“He’s working things out, or says he is. I keep my eye on him a bit, especially around Aimee.”
“Fuck yeah.”
“He sort of avoids me too. But he told me he’d stopped drinking, so, I’m hoping that’s the case. Haven’t seen him acting out much. He’ll always be over the top. But you know how the Navy is about injuries, so I suspect he’s headed for a drop. I hope not, though.”
“Yeah. That would be a shame. Hellofa fun guy, though. Just would never trust him with my daughter—if I had one!”
Back at the team building, Dallas brought Peterson’s burger and onion rings and the two of them headed for the back corner. Andy checked his phone and didn’t see a message from Aimee, so laid back and covered his eyes and forehead with the backside of his old Fresno State baseball cap as Dallas hunkered down on the cot adjacent, after putting in his ear pods.
Several hours later, as the Team walked across the tarmac to the waiting transport, Andy pulled out his cell and dialed Aimee.
“Hey you.”
“Hey yourself,” Andy said as he kept walking. “Can you hear me?”
“Not real well. Would you mind asking the pilot to turn off those engines I hear in the background?”
“Cute. I don’t want to get on his bad side or he’s liable to drop me over the Atlantic.”
“Good thinking. So, you’re about to board?”
“Yup.”
“And are you going to some place familiar?”
She was clever with the light interrogation.
“God no,” he lied. He hoped this wasn’t going to start becoming a habit. But security on their cell phones had been drilled into them, and Aimee should have known better. He told himself she’d asked for it. “Still, not a safe place. I’ll tell you all about the beaches when I get back home.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not telling.” He loved their banter. “So, sweetheart, do me a favor and take off all your clothes right now.”
“I’m almost naked. In my underwear.”
“Well, definitely take off those panties, then. You don’t need them. I want you sleeping butt naked in my bed tonight.”
“Our bed, handsome.”
“On second thought, maybe I could bribe this guy to fly me back to Florida. What do you say?”
“In your dreams, cowboy.”
“I’d take a ride. A nice slow one, right about now.”
“And we could take turns who’s on top. I’m all rested. Frisky as Hell.”
“I’m getting the message loud and clear. I’m not going to be able to sit down in a couple seconds.”
“Awww. Poor baby. I have a cure for that.”
“You do. You definitely do. So, hold that thought. Stay safe. Keep the doors and windows locked. And when I get home, plan on not wearing a stitch for at least a couple of weeks, okay?”
“It’s a deal. I can’t wait. And let the magic pull you back, Andy. I need you here. Now and always.”
“Same thing sweetheart. Love you forever.”
“Forever it is. I’ll be waiting. Naked.”
Chapter 5
The next morning, Aimee dressed and put on her running shoes and made it to the beach before her mood and her will changed. She knew the physical exercise would do her good and she wasn’t wrong.
It was a bit foggy this morning, unlike the several days prior, which were exceptionally clear and warm. The old fisherman was already out in his lawn chair, his windbreaker pulled tight around his body and the hood tied with a black cord framing his reddened face. He was already working on a beer. His pole was secured in the plastic stake dug a foot deep in the semi-wet sand as he watched the tip for a bob or tug. The line going out into the surf was taut, waiting to snag something that could go into his blue plastic bucket that was bigger than the bait he kept swimming there.
He was a regular and Aimee suspected he ate fish for breakfast nearly every morning.
“Morning,” she said as she passed him.
“God Bless. You have a good day now,” he answered.
Two ladies rode motorized fat tire bicycles and followed the shore in tandem, chattering away, waving to her and then going right back to their animated conversation. Another group of young couples ran in a pod of a dozen or so at a pretty good clip. Aimee focused on the smooth stretch of beach ahead and didn’t pay them much attention. She wasn’t there to make friends and didn’t need the distraction.
