Solomon's Compass

by Carol Kilgore

  The small white house with black Bahama shutters sat back from the street amid a garden filled with tropical plants. Taylor followed a winding gravel path from the street to the red front door, smiling the entire time.

  A.J. answered the bell. “Welcome.”

  “Your yard and house are lovely. If I ever stop renting, I’m calling you.”

  “Dan had the overall idea. I supplied the details. We worked together to make it happen. Come on in.”

  “Wow.” The feeling of welcome carried over into the modern open space inside. Hardwood floors, large windows. The piquant aroma of crab boil made her mouth water. Not a ruffle or length of fringe in sight, but lived-in and comfortable instead of photo-perfect like the exterior. The Dan she thought she knew would never live in a house like this. “Inside is as great as out.”

  The living room gave way to a wide kitchen workspace separated by the biggest island she’d ever seen. Zia sat on a bar stool in front of it with a glass of red wine in her hand.

  Dan waved from behind it. “Come on in.”

  “Sure. Hi, Zia.”

  Zia raised her glass in greeting, her face pouty. Her baby-blue mini consisted of three tiers of long ruffles that matched her eyes and the blue sandals on the floor. Taylor was glad Dan had told her Zia might be out of sorts. And she was glad she decided to wear her travel clothes instead of a clean dwarf.

  “Dan, I told A.J. how much I love your home. In a million years I wouldn’t have guessed you liked sleek living spaces.”

  “I told you I get my chintz fix at work. That’s business. I relax here.”

  He looked relaxed, too, stacking peeled boiled shrimp around the edge of a square black plate instead of running around powered by fresh batteries. Her mouth watered when he set a white bowl filled with cocktail sauce in the center.

  Dan looked up as he set the plate aside. “I hope you brought an appetite.”

  “I’m always hungry.” Dan and A.J. owned all the toys—wine cooler, espresso maker, pot filler, you name it. “I can’t get over you living here. No antiques.”

  “You and I are kindred spirits, Taylor. Zia, here, likes lots of stuff. And lots of color.”

  “I have limits.” Zia sipped her wine. “I still think you should add some red in here. Or orange.”

  A.J. patted Zia’s shoulder. “Red front door. It’s good luck, too.”

  Taylor dropped her keys in her bag. “Speaking of red, my mother gave me a small red Chinese chest that sits at the foot of my bed.”

  “Means you’re a hussy.” Dan grinned and winked at her.

  Everyone laughed, but Dan might be right. Especially after last night.

  A.J. touched her arm. “What can I get you to drink?”

  “White wine, if you have it.”

  “Coming up.” A.J. headed to the wine cooler.

  “Let’s go on the patio and party.” Dan carried the plate and opened French doors onto paradise.

  “I keep thinking your home couldn’t get any better, but it just did. Screened and ceiling fans. If this is a dream, don’t wake me.”

  A.J. handed her a glass of wine, and she settled in a chair. Dan placed the shrimp on a low table covered with more plates filled with fruit, cheese, olives, and crackers. They continued to talk and laugh through the food and another round of drinks. Dusk settled in, and tiny white lights came on in the yard.

  “It’s romantic and whimsical at the same time.” And would be even more romantic if Jake were here. The jerk. “Thank you so much for inviting me.”

  “You’re the guest of honor. How could we not?” Dan bent and pulled up a package from under the table. “Open.”

  The brown paper fell away to reveal one of A.J.’s paintings, small enough for her to put in her carry-on. The background was red. Omigod! The red hussy chest. A bolt of yellow splashed in an upper corner. Zia’s hair. Two vertical black stripes anchored the bottom. Boots? Some squiggles of purple and orange in the center.

  “I love this! How many times have I said those words tonight? It’s not a recording, I promise.” She jumped up and hugged A.J. first, then Dan, then Zia. “It goes with my red Chinese chest.”

  Dan touched her arm. “Remember at the opening I told you we picked one that reminded us of you?”

