Secretariat Reborn (27 page)

“No, dinner is ready, but you can do the dishes later.”

“Hey, my mother didn’t raise a male chauvinist. I got no problem with dish washing.” He took a piece of carrot from the salad and
popped it into his mouth. “Tomorrow we’ll start feeling the effects of this storm. Should get a ton of wind and rain.”

“Terrific,” Allie murmured and placed the salad on the table. “That means I can’t work horses on a flooded track. I’ll have to put Mystery in the round pen so he can blow off steam. Otherwise he’ll tear down his stall. What about you? Are you going to work tomorrow?”

“I’ll drive in, but doubt I’ll open for business. The bay will be too rough. If there’s a super-high tide, I might have to drag everything out here and store it in the barn. If the pasture floods, I could tie Mystery to a WaveRunner and exercise him for you,” he said, jokingly.

“I could picture that—him stomping you and the WaveRunner, and then he’d strangle himself. He doesn’t like motors.”

And neither did Secretariat
, he thought and opened the fridge. “Want iced tea?” he asked and took out a pitcher.

“Yes, please.” Along with the salad, Allie set a plate of fried chicken and bowls of collards, mashed potatoes, and corn muffins on the table.

He filled their glasses and took his seat. “Looks good, Allie.” His cell phone rang. “Why do people call at dinner?” He flipped it open. Seeing the caller, he left the table and wandered into the living room for a private chat. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself,” Vince said. “Tomorrow night you’re on.”

“What? You got to be kidding. Have you seen the weather?”

“This can’t be canceled. Be here,” Vince said and hung up.

Christian closed the phone and glanced at Allie in the kitchen. Fishing in a hurricane? She’d never buy it. “That was Vince,” he said, sitting back down at the table. “Typical Yankee, he’s freaking out about the hurricane and wants me to move his boat to a marina. I probably won’t be home until late tomorrow.”

“Can’t you move it in the morning?” she asked. “I was thinking about coming to town and filling the gas cans for the generator, in case we lose power. Meg could feed the horses in the afternoon, and
we can hang out on the beach and watch the storm come in. It’d be fun.”

“I’ll fill the cans,” he blurted out, “You don’t need to come in. I probably won’t be home until after midnight, and I’ll be too busy to hang out with you.”

She looked at him strangely. “Doing what?”

Christian put his fork down, feeling his back was up against a wall. He couldn’t come up with a believable answer and was sick of lying. “I have things to do that can’t involve you. And please don’t ask me what.”

“Please don’t ask?” she said, glaring at him. “Christian, it’s bad enough I’ve had to deal with the lies and secrets about your colt and swallow the bullshit concerning those late-night fishing trips when you never bring fish home. Now it’s running around all night in a hurricane with no explanation.” She stood and dropped her plate of barely touched dinner into the sink. “In case no one told you, a good relationship is built on trust, but it’s obvious you don’t trust me!” She hurried into the bedroom.

He and Allie rarely disagreed, much less argued, but she was truly upset. For several minutes, he sat in the empty kitchen and rubbed his temples, while staring at the ruined dinner. “Damn it,” he cursed and abruptly rose, rocking his chair so hard that it nearly fell over. His life had become a tangle of deceit.

He walked into the bedroom and found Allie with her face buried in a pillow. “I’m sorry, Allie.” He sat down on the bed and ran his hand up her back. “If I told you what’s going on, you might be hurt.”

Allie lifted her head. Her eyes were moist and red. “I might be hurt? Are you seeing someone else? Was that really Vince on the phone?”

“Yes, it was Vince.” He frowned. “Allie, I’m not messing around.” He whipped out his cell phone. “Look, it’s Vince’s number on the caller ID.”

“I don’t need to see your phone.” She wiped a tear off her cheek. “But, Christian, what am I supposed to think? I’ve seen how women flirt and throw themselves at you. You’re a good-looking guy, but so was my ex-husband. I don’t want to be a fool and be the last to know again.”

He stood. “Damn it, Allie. I’m not your ex-husband!” He tossed back his hair and paced back and forth in front of the bed. “Fine, I lied about moving Vince’s boat into a marina, and I know that looks bad, but I can’t tell you what’s going on. I can’t tell anyone. I’m dealing with so much shit, and I’m sick of lying about it.” He slammed his fist into his hand and shuddered. “It’s killing me! It’s just killing me.”