She was thinking about the pictures and other treasures in the box that had been left on Christmas Day. It was a snapshot into her parent’s life when things were happy, before Logan disappeared. She had spent late into the night searching all their faces as if she could determine what had happened to change their family dynamic so. But she came away with nothing. The wide smiles and affectionate poses belied the future that would engulf them all in sorrow.
The mystery of her family was more than just Logan and his mental illness. There was something else there, she thought, as she flipped through the pictures. But she couldn’t put her finger on it.
Her timer on her watch went off. She turned and headed back home.
After her shower, she made a smoothie and sat watching the ocean while she drank her breakfast and dried her hair with a towel. A silver flash of the crystal bowl caught her eye and she retrieved the attorney’s card and her cell phone, dialing.
Kornblum’s secretary answered in a sweet voice and let Aimee know he wasn’t expected in the office until this afternoon. She left her phone number for a return call.
Pulling out her beach-themed thank you notes, she began composing a message to the older attorney, thanking him for the beautiful bowl, adding how the cutting in the crystal sides lit up the room in color and light.
She sat back and looked at her note.
“Kind of dumb,” she murmured. “Too girly for him,” she continued. She was going to rip it up and start again when she changed her mind and decided to embellish it instead.
We’ve always loved how the sun bounces off the walls of this house, spreading different colors, depending on the time of day. This lovely piece of crystal will be well used and goes so perfectly with the magic and drama we find here. We call it our magic.
She smiled. It was kind of corny, but she decided to send it anyway. Labeling the envelope with the information from the card, she placed her heart stamp on the outside, sealed it, and placed it on the small table by the front door to mail.
Aimee kept her grandmother’s old desk in the corner of her bedroom. She pulled down the front partition, revealing cubbies stuffed with little keepsakes and office supplies she’d gathered. She even had some old paperclips and labels that had to be licked, curled and yellowed in their original boxes. As a child, she remembered how fascinated she was to explore all these simple treasures and was often scolded for not leaving her things alone.
This morning, she pulled out the brown envelope that held a copy of her title papers, and a copy of the life estate that had been created for the previous owner. Somewhere she’d written down the name of the complex where Mrs. Hernandez resided in Sarasota. She found it written in the lower right corner of the letter from Mr. Kornblum, effectively accepting her verbal offer to purchase the house, and outlining the terms of the sale.
Our Lady of Light.
She loved the name. Most things in Florida were named after palm trees, or ocean breezes with words like paradise sprinkled in the middle. But Our Lady of Light was distinctly different. The previous owner might have chosen it because of the name.
She searched her phone for a phone number and dialed it.
“May I speak to one of your residents, a Carmen Hernandez, please?”
“Miss Hernandez is in the critical care wing of our facility and she does not take phone calls. I’m sorry. Are you a relative?”
“No, a family friend. What are visiting hours?”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to get the family’s permission to see her. Let me put yo
u through to the other side.”
Without asking for approval, Aimee was placed on hold. A male attendant answered the phone next.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m wanting to visit Mrs. Carmen Hernandez. How do I make an appointment?” she asked.
“Are you family?”
“Family friend. She knows me through correspondence.”
“I’m afraid you’ll need family permission to see her. None of our patients here are allowed visitors unless with a family member.”
“I see.” Aimee knew she wouldn’t get a satisfactory answer, but she had to ask the question anyway. “How is she doing?”
“We can’t give that information out.”
“But is she getting stronger, better, or—”
“Generally, this facility is end of life care. It’s mostly hospice patients here. Miss Hernandez is in that category, which is all I can tell you. She has good days and bad days—I think you can read between the lines.”
“Yes, thank you.”
She inhaled to avoid the flood of tears that were threatening. She was overwhelmed with sadness that she hadn’t thought to visit the woman before now. Perhaps it was too late. Aimee was filled with regret.
She picked up the life estate document, bound in a dark brown book cover. She skimmed over the boiler plate until she came to more of the meat of the document.
