West Wind (11 page)

She reminded Jay of a contented cat and he
stroked her rounded bottom. She sighed again and mumbled something
unintelligible.

"What?" he asked, leaning in.

"
Sabes que eu te amo
," she whispered,
her eyes closed, her breathing deep. She was on the verge of
sleep.

"I don't understand. What did you say?"

When Sabrina didn't answer, Jay shrugged and
pulled on a pair of jeans. He went into the great room, making
coffee at the kitchenette. Lifting one of his sail curtains, he saw
Sabrina's massive Cadillac parked on the street next to the
boatyard's padlocked front gate.

As the coffee brewed, Jay padded down the
steps to the boatyard. He hadn't bothered with shoes, and the dew
was cold against his bare feet. When he reached the Cadillac, he
saw that she had left it unlocked, but she also had left the keys
in ignition. Just in case she needed a quick getaway, he mused. On
the passenger seat was her purse and a small bag he imagined
contained clothes. He slid in, turned the key, and the massive
engine purred to life. Shifting it into drive, he steered the car
down to the alley, to the back of the boatyard where his own pickup
truck rested. He parked it, collected her bags and exited the car,
tucking her car keys in his jeans pocket.

As he made his way to the stairs, he heard
tires crunching on gravel. Brett maneuvered his truck into the
empty space beside Sabrina's car. Catching sight of Jay, he wolf
whistled through the open window.

Jay grinned, barefoot and bare-chested on the
stairs, and lifted Sabrina's purse and bag as way of
explanation.

Brett nodded. "Guess you're going to be late
again," he joked. "Man; must be nice to be the boss." He chuckled,
watching Jay bound up the steps.

Back upstairs, Jay deposited Sabrina's purse
and bag at the foot of the bed. He took a cup of steaming coffee
into the shower with him, and in fifteen minutes was dressed and
ready for work.

He knelt at the bed and stroked Sabrina's
glossy hair.

"Wake up, honey," he urged.

Sabrina stirred, opening her eyes. Confused
at first, when she recognized him, they softened.

Jay's heart sped up and he caught his breath
at her serene beauty. "I brought your bag up. I have to go to work.
You stay this time. Understand?"

She nodded, blinking slowly. As she stretched
and yawned, the sheet slid to her waist. Her breasts mounded as she
raised her arms over head. She brought her arms down around his
neck and pulled him to her lips. With her hands stroking the back
of his neck, she gazed into his face trustingly.

"Oh, baby, you're wicked," he moaned. He
buried his face in the hollow of her neck, inhaling her scent,
muted by and mingled with his own. With superhuman effort, he
lifted his head.

"I've got to go. Please let me go," he
implored, clenching his jaw.

Sabrina luxuriated in her power for a few
seconds, and then let her arms drop. She wiggled deeper into his
pillows, her lips curving into a satisfied, mysterious smile. She
listened as Jay moved through the apartment, pulling on his work
boots, gathering his wallet and keys, and then closing the door
softly. She heard his muffled footsteps as he raced down the
stairs.

* * *

When she opened her eyes again, the clock
read 10:20. She heard machines buzzing in the distance and the
occasional clang as a tool dropped. A radio played loud rock 'n'
roll. Jay was at work in the boatyard below.

She saw her overnight bag and purse at the
foot of the bed and decided she needed a shower. She took her time,
first exploring the small cabinets and closets in the bathroom.
Even this room looks like a sailboat
, she thought, peeking
behind the teak doors and noting the sparse contents. She opened
her bag and withdrew her toiletries.

Thank goodness I brought my
toothbrush
, she thought, squeezing the tube of paste. Her
bathroom ritual took considerable more time than Jay's, and by
11:30 she was showered, her hair dried and styled. She had to make
do with wrinkled clothes. She couldn't find an iron anywhere. How
can some people not own one? All of her life she had fastidiously
ironed her clothes before wearing them. She hung her jeans and
shirt over the shower bar and ran the hot water, hoping to steam
some of the wrinkles free.

Once dressed, she realized she was famished.
She poked in the cabinets in the kitchenette. The coffee was cold,
and there was no creamer. The refrigerator was nearly empty,
also.

