Ride to Restoration (Ride Series Book 2) (32 page)

Chapter
62

J
ust north of the Florida line, I stopped for fuel, to walk
the dog and reprogram the GPS to Daytona Beach, rather than Tampa. Routing east
on I-10 around Lake City, Florida moved me out of heavy traffic and onto open
roads that I hoped would stay that way to Jacksonville. I had calls to make,
people to talk to, and schemes to create in my head. Distracted driving Damn
Yankee
’
s
I did not need distracting me when I could do it well enough on my own.

With SIRI’s assistance, I found a hotel not far from the
Boardwalk, the Plaza Resort and Spa which adequately met my requirements, as
well as Giovanni’s and the dog. Three males making the rules for a change, at
least until the women got there. Then it’s back to damn you, woo-hoo, damn you!

My next call was to Keith, a retired Air Force Captain who I
had not talked to in at least eight years. He had the connections to find a
direct line to another cohort of ours, a man who by all accounts should be a
Full Bird Colonel by now. Giving Keith as little Intel as possible, I convinced
him rather quickly of the urgency and left him in the process of making it
happen.

My third set of calls was to locate Nancy, a family friend of
my mom’s, who happened to live in Port Orange, Florida, next door to my mom and
dad at least fifteen years ago. I wanted to share good times with her again. At
least I did until I found her brother who sadly broke the news that Nancy had
passed two years before. Damn it ... this dropping off the face of the Earth
sucks. My life, as I knew it ... stopped. If my plans worked out, this living
in the shadows would finally come to an end.

Turning south onto I-95, the Damn Yankee traffic resumed and
interrupted my endless string of calls all the way to Daytona. Taking the
speedway exit to the world’s most famous beach, I passed N
ascar
’s oldest track, the Daytona 500
on my right bringing back fond memories of another time, another life. There
was a time when I worked hard and played harder — a time when the fruits
of my labor meant something to me and everyone else.
What I wouldn’t pay to
roll back the clock ten years, even fifteen. You’re dreaming again, D. Live
life forward, it’s the only choice you’ve got.

Major and I were warmly welcomed into the Plaza Hotel where
the pleasure of his company cost me an extra one hundred bucks. I patted him on
the head. “You’re worth ten times that,” I announced, “no sleeping on the
couch.” Zora, the foreign exchange student desk clerk gave me a frown. “What?
It’s better than me telling him not to pee on the furniture. Geez! Besides,
that’s what the hundred dollars is for. So he can have a choice. Smile girl, he
is.”

In spite of my banter with Zora, I was fortunate to secure
two oceanfront rooms on the fifth floor, no stairs. Giovanni would be pleased.
Our room, overlooking the white sandy beaches and beautiful Atlantic Ocean was
furnished with a rather inviting king-size bed, an overflowing mini-bar and an
oversized three cushion wide couch that had Major’s name written all over it. “We
can suffer through this, huh pal?” I asked my tail wagging companion with the
yellowed Wilson Tennis Ball stuck in his mouth. Playtime, Daytona Beach, here
we come. On a leash, dodging cars and trucks and children, lots and lots of
children, this part of the beach was not dog friendly. My bad. “Come on Major,
let’s go find a place on this beach that is.”

I traveled down Highway A1A, through South Daytona to
Daytona Beach Shores. Fewer people, fewer kids, fewer cars to interfere with a
dog on a mission, retrieving tennis balls tossed into the pounding surf. Twenty
minutes of fetch behind us, I settled into a lounging beach chair, courtesy of
the Pirate’s Cove Hotel. “Major, I met a beautiful girl on this beach the
summer I returned from active duty. Wonder what happened to her? Later on, I
watched my son’s grow up playing on this beach. See that parking lot behind us.
I remember rocking and rolling with their mom in a customized Ford Leisure Van
until 2 AM one morning. The only privacy we could find on a moments’ notice
with two rooms packed with kids. Memories, precious memories of a simpler time.
You worked, you played, you thrived ... for your kids, family, friends and
employees. Where are they now, pal?”

Life happens ...
children grow up, careers expand...businesses flourish ... until they don’t.
Much like the waves crashing before me, our lives continuously ebb and flow
comfortably until external forces appear as subtle as high tide or as devastating
as a Category 5 hurricane. My life has become the latter, leaving in its wake,
devastation where once there was continuity and harmony. Second chances, though
few and far between, do not guarantee us the opportunity to erase and
re-record. I wish they did. Our lives reflect the decisions we make, followed
by their outcomes, be they good or bad. We hope and pray for redemption and
restoration, and try as we might, it’s not always possible. I got it. Doesn’t
mean it hurts any less, knowing what was may never be again. Or can it?

