As we were driving to Cap’s Place, my cell phone buzzed with a number I didn’t recognize, but it was from a Southfield, Michigan number, so I had my suspicions. Most likely Katharine. I hadn’t given her my number, but an attorney with access to investigative resources has no trouble locating people and phone numbers. I let the call go to voicemail.
The favorable impression I had taken away from my visit to Cap’s Place this morning was only enhanced by our afternoon visit. Most of the debris had been cleared from the parking lot around the building. Some had been hauled away and the remainder was piled on the outer edges of the lot. The boats that had been forced into the back lot and rear deck were still there, but John Decker told us that the marina was bringing in a crane to remove them as quickly as the various insurance adjusters had a chance to inspect the individual boats and determine if they were salvageable or not. Just having the area immediately around the building cleared seemed to make the structure look more salvageable.
The shutters had been removed from the first floor doors and windows, with the exception of the one in the back that had the cabin cruiser lodged against it. Several large blowers were in use to dry out the flooring and structure. A huge tarp had been placed over the remaining roof and the exposed front portion of the building. Decker said this would keep any additional weather from penetrating the building. It looked as if Cap’s Place was wearing a stocking cap pulled down over its face.
While we was talking to Decker, Marge called and told me that the insurance adjuster had given her the names of several contractors he felt were capable of repairing the building. She was in the process of contacting them to set appointments for tomorrow so they could take a look and begin the process of developing their bids. As expected, many contractors were already booked up, but Marge sounded confident that we could find someone competent still available. We made plans to meet at Cap’s Wednesday morning. I told her I would pick Moe up, as I knew he’d want to be involved.
After PJ and I took a quick look inside the building, which was now lit inside by portable lights connected to generators, we started back toward her apartment. Somehow, just the fact that progress had been made toward restoring my former life made me feel better. It was as if I’d been holding my breath for the past several days and could now breathe again, labored as it might be.
When we got back to PJ’s apartment, she told me to grab a beer and take a seat on the balcony, that she had a couple of things to start for dinner, but would join me in a few minutes. She had stocked Landshark when she was at the store earlier in the day. What a woman. I took a beer from the refrigerator and headed for the balcony but stopped in my tracks. It dawned on me that tonight was our last night together in the foreseeable future; PJ was going up to Gainesville to pick up Angela tomorrow and back to work the following day. So I took a seat at the counter to watch her in the kitchen. Man, what’s becoming of me?
Our light banter was interrupted when my cell phone buzzed. I didn’t recognize the number, but it was a Miami number, so I answered it. The caller identified himself as a real estate broker who was in the process of acquiring several properties in the area of Cap’s Place, and he wanted to talk with me about selling. I was surprised but did recall rumors about some resort developer poking around our neighborhood recently. Seems the success of the Margaritaville Resort on Hollywood Beach had inspired others. My initial response was that I wasn’t interested in selling, but he was very persuasive, pointing out that it would alleviate me of the burden of rebuilding and suggested that the offer would be very attractive. I finally agreed to meet him tomorrow at Cap’s.
When I ended the call, PJ asked, “Someone interested in buying?”
“Yeah, he’s trying to entice me with the carrot that it’ll be an offer that I won’t want to refuse.”
She looked directly at me as she asked, “You would really consider selling?”
I took a long pull on my beer. “I hadn’t ever thought about it, but . . . well there are a lot of unknowns going forward at this time.”
PJ said, “I’m surprised, but I guess you should explore all of your options.” She went back to dicing vegetables for the salad she was preparing. I took another long drink, my mind going in several directions at once.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
PJ finished her prep work for dinner and suggested I open a bottle of wine, grab another beer for myself, and we move out to the balcony. She excused herself to go to the bathroom and said she would meet me on the balcony. I opened a bottle of Chardonnay and took it and two glasses out to the chairs on the balcony. A couple of minutes later, PJ joined me. She looked at the two glasses and said, “You’re switching to wine?”
“Yeah. Well, not permanently, but for this evening.” I looked into her eyes and added, “Somehow, I saw it as a shared experience I didn’t want to miss out on tonight.”
“Wow, Jack Nolan, you are really smooth when you want to be.”
“Guess that did sound kinda sappy. But, you know what, I don’t care how it sounds, because that’s how I feel.” With that, I reached across the small table between us, cupped my hand behind her neck, and pulled her toward me, kissing her tenderly, but with just a touch of urgency.
When we parted, PJ purred, “I must tell you, I’m looking forward to sharing more experiences than just a bottle of wine with you tonight.”
I poured the wine and replied, “Well, if you play your cards right, you might just get lucky tonight, little lady.”
We sipped our wine in silence, gazing out at the tranquil little pond below for a few minutes. My cell phone buzzed in my pocket and a quick glance showed me the same Southfield number that called earlier. I intentionally hadn’t listened to the earlier voicemail and I certainly wasn’t going to take a call now. I silenced the phone and stuffed it back into my pocket. PJ was regarding me intently. She smiled and said, “Jack, it won’t bother me in the least if you take the call from . . . well I assume it’s from Katharine. It might be important, something about her father.”
