“Thanks,” Pilate said, standing. “Really.”
Chapter Thirteen: Lost At Sea
John? John, can you hear me?
Let me out.
<><><>
An hour after the jet took off with Taters and Buster for Miami; Pilate sat on the humid dock beside the TenFortyEZ, a satellite phone to his ear.
“I’m really sorry, Kate,” Pilate said.
“For what? The lying? The danger you put yourself and your friends in? For shacking up with that—”
“I never shacked—”
“Just shut up, John. For once, just shut up, would you?”
“Okay.”
“I’ll make this short and simple. In a few minutes, I’m putting the kids on the phone.”
“I know, and I’ll tell them I will be home as soon as I get the TenFortyEZ back to Key West for Taters.”
“And then you’re going to say goodbye.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
She sighed. “It means, John, that I’m done. You need to get your crap together, and the kids need stability. That means you don’t come home.”
“Wait, what the hell am I supposed to do?”
“Your psychologist is in Key West, and I think your heart is, too.”
He rose to his feet. “Kate, wait, we can—”
“Work it out? I’m not so sure,” she said, her voice clipped and monotone. “At least not now.”
“Kate, don’t you love me?”
She breathed out and said, “I honestly don’t know anymore.”
“You can’t take my kids away from me,” he said, a wave of nausea swamping him.
"I'm not taking the kids away; I'm protecting them from chaos. If you want to get lawyers involved—”
“Oh, shit no, no damn lawyers,” Pilate said. “Kate, this is crazy, let me make this up. Let me figure this out—”
“That’s exactly what I want you to do. Go figure this out. Decide what you want out of life and we’ll talk.”
“How long?”
“As long as it takes, but I think we need at least a semester apart.”
“A semester? Always the instructor, our Kate,” Simon said.
The voices of Pete and Kara piped up in the background. “Okay, they just came in,” she said, her voice trembling.
“Kate, just a minute—”
“No, not now. Just talk to the kids, then please respect my wishes and go get yourself together.”
“But, everyone’s gone. Taters is recovering, and you can bet Jordan won’t let me near him. Buster’s pissed. I’m alone.”
“Not completely,” Simon said.
“What about your girlfriend?” Kate hissed, just above a whisper.
“That’s not true. And not fair,” he said, standing.
“Don’t make this any harder than you have to, okay? Oh, and Magnus Peck called. Frechette and Mann want to settle. Okay, here they are. Peter, Kara, come talk to Daddy.”
<><><>
Standing on the stern of Taters’ boat, Pilate clutched the temporary paperwork issued by Commander Meade of the JDF that would get him and the TenFortyEZ away from Jamaica.
The TenFortyEZ seemed alien without Taters aboard—much like Trevathan’s place in Key West still did after more than two years. However, he had a duty to care for the boat, just like the fishing shack.
The JDF had provisioned the TenFortyEZ for the five-hundred-mile journey back to Key West, and the weather report read calm for the next three days. All he had to do was point the old Connie in the right direction and keep out of trouble.
“Smooth sailing.”
He didn’t look back as he edged out of Montego Bay, carefully navigating the traffic as he put his best friend’s most prized possession out to the open sea.
<><><>
A day in, Pilate dropped anchor not far from the Southern tip of Cuba, bobbing in the sea lane in International waters. Another half day or so would bring him to the Turks and Caicos, then on to the Bahamas to hug the spotty islands until he made it to the Keys.
The autumn Caribbean sun warmed his face, the blue sky and greenish-tinged waters delighted him. Pilate closed his eyes, enjoying the radiation and gentle pitch of the waves on the boat.
Where you, Daddy?
He dialed up a Colin Hay song on the stereo, “Far from Home” and pressed play. Pilate stretched, stripped down to his shorts and sat in one of the fisherman’s chairs on the deck, a half tumbler of Jameson in hand. He spied a pod of dolphin as they broke the water in the middle distance, a family at play.
“So, where you, Daddy?” Simon said.
The Jameson burned his throat; tears tickled his stubbled face. He belted the rest of the whiskey, blankly staring down the sun as it descended the ladder to the horizon.
“Just passing through.”
Pilate dropped the empty glass to the deck, sprung to his feet and dived into the ocean, the water cool and welcoming.
End
Afterword
John Pilate is human.
He is kind, rational, sometimes clever, loyal and responsible…until he’s not.
Let’s be straight-up: John’s a rascal beset by anxiety, mild depression and insecurity, all manifested in his constant companion, Simon.
John and Simon are acutely aware that with every tick of the clock the person you were dead sure you were a day ago can appear an unwelcome stranger in the mirror today.
I know the feeling.
If you’ve read this series since the first installment (the one I thought would be a “one and done”, Pilate’s Cross) then you know John is a restless, troubled guy who is probably at his worst when everything is going his way. He doesn’t trust happiness, is suspect of commitment and desirous of danger and drama.
No doubt, he is going to screw up. John will lose friends, make new enemies and cause pain to his loved ones.
This is inevitable, as John Pilate is all too human.
But aren’t we all, if we’re honest with ourselves?
Is it redemption that awaits John Pilate in the waters of the deep blue sea, or merely oblivion?
<><><>
My gratitude to you, dear reader. This writing game is not easy, and certainly not profitable, but it has its rewards in the knowledge that I entertained you. I hope you’ll consider writing a starred review on Amazon.com for me. It keeps me going and helps others find the series.
Special thanks to my friend, colleague, talented cover designer, and this go-round, my editor, Jason McIntyre. He is a damn fine (and oh my, prolific!) writer to boot; I recommend you check out his stuff.
Please check out my blog at http://pilatescross.com/ for details about my writing, appearances, podcast, and more.
Until we meet again…keep reading.
Alex Greenwood
Kansas City, MO
2018
Pilate's Rose Page 9