Windward Whisperings (2 page)

Kitzie managed to get through her group sailing lesson. Not only did she need the money, she
couldn’t let the little skippers down. Partly hidden by a clump of trees, some kids had listened and
observed. When she waved them over, they hadn’t come. As she drove home, she looked for them.
She wanted to tell them they could join the class with her special scholarships.

She made it to her flagstone walkway before the pain in her chest let go. Greeted by her yellow
Lab’s wagging body, her tears came. “We don’t get everything we want in life, my big lump.”
Thor whimpered in agreement.
On her front porch, she plopped onto a cushioned rattan settee. Hugging Thor, she cried and

She stared out at the sea without seeing it. Her mind created the image of Garrett as he jogged
around the yacht club that morning. Immediately, she’d known it was him by his gait, athletic and
slightly pigeon-toed. He’d stopped abruptly to read the whiteboard. His innocuous stance triggered
vivid memories of how she’d liked to tease him. She usually had him where she wanted him. That
was until he was gone.

A great hiccup of a sob was followed by another. Gone for ten years and she’d never let herself
cry. Seeing him made her realize how she’d missed the dirty rat. Hot tears dripped off her chin and
onto Thor’s fur. When her dog licked them off her face, she buried her face on the top of his head.
She sat awhile longer to figure out what she was feeling. Finally, she pinned it down. It was terror.
Garrett Mackenzie was as unique as the love between them.

Maybe it was their youth, the way she had wanted him and he had wanted her. The attraction
between them was a force they could barely withstand. The cockpit’s birch floorboards had
accommodated his height. She’d felt him imploding, exploding. Greeting him with the heat of her
breasts, she’d writhed with need. “Closer, Gar.”

His tongue had played out what they both wanted. With parted lips, they’d shared a single breath
between them. Their vitals, deep within, had pounded with desire. Her fingertips had grazed his jaw,
trembling with want. “I can’t get any closer unless I’m inside you,” he’d said.

“Please, do that,” she’d begged. “Slide your hands under me. Rock, slip-slide, that’s how it’s
done, I think.”
His penis had surged in violent response to her hotly murmured orders. “Your father will have
me killed.” He’d hold her so tight they couldn’t move.
When he’d won a scholarship, she was thrilled for him. She didn’t have the maturity to anticipate
what it’d be like to have him gone. She’d learned the meaning of despair, but her mind labeled him
as cruel and remorselessly selfish. It was easy to blame Garrett. Wiser, he’d been the one to take care
of things. He should have known how miserable she’d be.
Garrett wasn’t there when she needed him most. She wondered if he knew about her parents’
deaths. With his good manners, she doubted it. He would have sent a sympathy card with
handwritten condolences about their sailing accident. The voice of her mother played in her head.
“We all know he’s courteous.”
The cops and the coast guard had convinced themselves that their deaths were accidents.
Suicides, with careful thought, can be made to look accidental. That kept away morbid curiosityseekers.
Her parents were dramatic but hardly went out with a dramatic flair. Autopsies had shown they
were short of inebriated. They’d have known the barge was coming. According to onlookers, they’d
tacked right into it.
She wrestled with profound contradictions. A few hard facts led to more questions. Suicide, if
that was what it was, wasn’t a victimless crime.
Anxiety settled in her stomach with an icy weight that made her hands shake and her legs turn to
lead. She moved them to kiss her dog on the head. “This is where we are, Thor. We’ll go from
here.” As she stood, she saw a Federal Express box beside her front door and knew it would be the
weathervane. She’d hocked silver sailing trophies in order to afford it.
She lugged it upstairs to her office and ripped open the box with unnecessary force. She read
directions to figure out how to mount a weathervane on a roof or, in her case, a cupola.
Sitting on her rooftop with the last screw in place, she pulled out an air plant sprouting between
wooden shingles and predicted the roof was due for a leak. One thing at a time, she reminded
herself. Proud of her accomplishment, she admired the verdigris-molded design, a sailboat in full
sail. About to give it a whirl, a fierce gust blew up and spun it for her.
She grabbed onto the cupola and braced a foot against a dormer window. She watched the
miniature sailboat of the weathervane point into the brisk wind. It came from the north, straight
down the California coastline from the Gulf of Alaska.