I, Hank Borges, bequeath my sole separate property to Miss Carmen Hernandez for as long as she shall live, along with a stipend of…It was several thousand dollars a month he had provided for her. As Aimee read on, she discovered the home was delivered to her free and clear, without a mortgage, and that a maintenance fund was set up for care of the landscaping and for repairs as required. That struck Aimee as odd, since the house had fallen into such disrepair when she found it a year ago.
What happened? Who was Hank Borges? The name was slightly familiar to Aimee, but she couldn’t pinpoint why.
She got out her laptop and looked up Hank Borges, resident of Sunset Beach but formerly from Manhattan. His biography was short. His obituary from 1998 was long.
Popular science fiction author of some eighty novels made famous by such motion pictures as the Red Planet and The Soul of The Moon, she read.
There was a picture taken of him on a sunny day, the wind blowing through his nearly white hair, with the unmistakable backdrop of a white sand beach and ocean in the background. Aimee wondered if it was taken here, at this very house, but the detail was slightly fuzzy and hard to make out.
So, Hank Borges perhaps had lived here at one time too. Were they married? If so, why did the attendant call her Miss Hernandez?
Aimee read further about his life in New York, and a notation that he’d become even more prolific when he retired and moved to the Florida Gulf Coast, which had always been his writing inspiration. He had doubled his production of books and was in the middle of finishing a novel on the day of his death at seventy-two.
But there wasn’t any mention of a Carmen Hernandez, or a wife or companion. And maybe, she thought, that was what he wanted. Perhaps that was their silent arrangement.
Now Aimee was intrigued and even more upset with herself for perhaps missing the chance to meet this mystery woman, who obviously meant something to the famous author.
She knew Kornblum would have the answers she sought.
Aimee took the sheets off the bed and ran several loads of laundry while she toyed with the idea of driving down to Sarasota to see if she could somehow sneak in an audience with the elderly lady who used to own this home.
She was vacuuming and nearly didn’t hear her phone ring in time. Jasper Kornblum had returned her call.
“I’m glad you like the bowl. My wife is much better at picking out wedding gifts, so I’m afraid I can’t take any credit for it. She has nice tastes.”
“Oh, I’m sorry I missed her as well.”
“No, no. I came alone. I just was curious to see what you’d done with the place so I could report to Carmen. We didn’t want to impose.”
“You totally could have brought her. I wish you had. We had plenty, as I’m sure you saw.”
“It was a perfect day for the perfect couple.” He cleared his throat. “So, what can I do for you?”
“Andy has just left for overseas. But I was wondering if I could arrange a meeting with Mrs. Hernandez—”
“Miss Hernandez. She never married.”
“Right. Well, Andy said you told him she’s not doing very well. I’m afraid I neglected to reach out before, but I wanted to thank her for letting us buy the house. I took the liberty of calling Our Lady of Light and they’ve told me I have to be family. Can you arrange a meeting?”
“She’s not going to recover, Aimee. Between you and me, her demise could happen any day now.”
“Then all the more reason to try to see her sooner. Can you authorize this?”
“I can, but I won’t unless her doctor says it wouldn’t be too risky. She’s very frail. Everything is being done to keep her comfortable, but she sleeps most of the day. Let me see if I can reach him, and then I’ll let you know. What’s your schedule like?”
“I’m open. My primary job is to do some painting, coordinate workmen we’ve scheduled. I could be available anytime, really.”
“Okay, little lady. Let me see what I can arrange. I’m sure she’d want to meet you. But, unfortunately, she might not even know you’re there. I saw her two weeks ago and was surprised how far down she had gone. But she’s a fighter. I’ll ring you back as soon as I find out, okay?”
“Thank you, Mr. Kornblum. You have a nice day.”
“You as well, Aimee.”
After he hung up, Aimee was disappointed she hadn’t asked about Hank Borges. She made a mental note to do so the next conversation.
On the internet, she looked up Mr. Borges’ books, and found most of them out of print, but several copies were available used. She ordered three and saw that they’d be arriving in just two days.