She watched him for a moment. “All right, calm down.”

He stopped pacing and looked at her, breathing hard. “You’re the best thing going for me, and I’m scared.” He bit his lip hard and rubbed his forehead from side to side. “Allie, I’m so damn scared that I might lose you over all this.”

“Come here,” she said and opened her arms. He crawled into her warm embrace, his soft place to fall. “You won’t lose me.”

He hugged her. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I wish to God I could tell you everything, but I can’t. Ever since I’ve gotten into this horse racing—” He shut his eyes. “It’s like I’ve fallen into a pit that keeps getting deeper, and I can’t climb out.”

On the rainy bayfront, Christian stood on the Sailing Squadron dock and stared across the churning bay with its six-foot swells and white-caps. Strong wind gusts tugged at his yellow foul-weather jacket.

Early in the morning, he and Jake had put his Whaler on a trailer and moved it, along with his small sailboats and WaveRunners, into the enclosed chain-link fence at the Squadron, deciding they would be safe enough. Last year, he had sold the McGregor and reimbursed Frank, so he was minus its worry. If the weather got worse, he still had time to haul his little fleet out to the farm. In the meantime,
he ran around in the pelting rain and helped other people secure their boats in preparation of the storm.

During the night, the tropical depression had grown in strength. With the winds exceeding seventy-five miles an hour, Blanche became a Category 1 hurricane when she crossed the Florida straits and Key West. At dawn she had emerged in the gulf as a slow-moving category two. Hurricane warnings existed on Florida’s entire west coast, along with small craft warnings. If Blanche maintained her course and speed, she would pass Sarasota at midnight, fifty miles out in the gulf. A voluntary evacuation order already existed for trailer parks and residents on the keys, but evacuation would soon turn mandatory with Blanche threatening to become a destructive category three.

Everyone was running for cover except Christian. Tonight he would take the Scarab twenty miles out in the gulf and straight into the thirty-foot-plus seas and more than ninety-mile-an-hour winds.

It’s suicide
. He glanced at the boats leaping up and down between the docks. Farther out in the bay, the fifty-knot winds were testing the moorings and taut lines of the anchored sailboats. A few, he was sure, would not survive. In the morning they would be found lying on their sides on some beach or smashed to pieces against the rocks. Times like this, he was grateful he did not live aboard a sailboat anymore.

With his jeans, sneakers, and hair soaking wet, he strolled down the slippery wooden dock and entered the clubhouse. He nodded to several members who sat around a table and drank beer. They excitedly talked about the hurricane, enjoying the cool wind, rain, and overcast skies, a nice break from the humid August heat that sapped the energy out of a person.

Christian swiveled a chair and joined the little party of year-round residents who were accustomed to hurricanes. He sat astride, with his elbows resting on its back. He added to the conversation, but his mind was on Allie, wishing she could be with him. It would have been fun.

After a while, he walked to the far side of the room, unzipped his waterproof jacket pocket and took out his cell phone. He pushed the keys, but once again, he got Vince’s voice message.

Where the hell is he?
Christian shoved the cell phone back into his pocket. Several times he had phoned and left messages, but Vince had not returned his calls. He hoped the guy would come to his senses and cancel the run tonight. But why should he? It wasn’t his skin.

His thoughts drifted to Vito and his fear of boats and the water. Christian’s lips curled mischievously into a grin.
It’d almost be worth facing a hurricane to see Vito crap his pants
.

At five o’clock, Christian ran through sheets of rain and fierce gusts and hopped into his SUV. He started the engine and turned on the windshield wipers, which swept away bits of leaves and twigs. The rain blew sideways and nearly caused white-out conditions. He sat in the idling vehicle and saw a huge uprooted tree that had fallen on a picnic table in the park. Smaller branches lay spewed across the roadway. The palm trees swayed, close to snapping.

He thought of his sorry choices, defy Vince and his mob buddies or take a boat out in a hurricane.
Either way, I’m fucked
. He took his cell out and placed a call to Allie. “How’s everything?”

“It’s windy and has been raining hard off and on,” she said. “The power went out for an hour, but that’s the norm for Myakka. I imagine it’s worse on the keys.”

“Yeah, blowing like a bitch out here,” he said. “Ah, Allie, I just called … I called to say I love you.” For a long moment there was no response. “Allie?”