I reflected for a moment and replied, “That’s true, I expect that it is Katharine, but nothing she has to say is important enough to interrupt this time right here with you.”
“Damn, you are really on tonight, Jack Nolan. I suggest we finish these glasses, put the bottle in the fridge, and adjourn to the bedroom. How does that sound?”
“My thoughts exactly. I just wanted to see if I could get you to suggest it first.”
She laughed and punched me in the arm. “Okay for you, wise guy. Now you’re really going to pay.”
We finished out glasses, probably more like thirsty alcoholics than oenophiles.
The sun had nearly completed sinking to the horizon by the time we returned from the bedroom. While time had stood still for us the past couple of hours, the remainder of the universe had continued on its daily routine. With each session of lovemaking, we were becoming more and more attuned to each other’s needs and desires. From my perspective, there was something very easy about being in bed with PJ, it just worked. In minutes it could go from unbridled passion to a complete coupling of our bodies as if we had melted into one person. Maybe it was the feelings about her that I took into bed with us that made everything different.
After refilling our wine glasses, I was sitting at the counter watching PJ finish seasoning the fish she was preparing for the oven. I noticed a slight grimace as she took a quick step to reach something on the counter behind her. “Hey there, you okay?”
She looked up. “Oh, yeah, just a little sore. You know, my lady parts.”
“Oh, sorry. I had hoped kissing them would help.”
A blush rose up her neck and burst on her checks. “Ah, yes, the kissing was great. It’s probably the forty Kama Sutra positions we tried after the kissing that I’m feeling. I’ll be fine, I’ve just been on the bench for sometime. I get a little playing time, I’ll be fine.”
“Oh, if it’s playing time you want, it’s playing time you’ll get.�
�� I jumped from the stool and started around the counter toward her.
She held out her hands in a stop position and shrieked, “No. Not now. I can’t take anymore just now.”
I laughed and said, “Okay. But you just let me know when you want back into the game.” I returned to my stool and took a sip of my wine. I was glad she hadn’t called my bluff, because our most recent episode had left me totally sated and I wasn’t confident I could perform to my previously established high standards, if at all.
Dinner and the remainder of the evening were relaxed and enjoyable. Somewhere along the way, PJ started talking about her deceased husband Bill. It was obvious that they had a warm and loving relationship and that his death really shook her world at the time. She talked about how much support his parents had been every step of the journey since. She credited them with giving Angela the stability PJ couldn’t always provide working as a single mother in law enforcement. I told PJ that I thought she was a lot more nailed down than she gave herself credit for. That earned me a tender kiss.
During one of the quiet times that we comfortably drifted into occasionally, I found myself thinking that there was something truly different about this relationship. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I liked it. I liked it a lot and wanted more of it. Now, if I could just keep from doing something truly boneheaded.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
We lifted off from the airport and out over the Atlantic to make the wide turn necessary to head north toward Detroit. I was seated in an aisle seat, so I didn’t even make an attempt to look at the departing ground below. Rather, I closed my eyes and let my mind drift aimlessly in my version of meditation, employed to relax from the stress I always felt when hurtling through the sky in a thin metal tube. The first image that came was of PJ’s smiling face across the breakfast table on our last morning together. We’d both been quite reserved that morning. She joked about Moe and me becoming roommates, and I asked polite questions about her going to Gainesville to pick up Angela and her in-laws. Neither of us seemed at all anxious to address the elephant in the room. Finally, I just blurted out, “I sure as hell don’t know what the future holds, what mess I’ll find in Michigan, when I’ll be back, how long it will take to rebuild Cap’s Place, even whether I’ll rebuild or sell. In many ways, my life is as uncertain as it was when I first arrived here, years ago.” I took a deep breath, “But what I do know is that I enjoy being with you more than anything I’ve experienced in . . . in forever. Whatever the future holds, it’s my hope that you will be a part of it.”
PJ smiled warmly, bringing out the dimples I’ve come to love and said, “My goodness, Jack Nolan, are you proposing to me?”
“Ah . . . well . . . ah.”
She laughed, reaching across the table and patting the back of my hand. “Relax Jack, I’m just teasing you. When you propose to me, I’ll expect the whole nine yards: candlelight, bended knee, ring.” The grin faded and a serious but relaxed look took over. “You go up to Michigan and take care of whatever it is that needs doing. Your dying father-in-law’s request to see you sounds ominous enough, that’s all of the stress you need right now. I’m sure Marge and Moe will handle everything related to Cap’s Place just fine in your absence. Then when you get back, you can focus on whether to rebuild or sell.” I started to interrupt, but she held her hand up in an obvious sign for me to remain quiet. “I’ll be right here when you return and we will pick up exploration of this relationship right where we left off. Well, not exactly where we left off, because we will have a teenager in the mix, but I’m confident that won’t be a problem.” I started to speak but got the stop sign again. “And for the record, the time with you the last few days has been the most wonderful I can remember . . . ever.” Later that morning, we parted, PJ headed for Gainesville and me for Cap’s Place.