She crawled from the roof and peeked through the dormer window to her office. About to
swing her tool bag inside, she needed to make sure Thor wasn’t in the way.
He wasn’t, but the thud brought him scampering. She heard his nails scrape over wood.
“Thor, baby.” She was about to crawl through, but he’d draped his furry chin on the window’s
ledge. He whined over the fluting wind.
She took a moment to marvel at her weathervane one final time. “What do you think, Thor? Is
the wind putting it to a test?” She watched the sky. Storm clouds had unfurled wider than when
she’d last looked. Her eyes followed the weathervane. It pointed north and to something more. A
lone dinghy was in trouble.
Thor barked.
“You smell trouble all right, on me.” All the emotions she’d contained from her parents’ deaths
streamed into panic. “Get out of the way, my lump.”
She scurried through the window and gave Thor a brief hug. She unbuckled mountain climbing
gear, something she used in case of slippage whenever she worked on the roof, and let it drop. The
window screen had to wait. In one horrible moment, she couldn’t find the boat. She rummaged
through a drawer and pulled out small binoculars. In an attempt to quell stomach-wrenching terror,
she took a breath. Squinting into the binoculars, she managed to spot it, but it was harder to see.
“Thor, it’s keeled over.” An old French expression describing the sudden, mean wind came to mind.
“The hawk is out, Thor.”
She hung the binoculars around her neck, grabbed her cell, and then flew down the stairs. Her
yellow windbreaker hung on a hook by the back door, and she shoved an arm through it as she flung
it on. She’d never moved faster toward the sea, but the faster, the more careful with Thor underfoot.
On the dock, she pushed the button of the electric lift.
While her sturdy whaler dropped into the water, she left a hasty phone message with the coast
guard. She wrapped her phone in a Ziploc bag, zipped it into a pocket, and leaped to the center of
the boat. “Stay, Thor.” It was too dangerous to bring him.
He sat on the dock and yelped.
“Thor. Go home.” She watched him prance off the dock toward the cottage before she steered
the whaler head-on through the waves.
Her method was not a direct run to the dinghy, and it took patience. If she swamped, she knew
she’d never get there. She kept her eye on the white sail, flattened on the water. She could only see it
when her whaler rolled up on white-capped peaks. On her way down into the troughs, she pulled
back the throttle. At the bottom, she gunned the motor and practically flew up the crest. Her hands
were stiffening as she held the cold wheel, so she pulled out sailing gloves from an inside pocket.
She managed to wiggle them on while concentrating fully on her task. Within twenty or so minutes,
she spun the wheel for the final, dangerous approach.
Treading the wind-sliced water, Garrett tightened his life-jacket. His last hope was to kick the
boat toward shore. He held his shivering hands to the gunnels of his capsized dinghy. When the
blast had resulted in a capsize, the rudder had come loose. Not having the steering mechanism was
his fault. He’d forgotten to hook the chain from the rudder to the hull. The current was strong with
the tide going out.
He knew he had to let the rigging go. With the boat sideways on the water, he swam across the
submerged sail. First, he disengaged the shrouds that held the mast. With icy hands, he managed to
unhook fittings and pulled the mast from its hold. The fittings were of top quality, he saw.
Now he needed to right the hull. Tipped on its side, the centerboard stuck straight out from the
boat’s bottom. He swam toward it, battered by a rogue wave as the wind whistled. Kicking hard, he
reached for the centerboard with both hands. He hung on it with all his weight. He took a breath
before the hull sprung flat on top of him and then kicked his way to the surface.
He was relieved that the hull was afloat. Packed with air except for the open cockpit, he knew
the sailboat was designed for safety. Gusts ripped across the water like paws of a running cat as he
fought his way to the stern. He clawed for the gunnels. When a six-foot wave plowed from behind,
it threw him onto the deck, and he splashed into the sea-filled cockpit.
Storm-aware dolphins had long left his side. Low tide carried him further from shore. He was
moving farther from the beach, but any ships were still miles out to sea. His damn cell sat in the
condo.
Moments passed, but he didn’t know how many. He felt the drowsy peace of hypothermia.
Riptide pulled as he held to the craft. He knew never to leave the boat.
Wind ruffled over the surface of huge breakers with dark patches that leaped. Nana and Poppy
had called them cat’s paws. When he pictured Kitzie, he wondered if his life was passing through his
mind. He swore at himself for not checking the weather with a simple call to 949-WEA-THER.
