Chapter 50

When I got off the private jet in Fort Lauderdale, I need to get to my boat, so I asked the counter person to call me a car. It was just a few minutes later that a Lincoln SUV pulled up, and a liveried chauffer called my name. I gave her the address of the boat yard and settled back to enjoy the scenery.

My mind kept going back to the murder of my One True Love. I felt a rage building inside that scared me just a little. For a long time, I enjoyed thinking about having Grayson Foster killed in prison, before realizing that would ruin my life even I got away with it.

I needed to get myself busy or risk losing my mind. The limo arrived at the boat yard just as my brain was letting go of taking vengeance against Mr. Bell's old friend, Grayson Foster. Hell is full of people who thought they could get away with things, I decided.

My heartache accompanied me as I checked out my boat, signed the release, and fired her up. Before I set sail, I went aft and checked the lettering I'd ordered added after they got my boat down to Fort Lauderdale. The BETH ANN announced herself beautifully, and I searched out the sign maker to thank him.

After getting everything ready to go, I had to shut it all down and find a car to drive me to the grocery store. I simply wasn't hitting on all cylinders today. Shopping took up a good bit of the afternoon, and I still cruised north of Palm Beach before tying up at a restaurant for dinner and paying for the slip overnight.

Operating a big boat, even one as docile as this river houseboat, will tire you out. By the time I finished supper and cleaned up, I was beat and slept soundly.

Sunday dawned bright and warm. I needed to spend some time making a working plan for the trip, because though it was warm down in Florida, it was frigid up north. Any foray into northern waters had to wait, now that the ice was closing things down.

That was fine, because I was anxious to cruise around some, see the sights, meet the people, and generally live the life of a beach bum for a few months. I was tired, mentally beaten up, and emotionally hurting. Staying busy seeing Florida was as good a way to get over it as anything else and much nicer weather wise.

As Carl I hated golf, so that was out. As Brian I hadn't had time to develop hobbies, so everything was on the table, but nothing jumped out at me. One thing was certain to me. I wasn't staying in Palm Beach. Even though I was rich enough for those people, they were such stuffed shirts the only thing appealing about the place was seeing it falling away as the Beth Ann cruised out of town.

Mr. Bell called just before lunchtime, worried about my state of mind. I was unreasonably glad to hear his voice and kept him on the phone while talking about nothing, just to have the company. He finally excused himself and promised to have Colleen call when she came back from whatever mission she'd gone out on.

Rather than run the boat around aimlessly, I decided to run north to Cape Canaveral, and see the Kennedy Space Center. It looked like two long days of cruising, so I planned for four, with appropriate stops anytime I felt like it. It was a good thing I wasn't on a time schedule, because it took four and half days to get within shouting distance of Kennedy, because I found so many things to stop and see.

As I motored into a marina near KSC, I found myself enjoying thinking about nothing. For the first time in so long I couldn't remember, I was not distracted worrying about staying alive, taking care of something or somebody, or being afraid of what was coming next. The freedom from worry made the trip up the Florida Intercostal a pleasure.

The marina was very welcoming, and their dock boy promised to fuel the boat, empty my tanks, fill the water, have their mechanic give a once over, and get it washed down by the time I was ready to go in two days. I prepaid and asked where I should go for a good dinner.

The owner came out of her office and asked what kind of food I liked, and I told her, I loved good Italian. She asked me, "How good?"

"It is distinctly un-American not to like Italian food. I like Italian food with plenty of marinara sauce, cheese, and lots of really good bread." It must have answered her question because she grabbed her purse, called her husband, and the three of us met at a wonderful, Mom and Pop, Italian restaurant kind of near the space center.

They were a loving couple who just liked to pick up stragglers and invite them out for dinner. We talked about everything and nothing for hours. Eventually it became impossible to eat any more food, so they dropped me off at the boat and headed home, promising to have a plan for dinner the next night. Rob and Paula were the kind of folks Mr. and Mrs. Bell would have loved. If I could ever get them to Florida, I promised myself I'd introduce them to each other over Italian food.

The night passed quickly, and I slept late in the morning. It was after ten before I appeared on the dock to meet my taxi to the space center. If you've never been to Kennedy Space Center, you're in for a treat. It had been undergoing tremendous expansion and renewal. People wanted to come see the retired space shuttle and ride the new ride to space.

I enjoyed a daylong exploration. The big vehicle assembly hanger was impressive. It's so tall it sometimes has its own weather, actually raining inside the building. By the time I got back to the marina, Rob was finished for the day, and Paula wanted to ride down to the far side of Patrick Air Force base and eat at an ocean side café, where she knew the owners, and they bottled their own wine.

I never acquired a taste for alcohol, in either life, so I stuck to iced tea while the two lovebirds drank like fish. About halfway through the meal, Rob looked at me and said, "I guess you're the designated driver, tonight. Don't screw up my car." When I agreed, they drank even more. Their behavior was not that of typical alcoholics, just a couple who rarely let their hair down, and felt comfortable doing so knowing that I'd get them home safely.