"How does this man survive?" she spoke
aloud.

Sabrina decided to head for the coffee shop
where she'd lunched her first day in town. She couldn't find her
car keys, though. She frowned, trying to recall where she had left
them.

She stuffed her clothes and toiletries in her
bag and walked barefoot down the stairs. She saw he moved her car,
so she opened the driver's door. Tossing her bags on the seat, she
looked in the ignition, under the floor mat, even the visor.

"Looking for these?"

She jumped, bumping her head on the liner.
"Ouch," she said, rubbing her forehead and turning slowly. Jay
leaned against the fender, her keys in his outstretched hand. She
slid out of the car and when she reached for her keys, he tucked
them in the front pocket of his jeans.

"Thought I told you to stay put," he
said.

Sabrina rolled her eyes. "Maybe if you had
some food, a girl would stick around." She sidled up to him,
wrapping her arms around his waist, lifting her head to nuzzle his
chin. "I'll be back," she murmured. "I'm starved." She wiggled her
fingers into his pocket and withdrew her keys.

"Besides," she said as she slid in the car,
"I need you. You've got my boat."

Jay leaned in before she could close the
door. "Is that why you need me?"

Sabrina grinned. "You want me to stroke your
ego?"

"Among other things," he said.

She whispered in his ear and kissed him
goodbye, but since Jay didn't speak Portuguese, he couldn't know
that she described, in explicit detail, what she needed.

"I hope that was a compliment," he said.

"Oh, it was,
me amo
."

He grimaced as she fought the wheel of the
large car, and drove inexpertly down the alley and into the
on-coming, honking traffic.

"City girls."

Back in the shop, Brett was putting a tarp
over a wooden hull he had been sanding.

"Hey, you took Spanish in high school, didn't
you?"

"That was a long time ago, bud."

"What does
'me amo'
mean?"

"Run like hell," Brett replied.

* * *

Jay and Brett usually worked in companionable
silence. Each had various projects going at the same time. They
staggered chores, varnishing teak, then repairing engines while the
woodwork dried.

Jay ignored the Zephyrus, installing an
autopilot on a new sloop.

At one o'clock, Brett turned off the radio.
"Lunch time. Maude's?"

"Sure," Jay said, wiping his hands on a rag.
He shoved the red flannel into his back pocket. "Why don't you head
over? I'll be along shortly."

"Sure. Want me to order you anything?"

"Yeah, I'll take a hoagie, no onions."

After Brett left, Jay walked over to the
Zephyrus. He touched the crack he made in the gel coat the day
before. He ran his hand along the hull, stroking the swollen belly
above the waterline. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine how
Derek West must have felt when the finished boat came out of the
shop. Did he feel pride in his workmanship?

As a student, he had studied naval design,
including the Zephyrus. Now, he looked beyond the dull finish, the
pitted propeller, the broken keel, and chipped rudder. He closed
his eyes and leaned against the boat, waiting for it to speak to
him, a silent communion.

In his mind's eye, he could see her as she
once had been, with foamy waves splashing against the gleaming
white hull as she slid across the deep blue Massachusetts Bay. The
sleek double-ender sailboat with its salty cabin and proud bow
designed by Don Windham and built by Derek West had been a classic
beauty. She would be again, he vowed.

* * *

Later that afternoon, sitting cross-legged on
her hotel bed, Sabrina called Rose.

"Well, Grandmother, you're not going to
believe this, but I've met someone, and I know it's crazy, but I
think it could be serious."

"Why wouldn't I believe it? I fell in love in
an afternoon. Maybe crazy runs in the family."

"It must. His name is Jay West."

Sabrina heard a gasp on the end of the line.
Seconds passed in silence. "Grandmother, are you there?"

"Jay West? As in the West family?"

"Yes; he's the son of Margaret West. Not only
that, he owns the boatyard where I have the Zephyrus."

"What?"

"I met him my first night in town, but I
didn't know who he was. Then, when I found out, it was too
late."

"Too late? As in …"

"Um hmmm."

"My goodness. Well, what next?"

"I'm not sure. I need to convince him to
restore the boat."