Knowing he was thinking meant he wasn’t dead yet.
He braced himself against the freezing chill washing over his back. He heard an engine. The
drone was louder now, and he turned his head toward it and opened his heavy lids. He made out a
seaworthy whaler cutting over the crest of a wave. At water level, he watched it angle back and forth
on the top of waves. The craft crested again, and then pulled to the leeward side and cut to neutral.
Someone grabbed the sailboat’s hiking strap. “Hello, sir. Climb over,” the frank woman spoke in
a low, dusky pitch.
He had to be dreaming. Teeth chattering, he struggled from his boat to hers, landed in the seat
nearest the woman, and looked up. There was a blinding moment when he couldn’t speak. “Kitzie,
here you are, finally.”
“Gar? You’re blue.” She turned around and wrapped him in a wool blanket. When she looked at
him, they both shouted at once.
He said her name again. He thought he heard the word “fool” and suspected she was angrier
than hell. Frozen to the bone, he didn’t argue.
He watched as she dipped a fingerless-gloved hand into the water. She grabbed the bowline of
his boat. She sailed and was an expert. She knotted his line to her stern cleat. “Hang on, Garrett
Mackenzie. It’s going to jerk.” His dinghy floated backward until she threw the gear into forward.
Jerk, it did. The whaler pitched and rolled in a sorry attempt to pull the wave-filled dinghy.
“Kitzie, we’re losing the battle. Let it go.”
“Nonsense. As soon as I can get us moving just a bit, the self-bailer will take over.”
Caught by a gust, he reeled, but she grabbed his life jacket and steadied him. “What we have
today is an Alaskan clipper.”
“You’d say the hawk is out.” Seaside inhabitants had many terms for a freezing heavy squall.
He’d remembered hers.
She looked weary, a different expression for her. Her settled frown made her even more
captivating. She tossed back wet hair.
His mind floated to the past. Once when rain had slashed at the windshield of his car and the
bridge to the peninsula had washed out, she’d used that saying. Back then, they’d cuddled. He
wanted to hold her like that now.
He pictured her face from the moment before. She’d looked at him as if life had its problems
but fate wasn’t overwhelming her. Dynamics between them were different now. The damsel was dry
underneath her yellow high-neck jacket, and she was saving his distressed butt.
He clutched the gunnels as frigid spray drenched his back, soaking the blanket. “What took you
so long?” He meant it as a joke but knew their situation was grave.
A smile crossed her delicate face. “Started watching the cat’s paws on the bay. Saw you flip.”
Small binoculars hung from her neck.
“I’m putting you at risk. I’m sorry. We could still die. I could bring you with me.”
“No, you won’t. I’ll drag you on my back, hold you afloat if I have to.” She looked over her
shoulder at him.
Frozen, he sighed. He doubted they could swim it.
“There won’t be a need for that.” She nodded toward a distant cutter as it shot across the bay. “I
phoned the Del Coronado Coast Guard before heading out. You’ll go aboard.”
“You?”
“I’ll head for shore. They’ll keep an eye on me while they get you checked out.” A contrast to
her yellow parka, black tresses fell in sheets across her beautiful African features.
He’d learned more about Kitzie Piermont than he’d expected.

First thing Monday morning, Kitzie grabbed coffee. On her way to her cubicle, indistinct voices
whispered over a padded cubicle divider. She listened. The grapevine’s hum centered on Naiad’s
financial ruin and cutbacks.

A tenor voice, almost crisp, said the Boatworks was barely hanging on. She spotted the jerky
movement of Vinny’s blond mop. The former running back-turned salesman scratched his head
with a burly hand. “Garrett graduated with us. I’m sure he was our valedictorian. Just hope he wasn’t
a band geek. We used to beat on them.”

“Brainy Mackenzie, so polite. He’ll be different now.” The squeaky voice of another classmate, a
cheerleader, mumbled, “All that’s going to count is whether he approves of you or not.”
Not wanting to get involved with the subject of Garrett, Kitzie hoped to sneak past the cubicle.
“Hey!” A once pretty, but now overly ripe, classmate grabbed her arm, sloshing Kitzie’s coffee
over the Styrofoam rim. “You knew him. Reintroduce me.”