  She nodded, still looking at the painting. “Oh, Zia, you signed, too. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” They were the first words Zia had spoken directly to her, and she hadn’t made eye contact. Even now.

  Dan went on as if no one had spoken. “We chose this one because of the red. The color shows the passion hidden underneath your all-business exterior. A.J. and I both see it. Learn to trust it, Taylor. You won’t be sorry.”

  She blinked back the tears that stung her eyes. She’d let her passion flow last night, and where had it gotten her? Absolutely nowhere.

  A.J. refilled their glasses and raised his. “A toast.”

  They held their glasses above the table, smiling.

  “To passion. To life.”

  Everyone repeated the toast, clinked glasses, and drank.

  Zia’s fingers touched hers. “Sometimes we keep our true selves hidden behind what we allow the world to see. We even hide the truth from ourselves. Maybe this will help you find the real Taylor.” She patted Taylor’s fingers and smiled before turning away and downing her wine.

  Taylor was marooned on a patio with an army of free-thinking mavericks, each one different from the people she normally associated with, yet she felt right at home. She shook her head and took another sip. People still surprised her. She took another sip of wine. Why did the new friends she’d met in Rock Harbor think she didn’t honor her passion? The Coast Guard was her true passion. She held command of a United States Coast Guard cutter. She was in line for captain. Everything she’d always wanted. She was happy. Damn it.

  Jake shot a few games of pool at Lulu’s and lost like a gentleman. Locals didn’t take kindly to strangers taking their money, even if the payoff came in the form of a beer. While he downed his favorite burger in the world, he watched the Mets wallop the Astros. He was the only one watching who didn’t piss and moan at the outcome, so he kept his fist pumping to himself.

  When he left, purple twilight had taken the place of bright sunshine. The outdoor lights were on at Knox’s boatyard, so Jake drove over and honked at the locked gate.

  A few seconds later Knox rounded the corner, his right hand on the butt of a Glock holstered at his waist.

  Jake waved. He hoped Knox was a good shot and didn’t have the gun only for show. Bravado would get him killed. “How’s the boat?”

  Knox was already jogging to the gate. Reaching it, he stooped to pull a vine away from the gate post. “Not nearly as bad as I thought. The tramp is sound. No damage to the centerboards. I’ve already ordered a new mast and mainsail. The hulls have been patched so many times a few more won’t matter. The mainsail’s the only real problem.”

  “Why? You don’t have to do anything with that except hook it up.”

  “The color is special order. But I’ve used the supplier before, so I hope they can put it on rush. I’ll find out in the morning. Worst case, I’ll give Brady a white one from the store at no charge if the other one isn’t here in time for his race. He’ll be a true bastard about it, but too fucking bad.”

  Security work was easy compared to dealing with this kind of detail. “What happened to your arm?”

  “One of those bullets grazed it. A nurse I know cleaned it for me. Hurt like a sonofabitch. Told me to see a doc.” The tone of Will’s voice said that suggestion was going nowhere.

  “I saw your lights and came by to pick your brain.”

  “Good luck. Not much of it left.”

  Jake gave him a quick practiced grin. “Do you know a place called Cecil’s?”

  “Everybody knows it. Why?” Will took a step back.

  “Tell me about it.”

  “It’s a beer joint on the other side of the freeway. Mosqu
itoes, not ever much of a breeze. Old and falling down. Cecil sold us beer when we were in high school. Mostly geezers now.” He pulled down the brim of his ball cap. “No offense.”

  Jake gave him the same grin. He was beginning to feel old. “None taken. When does it open?”

  “Cecil lives in the back. He opens up in the mornings and serves coffee until noon. Like I said, mostly old farts. They stop for coffee and come back for beer. Somebody recommend it?”

  “Something like that.”

  Jake left and followed Will’s directions, finding Cecil’s without a hitch. Clouds had begun to form over the Gulf, but it would be a while before they moved in, if at all.