“You really are in trouble, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m okay.” Saying he loved her out of the blue hadn’t been smart, since those affectionate words were reserved for lovemaking or lengthy separations. She had sensed the latter. “Look, I gotta go. I’ll see you later,” he said, hoping to reassure her.

“I love you, too. Please be careful and come home to me.”

“I will.” He closed the phone, slid it into his pocket, and shook
his head.
Damn her instincts. Why bother bullshitting her? She knows I’m not okay
. He put the SUV in gear and drove to Vince’s house.

Christian removed his wet jacket and shook the droplets from his tousled hair before stepping into the foyer. “I’ve been trying to reach you, Vince.”

“I know,” Vince said. “I don’t like discussin’ things on a cell.” He walked to the living room with Christian trailing. Once again, Sal filled a chair, and Vito stood and soberly stared out the sliding glass doors at the choppy bay. The mood in the room was grave. Not even Sal cracked a smile.

Vito turned from the window and rambled something off in Italian to Vince. His voice was elevated and nervous. No translation was needed. Vito wasn’t happy about the evening boat ride.

Vince yelled something back in Italian. Vito shut up, turned back to the window, and sulked.

Christian walked to Vince. “I’m not scared of open water and storms, but this is crazy, Vince. You can’t be serious about tonight’s run. That Scarab isn’t built to survive those rough seas. Even if we make it to the drop-off site, we’ll never spot the bags in the dark with those huge waves. Plus, the boat will be rocking like a bitch. I have to stay at the helm and keep her pointed into the wind and waves, one big swell hitting her side will swamp or flip her. That means I can’t help Vito. There’s no way he can haul in a hundred-pound package by himself when we’re bouncing around.”

“
Sì, Sì
.” Vito chimed in. “Listen to
Signor
Christian,” he pleaded to Vince.

“Look, goddamn it,” Vince cursed. “The freighter can’t pull into the port with the goods on board, and I’ll be damned if I’ll leave millions floating in the gulf. You two are going!
Capisce
?”

Sal shifted his weight and struggled to stand. “Boss, most the boys are out of town, and there’s no extra help until morning, so I’ll go with Vito and the kid tonight.”

Vince frowned. “Forget it, Sal. You can barely get out of a chair.
You’d be useless on a boat.” He rubbed his mustache and jaw. “I’ll go.”

“Boss, can’t the drop-off be delayed until the storm passes?” Sal asked.

Christian swept his wet bangs back. “I imagine right now that freighter is moving at full speed, trying to outrun the storm. No way that ship captain will sit in the gulf and ride out a hurricane when the Tampa port offers shelter.”

“That’s right,” Vince said and walked to the bar. “Plus, it has to maintain its schedule.” He poured himself a straight shot of whiskey.

Christian raised his eyebrow. “Even with your help, Vince, it’s still a hell of a risk. Trust me. You have no clue of how bad it’s going to be. Can you contact the freighter and have them dump the bags in Tampa Bay? It’ll still be rough, but we’ll have a fighting chance.”

“I said cell calls are risky,” Vince said and gulped down the whole shot. “Someone might overhear the coordinates of the drop-off, and the cops will be waiting.”

Amused at the ridiculous, Christian chuckled. “Vince, only a nutcase would be out in a boat or helicopter tonight. I guarantee, besides the freighter, we’ll have Tampa Bay to ourselves. Even if the police show up, they’ll never catch me in that Scarab and I know umpteen hiding places in the mangrove coves.”

Vince wiped his mustache, contemplating for several moments. He looked at Christian and then turned to Sal. “You see, Sally. I told you this kid’s got brains.”

On a table, Christian leaned over a chart of Tampa Bay. He pointed to a location in the shipping channel between the Skyway Bridge and Egmont Key. “Here,” he said to the men. “It’s the shortest run to the intercoastal. Anna Maria Island should help block some of the wind.” He relayed the coordinates to Vince, who contacted the freighter with the new drop-off point.

Because of the bad weather, they decided to come back to Vince’s dock on the return trip and store the goods in his garage rather than go to the small boat ramp on City Island. With the police preoccupied
with the hurricane, Sal would have no problem removing the bags from the garage and getting them to the bread truck in town.

While waiting to leave, Christian and the three men drank a few cocktails. Sal had made spaghetti and meatballs. Vince, Vito, and Sal filled their plates and sat down on stools at the kitchen counter. Christian stood and munched on a piece of garlic bread, but politely refused the dinner.