Released from her grasp, Kitzie covered her steaming cup with her other hand. “An association
with me won’t be gravity-defying.” She’d gotten deft at giving evasive answers.
“Hmm, true. Back then you had a flair for the bizarre.”
Vinny ran his tongue along his front teeth. He raised an imaginary camera, futzed with it a
couple of seconds, squinted at her, and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He smiled,
and his clownish red cheeks puffed. “Cleopatra is right. A connection with her will make him
paranoid.”
“Correct.” Kitzie nodded. “Paranoia never sleeps. It looks over its shoulder forever.” This she
knew to be true.
Vinny picked up his empty mug. “Shit, I probably beat on him.”
Kitzie put a hand on his shoulder. “It isn’t like you hurt people for a living. You’ve never been
to jail. Those things make you likable.” She left without telling them about Garrett’s offbeat
adventure the day before. His scholarly acclaim hadn’t saved him when he’d sailed into the gale.
Back at her desk, she sketched a final component and updated the report with its cost. A
complete waste of time, she knew. At Naiad, her work situation was pure stagnation. She had
proved herself as a design engineer in the production department, but she’d never get a raise without
an open position above her. On Friday, her boss, Edgar Wedemeyer, had recommended a lateral
move into finance. A big break, he’d said, and even set up her interview. She agreed with his
reasoning.
Now headed by Garrett, the financial department was spotty with resignations. Fear of
bankruptcy had closed in. Financial analysts were first to see the numbers in red.
Working for the cutter of costs, my heart won’t have to be an insurmountable problem
, she thought. At Naiad,
she’d earned every notch she’d climbed. She didn’t care how handsome or successful he’d become.
“We’ll talk about it.”
He’d actually said that.
She pressed her lips together. Growing up, she’d worked hard in a different area than him,
extracurricular activities. She’d headed to U.S.C. with partying in mind and joined the Black sorority,
Delta Sigma Theta. With networking capability, it wasn’t long until she’d also joined the sailing team,
racing an international class boat.
Somehow an intro class in kinetics had hooked her natural curiosity. Because it’d fit with sailing,
she’d gravitated into mechanical engineering and had found ways to apply her knowledge of fluid
dynamics. It wasn’t like she got her diploma from Online College of Make-Believe. She doubted
Garrett knew anything about that.
Fuming, she wanted to give the file cabinet a swift boot with her pointed alligator pumps. In
midswing, she thought of the consequence of her kicking habit and let her foot drop. She eased her
foot from her shoe, massaged her toes which still ached from the punt to the yacht club door, and
then slipped her foot back into her shoe. The sight of a belly interrupted her sulking.
It belonged to her boss. Edgar Wedemeyer loomed around the corner like a spinnaker,
swaggered a bit and stood with his arms akimbo. “Kitzie, you deserve a raise. To get that, you’d
need to be promoted.”
Spinning in her chair, the kicking urge remained. She doubted Garrett would take her seriously.
“Why not just give me your job?”
He let out a snort-laugh and glanced at his watch. “It’s interview time. Try to live up to my
recommendation with our new ‘head.’ Get it?”
“I do. Head is a nautical term for bathroom, located in the forward compartment. Nicely done,
Edgar.” Anal humor was his forte.
Thin hair raked streaks across his nearly hairless crown. “You read my memo to Mackenzie,
right?”
“It was glowing. Thank you for your kind words.” She pushed aside her completed draft.
He looked down at it. “Naiad’s in the red. Just because that project ate up six months of
overtime, it ain’t goin’ nowhere. Naiad is at ass-end.” With a glint of humor in his eyes, he slammed
her folder shut and sat on it. One of his knees bounced.
“Believe me, I know. Remove yourself. Let me file this.” Sometimes she enjoyed his pubescent
funniness. This wasn’t one of those moments.
He slid off the desk and handed her the folder. She grabbed it, rolled her chair to her file
cabinet, pulled a low drawer, and lifted out a heavy accordion file to her lap. She slipped in her
folder. When she dropped it in, it made a thud.
Edgar drew his features into a frown.
Leaning back in her chair, she empathized with his desperation. Every managerial position was
under review. “You’ll be fine, Edgar.”
“I’d feel better if you took this lateral move. I need a friend working for
him
.”
“If it’s offered, I’ll take it.”