  Cecil’s looked like a four-car garage with all the doors raised. Inside, beer signs glowed from the walls and lights hung from large ceiling fans. Older pickups stood in a line across the lot—two side by side, a space, three more, two spaces, and a lone truck at the other end, as if each customer had an assigned slot. Maybe they did.

  Jake lowered his window. “Rock Around the Clock” floated in the air along with a fine haze of cigarette smoke. He drove on a couple of miles until the road veered to the right. Nothing except flat land and high grass. A few fishing shacks and mobile homes here and there. In the morning, he’d arrive early and make the same trek with the thermal imaging binoculars Compass Points International was field testing.

  He’d followed Taylor’s progress to Dan’s earlier on his phone. On his way back from Cecil’s, he tracked her back to the hotel, and pulled up in time to catch her sliding out from behind the steering wheel. What a mess he’d made last night. Then today. He should’ve prevented her from going out on the cat with Will, but he thought he had everything covered.

  His dad trusted him to protect her. Jake failed all the way around plus made her so angry she would barely look at him, and he didn’t blame her. Not one bit. He was damned pissed at himself.

  Don’t tell her you’re not me. Don’t tell anyone you’re not me. No matter what. No one must know. How many times had his dad said those words? Jake had lost count. Since he’d already failed, this seemed like a good time to tell Taylor the whole truth. She was smart and made good decisions. He trusted she would understand his dad’s position. Or she might hate him more than she had last night because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He had to take the chance.

  On the short distance from Dan’s to the motel, Taylor kept glancing at the rewrapped painting in the passenger seat. Would she ever become as free-spirited as Zia? Probably not. But she might loosen up. Spending a day or two a week with friends and adding some zest to her life would be the perfect reward for making captain.

  The hotel came into view, and she reined in her thoughts. The wine had helped her to relax. A car pulled into the space next to hers as she turned around to beep the lock. Jake. She wasn’t surprised and kept walking, but he caught up with her outside the lobby. A light mist had begun to fall, and she cradled the painting against her chest.

  He reached to open the door for her but kept it closed. “We need to talk. Your room or mine?”

  Part of her wanted to see him dangle by his balls, but the other part had decidedly different ideas about that part of his anatomy. And the mist had turned to drizzle. Lightning flashed. “What the hell. Mine.”

  He pulled open the door. “After you.”

  Taylor could only imagine what he had to say. He probably wanted to grill her about what happened this afternoon.

  They entered the elevator, and she pulled out her room key.

  “You should have your key ready before you step into the elevator.”

  She glared at him. “Why? I have you.”

  One corner of his mouth twitched. “I deserved that.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  The elevator dinged as it reached her floor. Jake made her stand back while he stepped out first.

  “Okay, clear.”

  An eerie sense of déjà vu followed her as she walked to her room and opened the door, but there would be no repeat of last night. She wouldn’t allow herself to be dragged down that road again.

  Jake locked the door. “What’s in the package?”

  She forced a smile. “I had dinner with Dan and A.J. and Zia tonight. A.J. gave me one of his paintings.”

  “May I look?”

  She unfolded the brown paper.

  “I like this. A.J.’s work is dynamic.”

  “He and Dan said this reminded them of me.”

  Jake studied the painting for only a moment. “I agree.”

  “You do?” She’d expected a flippant remark.

  “Sure. I realize A.J. painted this as an interpretation of Zia, but it fits you in a different way. Black at the bottom, your practical self, your anchor. The orange and purple, your intellect and intuition, vivid and intense but almost hidden by the bright flash at the top, the show you put on for others to keep them away from the real you.”

  “I don’t put on a show. I’m always the real me.” Jake hadn’t said anything about the red. Dan was full of crap.

  “Yes you do. You don’t mind if someone looks around the yellow flash and finds the black or the orange and purple. You don’t encourage it, but you don’t shut them out, though you’d prefer all anyone saw was the bright splash of yellow to blind them from the real you—the red that fills the entire space.”

  Taylor ground her teeth. “And?”

  “The red shows how passionate you are.”

  Damn it. “No.”