Just before dinner she received the call she’d been hoping for. Jasper Kornblum agreed to pick her up in the morning and drive her himself to Sarasota where they might be able to visit Miss Hernandez. He cautioned her about getting too excited for much conversation.
Aimee knew it was going to be hard getting herself to sleep tonight. She couldn’t wait for her new adventure.
But before she drifted off, she said a little prayer for Andy on the other side of the world somewhere. Her evenings meant his day was just beginning.
She sent a little magic his way.
Chapter 6
The landing was far from perfect, and the fact that there were so many potholes in the hastily created landing strip set out in the middle of rural Niger, the entire team sighed in relief when at last the engines were cut and their forward bumpy momentum stopped.
Peterson stood at the doorway, which had to be unsecured. He banged on the steel frame several times and then Andy heard the distinctive whir and buzz-buzz of the electric drill removing all the rivets securing the door.
The blast of hot hair and the smell of swamp overwhelmed them all, even though it was still before sunrise. Several coughed. Andy pulled his bandana up over his nose and mouth, turned his baseball cap backwards and unzipped his jacket. In a matter of minutes, he’d be roasting like a hot dog in a bun, but now wasn’t the time to strip down and perhaps overlook some of his gear.
Peterson had jumped from the plane nearly four feet and sorely complained.
“Holy shit storm assignment from Hell.”
Their LPO’s words set Andy’s nerves on edge. He was used to Kyle’s swearing on missions, but not first jump out of the gate. He read no humor in the faces of all the men on the team who waited their turn to exit the transport. An uneasy lull fell over the crowd.
Several voices in an African dialect Andy didn’t recognize chattered orders and recommendations as a stairway was dragged to the opening for everyone else to use. It had four wheel
s attached to it, but one of them was missing, so the action required four strong men to position.
Andy was familiar with the sunglass-encased stern faces dressed in khaki fatigues that many of the African and Coalition-trained forces wore. Smiles were very expensive and usually not trusted. He got the vibe right away that pissing contests were to be avoided, if they valued their life. It was never lost on him that he was a guest in someone else’s country, and the presence of a SEAL platoon wasn’t always good news for the locals. The alliances were complicated and far too complex for him to understand and, as Peterson said, this wasn’t about politics. As long as the rental fees, for the privilege of conducting some kind of operation here were paid, all was well. Everything had a price. Even free wasn’t.
And all of it was totally out of their control. They had to trust the system that sometimes got it horribly wrong. This one had been feeling this way to Andy since the moment they left the base in Virginia.
They heard a diesel bus drone in the distance, with two yellowing headlights moving toward them. Another four-door Russian-made Humvee type vehicle followed behind. As the rear taillights on the bus flashed, Andy could see that the other vehicle was missing a door. It seemed anything that came in fours was missing something. A wheel here, a door there. As long as it wasn’t too important, they’d have to live with things like this. He guessed some local leader had needed that door more than the militia group did.
Peterson and two of the other Team guys were instructed to go with the driver in the truck, while everyone else piled into the bus. Andy was pleasantly surprised at the cleanliness of the insides, with the exception of a rear bathroom, again without a door, which seemed to be a common theme again, and stunk like a dead animal. Everyone avoided the rear as much as possible. Windows were opened, those that worked, anyhow. The men kept their masks on not for sanitation, but to avoid the noxious smell.
Andy took a seat by himself and Dallas took the one behind him, resting their packs beside them. Dallas managed to finally get the window between them open to a four-inch crack as the diesel engine kicked in and a cloud of black smoke was visible out the rear window as they pulled away. They watched as their LPO struck out ahead, disappearing in the low-lying bushes on a well-worn trail that could almost be called a road, just as their transport quickly turned the opposite direction and took off into the night sky.
The House At Sunset: SEALed At Sunset - The Beach Renovation (Sunset SEALs Book 5) Page 5