Otherwise, good luck, amigo.
She knew something of office politics.
Edgar wanted her to put in a good word for him and feed him discreet information at the same
time.
He pulled at a loose button on his starched denim shirt. “From your resume, Mackenzie will
know you’re trained as a design engineer. Of course, people outside the company are competing for
this job. But you know this business better. Remind him.”
“I’ll pretend to be strong in finance.” She sighed and glanced at her calendar opened to January,
the start of their fiscal year shakeup.
“Kitzie, you understand accounting well enough. Your projects align with allocated funds.
You’ve built connections in every department. The senior financial analyst, possibly you, will report
directly to the guy we hate.”
“Should I share that with him as well?”
“Don’t get cute. Make it good for both of us. Land the position.”
“In case I do, you’ll get the same documents as the board, Grayson Warner Biltmore, and other
officers.” She wanted to move ahead in the company, but she wasn’t an opportunist.
“Me first.” He pointed to his watch. “Get going.”
“Don’t give away my position while I’m gone.” She smiled and pushed herself up from her
chair. She noticed a coffee stain on her silk blouse and tucked it into a long, tweed skirt. She left the
sleeves rolled to the elbows. With her messenger bag over a shoulder, she scooted between cubicle
partitions toward the open hallway. She gave her neck a few rotates to get out the kinks.
“Hold on a sec, Kitzie. I’ll give you moral support as far as the coffee station.”
Out of respect, she slowed.
His cell beeped with a message, and he gave her a “hi” sign. Nearsighted, he peered over his
spectacles at the text.
Moving like a snail, she returned her thoughts to Garrett. Given their history and decade apart,
he wouldn’t know she’d become more like him. Yesterday, he was like she used to be, reckless. Their
working styles couldn’t possibly mesh. At the same time, she didn’t want to be passed over for the
position. He would only be in charge for six months, and her promising future came first.
Damn, I’ve
earned that slot in finance.
Edgar caught up and gave his ringing cell a disgusted nod.
“What’s wrong, Edgar?”
“Maryrose and I bought a new boat. You know, Naiad’s
big ones
are selling at a discount. We
can’t seem to come up with a good name. I sure as hell don’t have time for her whining.”
“Call Maryrose back. Tell her help is on the way. We’ll have a lunchtime boat-naming party.”
She stepped up the pace.
Edgar kept up. “Seriously? She’ll be thrilled.” He followed her down the row of cubicles.
The fishbowl’s oppressive atmosphere was getting to her. On Monday mornings, employees
popped heads over cubicles while they exchanged weekend news. Today, they were bottom feeders,
nosing around bits of gossip.
“Have you heard the sales department’s name for Mackenzie?”
“I don’t know. Piranha, maybe?”
“Loup de Mer.”
“How did he earn that?”
“He’s a wily fox when it comes to cutting costs.” Stopping at the coffee station, Edgar poured
himself a cup. “Mackenzie’s last project was saving a billion-plus international conglomerate. His
business acumen, power, and ability to save businesses put him in the stuffed-shirt category.”
“Like you said, he’s the
head
.”
“Exactly. Get him to come to lunch with us sometime.”
“He can be the guest of honor at our name-your-boat lunch.” On her way toward the financial
wing, she paused just long enough to dust off lint from her spikes.
The oak door of the CEO’s corner office had been closed for a week. Major stockholder G. W.
Biltmore had taken to the high seas.
Wondering where Garrett was stashed, she stopped at the department’s receptionist’s desk.
“Morning, Sed. Good weekend?”
“I put away all my baby shower items.”
Unmarried, Black, and pregnant, Sedona Hudson hadn’t worked at Naiad long before she’d
announced her due date. Kitzie had organized her shower. “I hope they’re useful.”
Sedona smiled. “You’re here for your appointment with the New Yorker. Too bad I’m with
child. Otherwise, I’d be among the hordes throwing myself against his door for attention. I have to
guard it like a rabid dog. What a hunk.”
“Don’t tell your boyfriend about your fantasies for your boss, Sed.” A sting of jealousy caught
her by surprise. Competition was in her blood, but she needed to be smart. Loup de Mer was a man
of power. In the corporate world, powerful men were tickets to trouble.
Looking very pregnant, Sedona shifted her stomach out of the way of the computer.