I am determined to
remake me, better than before, scars and all. Within me lies a strong
foundation, built with sinew and blood, refined with countless beads of sweat
and cleansed with a lifetime supply of tears.

My phone vibrated ... then rang.

“Jon David, Richard
Little here. Keith called and said you were looking for me in a bad way. How
can I help you, Captain?”

“
Thanks for calling me on such short notice. Captain,
I’m not. That was another lifetime ago. And you, what about you, Rich?”

“The powers that be
moved me upstairs. Would you believe I’m a one star?”

“
Congrats, General Little. Has a nice ring to it,
doesn’t it? Rumor has it you’re running Special Ops out of Hurlburt Field, near
Destin. Is that still the case? If so, I’m looking for a ballsy helo pilot to
perform an off-book extraction next Saturday night in Tampa. You think you
could round one up?”

“Hell, son, you’re
talking to the best. Remember that time in Iraq, back in ’90? Of course you do
... I’ll do it. Just tell me where and when, I’ll be there. They don’t let me
out much. It would be an honor and a privilege. You gonna need support? I can
bring along a team, off-book of course. Guys out of your old unit, come to
think of it.”

“
I don’t think that will be necessary. Let me digest
it a little more. I’ll let you know.”

Over the next fifteen minutes, I pitched him my proposed
plan, less the personal details and gave him my AMEX to reserve the helo of his
choice. All that he asked me to do was confirm next Friday and advise if it
would be a ‘hot LZ.’ How the hell would I know if it was going to be a hot
landing zone? Come to think of it, if it involves Candice Parker, I’d best say
yes without a second thought. I chuckled, if Rich only knew ... the infamous
power of her woo-hoo and its effect on the questionable men in her life —
me included.

Feeling some sense of relief in my quest, the clouds of
regret, along with the few rays of sunshine I’d subjected Major to over the
last hour, turned to hunger pangs again. Imagine that, I’d failed to eat lunch
or dinner. I could still make the last one. Across the causeway, Aunt Catfish
on the River beckoned. Memories, too, were made there, good ones, fond ones,
and drunken ones over the last twenty plus years. Of course, it helped for
fifteen of those years my parents lived less than three blocks away. To my
chagrin, Major took the lead, jumping into the front seat, scattering white
sand across the console, the dash and me. Yep, only in Florida am I privileged
to spit sand granules out of my mouth with frequency.

Dining on the Admiral’s Platter — my favorite from
times past — was more fare than I recalled. One thing for sure that had
decreased with the grey, my appetite for fine food. Thankfully, my unquenchable
thirst for fine women had only been enhanced with age. Major, not to be denied,
has benefited rather handsomely from both, Candi included.

Chapter
63

M
y,
how Daytona has grown
, I mused, as Major, his head buried in my leftovers,
and I stayed on Highway 1 back to the hotel. What once was a snowbird winter
haven has become a year round, white and blued haired paradise, sprinkled with
NASCAR fans, teenagers and leather clad bikers, depending on the month and the
season.
I wonder what year the majority of white hairs had an epiphany to
acknowledge, ‘we’re too old to go back and forth, from now on we’re staying?’
Mayberry, it’s not.

Sitting
on the balcony of our room, inhaling the salty, eighty degree air blowing west
off the ocean, Major and I watched the sun
’
s rays give way to the twinkling
lights of fishing boats and ships peppered across the horizon. Two distinct
plans in the making deserved an equal amount of attention, beginning with Candi
and our surprise Monday night reunion, followed by the Saturday night benefit
ball extravaganza.

Because
I needed Gio
’
s assistance in making the latter a reality, I focused on
Monday. That was all Major, all me. Flowers, I wanted to shower her in flowers
and envelope her in live music, Sinatra to be exact. Over the next hour, I
researched, planned and plotted my way into, out of and through our romantic
rendezvous on the beach, weather permitting, of course.
“
Enough,
”
I announced to the dog,
“
I can
’
t do any more tonight. Come
inside pal, it
’
s time we slept.
”

The
sun
’
s
rays broke through the sliding glass doors a few minutes after five, gloriously
welcoming the day, before I closed the curtains and crawled back into bed. Some
days it doesn
’
t pay to get up early. This so happened to be one of them.
I fell back asleep and dreamed the strangest dream.