After leaving PJ’s, I drove to Moe’s and dropped off my bags and picked him up. We made a quick trip to a rental car agency and he picked up a car. We met Marge at Cap’s Place and all of us listened intently as John Decker explained the progress being made in cleanup. I was impressed with how much of the contents of the building they had been able to salvage. Decker said that a third pod would be arriving that day. Evidently, there was more salvageable than even they had originally estimated.
The most dramatic sight that morning was the large crane that had been brought in to remove the boats from the back parking area. A short parade of flatbed trucks was lined up on the street to receive the wrecked boats and haul them away. Moe and I watched as the first of the boats was lifted and loaded. Justin wandered up from the marina and joined us for a few minutes before saying he needed to get back to work. He listed a long series of tasks they had to accomplish before they could reopen. He appeared to be embracing the idea of helping to rebuild the marina. We watched him walk away, and Moe shrugged his shoulders saying, “He seems right at home. Maybe he will stick around.”
I replied, “Yeah, only time will tell.” I knew my voice rang with skepticism, but that’s how I felt. I’ll believe it when I see it.
It was that afternoon that my life took a couple of complicated twists. After yet another call from Katharine that I let go to voicemail, I finally decided to man up and talk with her. Her messages had been contrite and almost pleading, saying that her father was probably going to die in the next few days and that he was constantly asking when I would be there. When I reached her, the message was the same, but enhanced with details that did make the situation sound dire. I told her that I would make an attempt to get a flight north, but that I didn’t know how available seats would be. She responded by telling me she had a reservation in my name for Friday. I started to retort that I couldn’t possibly leave that soon, there was just too much going on here, when it dawned on me that if I didn’t go in the next few days, there would be no reason to go at all. Her father would be dead. I took the flight information and told her I’d call when I got to Detroit.
After ending the call, I remembered that when she visited in person she had said that her dad would likely send a private jet to get me. Must have decided against that, or it was a case of Katharine puffing. In either case, it was just a well. Somehow, I felt a little more in control of my own destiny on a commercial flight than I would have on their private charter.
As if the fact that I was going to Michigan to see my ex-wife and her father wasn’t enough of an added complication to my already off-kilter life, the next twist was even more perplexing. The real estate broker who had called me showed up at Cap’s Place exactly when he said he would. He was a small man, probably in his fifties, with a deep tan and a definite comb-over. Anything he lacked in physical stature he more than compensated for in ego. In short, he was one of those people I find it easy to dislike. He introduced himself as Percy Strickland. I immediately decided it was an alias, no one would name their kid Percy. After about thirty seconds of small talk, he invited me to sit with him in his Bentley Bentayga. I couldn’t restrain myself and made a complimentary remark about his SUV. He replied with a weak smile and said, “Yes, I find it most useful.” SUV, my ass, it’s a damn Bentley. Two hundred fifty thousand dollars and I could have one.
As soon as we were wrapped in the soft leather seats, I said, “I haven’t really ever contemplated selling Cap’s Place.” I paused and Strickland burst forth with an entire litany of the obstacles I faced in rebuilding. Many he had mentioned on the phone the previous evening, but he had evidently added several new ones to the list overnight. It was heartwarming that he was so going out of his way to protect me. Yeah right, Jack. It was his next action that left me momentarily speechless.
Strickland reached into his expensive leather portfolio and handed me a single sheet of paper. Neatly typed in the midst of a sea of small print was a number. One would think that in attempting to purchase a piece of property that had been severely damaged in a hurricane you would make a low offer. After all, the owner is facing a long list of challenges, as Percy had so kindly pointed ou
t, before he can hope to reopen, and even then there is no guarantee that the business will recover. People are fickle. They’re going somewhere else while you’re closed and they may just continue going there. Well, if this was a low offer, I couldn’t imagine what a good offer would be. The number on the sheet was at least three times what I believed the market value of Cap’s Place was, before the damage.
I stared at the sheet of paper. Reading the fine print, I came across the section that said the offer was good for twenty-four hours. I knew this was standard in real estate offers but chose to seize on it as an out, so I didn’t even need to consider selling. “Sorry, Mr. Strickland, there is no way I could give this decision proper consideration in the time frame allotted. I’m leaving for Michigan tomorrow on a family emergency,” a minor lie, “and I just don’t have the energy to deal with that and consider the ramifications of this offer at the same time. Thank you though.” With that I handed the piece of paper back to him.
He cocked his head and said, “Ah, I’m certainly sorry to hear of your family emergency.” He took out a gold-plated fountain pen and scratched out the time period and scribbled seven days in its place. Handing the paper back to me, he said, “I appreciate the situation you are in, Mr. Nolan. Hopefully this will afford you adequate time to consider the offer.”
In many ways I didn’t want the added complexity of having any option to rebuild. Yet, I’m smart enough to know that just summarily rejecting the possibility of selling would be shortsighted. I took the offer and his embossed business card and promised we would talk again, at least by phone, within the seven-day period.
Chaotic Be Jack Page 26