“I admire you for being up and around at this point.” Kitzie hoped she didn’t sound too
personal.
“Thanks for thinking of me. I’ve got another two months to go.” She let out a sigh. “Tommy
and I need the income.” As she stood, she gave Kitzie’s shoes a glance. “How can your feet make it
through the day in those heels?”
“As a kid, I liked walking on stilts. These days, I never go beyond two or three inches.
Otherwise, I tend to wobble.” High heels made her feel opulent and unapproachable. When it came
to sharing personal business at work, she was similarly private.
Except a single eyewitness, she never spoke of her parents’ double suicide. Now and then,
memories of that day came over her heart like a dull ache. Talking about it would make others
uncomfortable, and she didn’t want their pity or opinions. With far too many layers of should-haves,
every one stung like an onion from the Bermuda Triangle.
Sedona rapped on the vacationing CEO’s door. “I cleaned out Mr. Biltmore’s office for the
consultant.”
She kept it to herself that chicken-hearted Biltmore had left on sabbatical while Garrett did his
pruning.
Sedona whispered to her, “I think I’ll start strutting around in strappy shoes.”
“Safety first, Sed. Keep wearing those cute ballet flats until after you have the baby.”
Kitzie was intuitive about accidents waiting to happen. Her parents’ “accident” left her with a
definable twitch. She didn’t want anyone to suffer as she had.
Suicide or not, her parents’ white sails had blended with frothy water. No one on the barge had
spotted their sailboat. Maybe someday, if Naiad didn’t go belly up, she’d make her way into the sail
making department. If given the opportunity, she’d slap on reflective material, high up near the
mast.
As a designer, prudence was foremost in her mind. She’d put it to use by testing and choosing
top quality fittings. Other precautions didn’t cost the company a dime. A paddle might be missing
from a bilge. She made sure compasses were tested before being mounted on both sides of the deck.
She knew the marine layer could be heavy with fog. Because of her passion for safety, Edgar had
assigned her to quality assurance. The added tasks never translated to an increase.
For a few seconds, she worried. If she transferred from production, her inroads there would be
for naught. Edgar wouldn’t maintain them, and she’d resent her sacrifice. She closed out that angry
thought beginning to plague her. More than once, she’d dared herself to climb Naiad’s corporate
ladder. It lay ahead. She’d seize the opportunity.
Sedona poked her head into his office. “Miss Piermont is here to see you, Mr. Mackenzie.”
“Thank you, Miss Hudson.”
After Sedona’s announcement, she closed the door with a click.
“Come in, Kitzie.” Garrett’s deep voice resonated through her entire body.
Open windows from the corner let in a breeze, and she stared into a blurry tangle of greenery.
She’d need to impress him with her talent. The side he knew best was a spoiled kitty, always looking
for a place to stretch out in the sun.
Garrett stood, rounded his desk in leather boat shoes, and extended his hand. “You’re right on
time, Kitzie, nine on the dot. I expected you’d be elegantly late.”
She slipped her hand into his warm one. “You’ve thawed.” She’d anticipated seeing him in a suit.
“To my surprise, you knew to dress in khakis and a sweater.”
“Ship manufacturing execs dress casual except for stockholders’ meetings.” His clothing looked
expensive. “You save the foolish.” His expression turned apologetic as he held her hand.
She felt a jolt of desire. Tall, white, and handsome wasn’t exactly a cliché. His face was all
cheekbones and honed jaw. Brown hair flopped onto his forehead.
“If I can, I do.” Her panties dampened as he led her to an upholstered guest chair, and she
resented him for it. Disappointment accompanied his release of her hand, but since her knees went
weak, she gratefully sat down.
He wheeled a chair from behind Biltmore’s huge mahogany desk to her side. Soft leather sighed
as he sank into it and crossed his ankles. “You’re a sailboat designer with your own mission
statement.” He nodded toward her file from human resources, which lay open on his desk, and
topped with a mug of cold coffee.
“I live up to those words.”
He picked it up and read her statement aloud. “Every detail proclaims safety toward those who
dispose part of their income upon this noble pastime.” He shut the folder. “It’s meaningful. I’ve
sent it to the advertising department.”
“Your preachy tone must have come through my writing.” She bent her head to hide her
reaction. Like her classmate, she’d noticed the amazing way he’d filled out. His demeanor gave off a
sexy presence.