Candi was an Egyptian
Princess and I was a commoner. I roused her from sleep this particular night
and was making mad passionate love to her on an outdoor marble terrace when my
phone
’
s
alarm went off waking the entire kingdom. Two palace guards captured me, the
king confronted me, demanding not my head, but my uh-um, since I could do
unspeakable things to her that he no longer could.
Startled, I awoke with a
woody that for the life of me would not go away. Rather than take matters into
my own hands, I turned on the news. Yep, that works every time.

I
made a black and green in the lobby and took Major on a three mile trek up the
beach towards Ormond. It, too, had changed. Mom and pop establishments that
dotted the shoreline years ago had given way to massive hurricane resistant
condominiums, rising perilously into the sky. Progress, what I was experiencing
was progress here in Daytona made at the expense of few for the pleasure of
many. Cha-ching, cha-ching, cha-ching. Tax dollars, rental dollars, disposable
income dollars were flooding into this area in search of the American dream,
aka, a twenty percent ROI (return on investment). Status quo was no longer an
option here. Bigger, taller, better, more. Mayberry, where are you? You
’
re looking sweeter and sweeter
by the moment.

Sitting
at the Plaza
’
s outdoor bar with a Bloody Mary in my hand watching Major
watch the tan lined fillies in their skimpy two-piece bikinis, I did the next
best thing, I called Candi. Four rings later ... she blasted me,
“
D, don
’
t you ever do this to me
again, ever,
”
before I even had a change to say hello.
“
Do you know how many times I
’
ve looked at this phone,
hoping you would call, begging for you to call, waiting for you to call? Too
many ... way too many times.
 —
Don
’
t do this to me again.
”

“
Hello to you too ... baby.
”

“
Where
are you?
”

“
In hiding, Candi. There
’
s some mean people with an
attitude who
’
ve been looking for me. At least they were until they found
me ... kinda.
”

“
I
heard ... Fortunately, Marcy enlightened me before the news of your possible
demise crossed the wires. Jim put that out?
”

“
It was his idea ... to buy me some time.
”

“
D,
I brought all this on you. You realize that? I wouldn
’
t blame you if
you never wanted to see me again.
”

“
Candi, it was going to happen sooner or later. I won
’
t lie to you. You may
’
ve helped speed the process
along. You
’
re healthier because of it, aren
’
t you? Financially, I mean
”

“
Yes,
I guess so. I
’
d
trade it all to have things back the way they were on Dale Hollow.
”

“
That
’
s a good thought. But, it
’
s not going to happen.
Sadly, WITSEC advised I relocate. Still trying to decide where.
”

“
D,
I
’
m
terribly sorry. I
’
ve
robbed you of your present dreams, your new life and Dale Hollow Lake most of
all.
”

“
I
’
ll make better ones. Remember someone wise once said,
‘
Life is not the destination,
but the ride.
’
There
’
s still plenty of ride left
in me.
”

“
I
’
m sure you
will, D ... Speaking of ride, would you believe Giovanni, cast and all, wants
to go to Daytona Beach tomorrow, rent a trike and a bike and ride for a few
days. He wants me to go and ride behind him. Mile will ride her own. I don
’
t want to. It
’
s not going to
be the same without you.
”

“
Candi, I
’
d go for it. What
’
s keeping you there
?
”

“
For
one thing, Marcy is coming the end of the week and then there
’
s Joseph. That
’
s another
story in itself.
”

“
I would go. It will do you good to get away, feel the wind
in your hair, your face
—”

“
Stop!
... D. I miss you. I
’
ll
do it. At least when I
’
m
riding, it will remind me of you
—
of us.
”

“
That
’
s the spirit, Candi. Tell Gio to take care of you. Oh, and
watch out for moose. Bye, baby.
”

“
Wait,
D
—
don
’
t
go. When will I hear from you?
”

“
I
’
ll be in touch.
”

I
hung up and immediately dialed Giovanni. He answered on two rings
—
impressive.

“
Gio, D. Candi nearby?
”

“
Ciao
... D. No. Not here. She say she ... not
”

“
G
o ... I changed her mind.
She is going. I have rooms reserved at the Plaza in Daytona. Will text you
where to meet up with me tomorrow at six. Want to surprise Candi on the ocean.
We
’
ll
pick the bikes up Tuesday morning. Too much hassle dealing with it tomorrow.
Bring your gear.
”

“
Tomorrow,
D. Happy. ... Ride again.
”

“
Tomorrow, Gio. Ciao.
”