the chirp on her phone. Maybe her phone was in another room. His mind turned to his daughters as he pushed them on the swings.
“Hig
her Daddy, push higher!”
“Okay, hold on,” he said to Haley as he pulled her swing back and launched it high into the air.
“Me too. Push me high,” Kaylee shouted.
“Okay, here goes.”
As he pulled Kaylee back on her swing, his phone chirped. After he released her, he pulled it from his pocket and read Catherine’s message. “I’d like to see you soon too, but I’m just too busy this week with work.”
“Hold on girls,” he said as he backed up from the swing set to text Catherine back. “Soon works for me, but now would be better.”
Hopefully he didn’t come across as desperate. Maybe he should have waited a few minutes before sending the message. No chirps. No reply yet.
His thoughts returned to his wife, the baggage. How could he get rid of the excess baggage?
A minute later his phone chirped. “I’ll try. Have to travel on Thursday. Will try to see you after I return.”
“Okay, I’ll be waiting for your call.”
Chapter 16
Adding a Dose of Wind to a Whirlwind
It had been a week and a half since he’d seen Catherine and the delay was making him cranky. Braedon was used to quick-paced, whirlwind sorts of romances and his romance with Catherine was off to a snail of a start. He’d sent her quite a few text messages since he’d last seen her, but her response hadn’t changed. Always too busy. Annoying.
He looked at the clock in his car and noted the time: 4:30 a.m. Time for a run in Catherine’s neighborhood. He climbed out of his car, which was parked in the parking lot of a gas station down the road from Catherine’s house, and stretched. His body felt achy, which was nothing new. The body of a man in his forties was much different than the body he’d relished in his youth. Yet he still looked good. Really good. He flexed his arm muscles and enjoyed the view. Eye candy.
Walking towards the sidewalk, he reflected on the last time he’d seen her. They’d spent their first night together and it was magical. She was beautiful, rich, and thin, which was everything he’d ever wanted. But she was also playing hard to get, which was more annoying to him than anything else. He wasn’t used to a challenge and didn’t feel he had the time to deal with one now. Women had always fawned over him, while Catherine was too busy for him.
Jogging down the road, he soon entered her neighborhood. He positioned himself by a tree just down the road from her driveway and waited. And watched. He stared at her front door and itched to see it open. Hopefully she was back from her business trip. He didn’t know for sure. Her text messages offered few clues.
Wayward Paths and Golden Handcuffs Page 8