  “Not just sexy passionate.” Jake smiled. “Although there’s plenty of that, your energy and interest overflows for everything that touches you. Your passion for life and living was the first trait I noticed about you. You have an intense interest in everything and everyone. You have emotional passion, too—I’ve seen it—but you hold it so close the yellow keeps it hidden.”

  “Did Dan pay you to say that?”

  Jake laid the painting on top of the brown paper. “No. I haven’t talked to Dan. Or A.J. It’s the truth. Let me guess—Dan said much the same, and you thought he was spouting garbage.”

  “Pretty much.”

  His hands rested on her arms. “It’s true, Taylor. You’re the only one who doesn’t recognize who you are.”

  What did they know? Jake’s hands moved to cup her face, and she sighed. Her traitorous body was a slut. All it wanted was to lean against him and enjoy his never-ending touch. Despite last night. Her mother would be proud.

  Taylor moved away and rewrapped the painting before turning back to him. “You wanted to talk?” She sat at the table.

  He didn’t join her. Instead he paced in silence. She waited. Jake wasn’t shy; he would tell her in his own way, in his own time, what he wanted her to know.

  After four or five trips across the room and back, he sat across from her and took her hand. “I’m going to give you a lot of information that will fill in some blanks. It won’t take but a few minutes, and I’ll leave.”

  His hand was strong and lean, warm. Hers looked tiny in comparison. She pulled it away before it became too snug.

  “Everything I told you about my dad and your uncle, and the entire story about Vietnam, Bangkok, the murders—everything—was the truth except for one detail.” He took her hand back, trapping it between both of his.

  “You aren’t Jake.” She searched his solemn eyes, and he looked away.

  “Make that two details, both tied together. I am Jake—Jacob Paul Solomon. The Jake your uncle knew—Jacob Daniel Solomon—is my dad.” He licked his lips. “In telling you the story, I told you I married several years later, but the marriage didn’t last.”

  Taylor focused on the table. Here it came. He was married with a wife, three kids, and a dog at home. The real reason he’d felt like a slimeball last night. She studied the floor.

  His thumb massaged the top of her hand, leaving tingles where skin met skin. “I told you Dad’s story. From his point of view. Except for one detail. In truth, I have never been marrie
d. And in truth, my mom and dad married while he was in sniper school.”

  Nothing about the table was remarkable, but Taylor studied the flat top, afraid to move from its safety. “How romantic.” He didn’t have a wife! Or three kids. She didn’t know about a dog.

  “Actually, yes. He and mom had been high school sweethearts—he tells this story much better than I do, with all the details. The down-and-dirty version is when he realized what he’d gotten into, he went AWOL one weekend and asked Mom to meet him in Maryland. They got married. He got into trouble. She got pregnant. Neither thought they’d ever be together again.”

  Taylor’s fingers curled around Jake’s, and she finally looked up. Jake squeezed her hand.

  “Nine months later, I came along. Mom got letters, but Dad never came home until he came home for good and went to school. While he was gone, she went to school. I don’t remember that. I just remember she was a teacher. My sister was born while Dad was in graduate school.”

  “What about your parents?” Taylor kept eyeing at him. Since meeting Jake in the barbeque restaurant, her hormones had run amok, even believing him more Randy’s age than hers. It hadn’t mattered. Now that she knew he was her age, the magnet pulling her toward him switched to power surge. Despite all he had told her, all he had done.

  “Mom and Dad are still married. Still in love.” A smile spread across Jake’s face.

  “It must have been wonderful to grow up in a home like that. Mother is never happy with anyone, even herself. I never knew my dad. Randy was my rock.”

  Jake shrugged, but his thumb played with her fingers. “It wasn’t an easy time. Dad had a lot of adjusting to do. Mom, too. It took a while, but they loved each other. And me. I sensed it, even as a kid, and never doubted it. They finally worked their problems out. After Dad finished school, he was gone most of the time building the business. That was hard, too. I went to school, got accepted for Annapolis, and became a SEAL.”