"I thought you said they picked up the boat.
Didn't you give him a deposit?"

"Actually, I gave the deposit to his
assistant manager, Brett Story. He's the one I talked to on the
telephone, and he picked up the boat. I had no idea Jay was
involved until after the boat was delivered. Brett told me that Jay
was furious when he saw the Zephyrus. He wanted to destroy it when
he saw it."

"Why would he want to do that?"

"Brett told me that Jay's mother was an
alcoholic and took drugs, and that she died of an overdose when he
was twelve."

"How tragic!"

"He went to live with his grandmother, who
apparently had gone off the deep end. She poisoned him with stories
of the Windhams, and how we ruined her life. He left home for a
while, went to college in Maine and studied naval architecture.
When he returned, he started the boatyard."

"Sabrina, do you believe in destiny?"

"I'm beginning to."

Chapter Five

Jay finished his sandwich, wadded his napkin
and tossed it in the empty basket. "I needed that."

Brett spooned mashed potatoes and gravy into
his mouth and groaned. "Ahh man, why can't Shawna cook like this?
What's so hard about meatloaf?"

Jay shrugged. "Can't have it all, I
guess."

Brett saw his opening. "Worked it out
yet?"

"What?" Jay finished his root beer,
stalling.

"You know damn well, 'what.' Are you going to
work on the Zephyrus?"

Jay nodded. "Whatever she wants."

"Well, that was easy. Sounds like you got it
bad," Brett teased. "What did she say to change your mind?"

"Nothing. I'm not going to talk about her.
You keep your fat mouth shut, too."

Brett raised his hands is surrender. "What'd
I say?"

"Don't tell me you didn't spill your guts
yesterday."

"You should be thanking me; you finally got a
love life."

Jay shook his head resignedly. "I don't need
help."

"What about Faye?" Brett prodded.

"What about her?"

"What are you going to do when she meets
Sabrina."

"That won't happen."

"Are you kidding?"

"She's not going near her," Jay bristled.
"She's not going to ruin this."

* * *

Faye West clumped through her kitchen, still
dressed in her bathrobe and slippers. It was after two o'clock and
she had just watched a "shock" talk show episode titled "Are You My
Baby's Daddy?" It featured a young, overweight woman, her infant,
and three men, similarly dressed in oversized T-shirts, baggy pants
with crotches that hung down to their knees, and baseball caps
turned sideways. The men had submitted to DNA testing and,
surprise, surprise, none of them were the "baby's daddy."

"Slut," Faye grumbled, lighting a cigarette
and then opening the refrigerator. She looked inside for the
seventh time that afternoon, not hungry because of nicotine and
caffeine, but knowing she had to eat. Faye weighed about ninety
pounds but she claimed she didn't have an eating disorder. She just
wasn't interested in food. She wasn't interested in much of
anything, actually.

Except Jay. She picked up the portable
telephone and called the boatyard.

On the other end, Brett noted the caller ID
and whistled to Jay. "It's your grandmother."

"Don't answer," Jay responded, then went back
to spraying primer on the bottom of a boat. "I've got to finish
this coat or I'll have to start all over."

Over the compressor, Jay heard Faye leave a
long and rambling message, although he couldn't make out the words.
He realized, guiltily, that he generally had dinner with Faye once
a week and missed it last night. One thought diverged to another
and he recalled how he spent last night.

Faye slammed the telephone back onto its base
and walked to the kitchen window. She still lived in the same house
Derek West built for them on the Warren River, although it was
beginning to look rundown compared to her neighbors' homes. She
didn't want to think about it, didn't want to think about the fact
that the yard needed mowing or that the gutters were full of
leaves. When Jay lived with her, he kept the house maintained. Now,
with the boatyard and his own place, he barely had time for his
grandmother anymore, she thought.

She called back and once again, the men
ignored her telephone call. "I need you to come and take care of
the lawn," she told the answering machine, "and look at the garage
door, too. Something's not right. Stupid remote doesn't work
anymore."

Faye suffered from depression and never
sought help. Instead, after the betrayal and death of her husband,
and the subsequent addiction and death of her daughter, Faye
retreated into a familiar world of bitterness.