Ride to Restoration (Ride Series Book 2) (36 page)

Chapter
69

W
hile
I strapped our meager necessities on my bike, by way of Candi packing light,
Gio and Mile filled out a plethora of paperwork, including their passport
information, international driver’s licenses numbers, and after asking Gio how
he came by the cast, an unlimited waiver of liability with a personal guarantee
for excessive damages. Confirming with the rental clerk there were no recently
reported moose sightings in the area, we collectively breathed a unanimous sigh
of relief.

Reasonably assured that Gio left his video camera in the
trunk with his crutches strapped on top, we rolled out of the parking lot at
ten o’clock sharp. Shouting to Candi over the engines roar, “it’s been a long
day already, baby, and we’re just getting started.”

Leading us north along Highway. A1A, I followed the coastline
north, passing through Ormond By The Sea, then Flagler Beach, before stopping
at the St. Augustine Lighthouse and Museum. Rising into the sky like a giant
black and white striped barber pole, the lighthouse seemed like a great place
for the ladies to explore. But, then again, I was traveling with women who
thought with their big brains and stomachs.

First, Mile ... “Food?”

Then Candi, “I’m hungry. There’s nothing to eat here.”

Followed by Giovanni’s final interjection, “Beer?”

Defeated, I was outgunned and outnumbered. “SIRI, find us
Italian.” And she did, directing me to Trip Advisor and Benitto’s Italian
House, boasting eleven hundred favorable reviews.

“Follow me,” I announced, watching the lighthouse disappear in my rear
views, driving forward through St. Augustine, the oldest continuously occupied
city in America. Just proves I do pay attention to the city limit signs here
and not just in Canada.

Winding through the town, we rumbled across 400-year-old cobblestone
streets, rattling my teeth, while I thought of another mode of transportation.
Fifteen minutes of lefts and rights behind us, we arrived at an odd looking
A-framed building. I had Siri confirm it twice, putting me in the doghouse with
her all familiar voice. “D, you have arrived at your destination. I am not
telling you again!”
Geez … What is it with me and women today? I can’t catch
a break, even with an inanimate one.

“Italian. We’re having Italian,” I announced. “You can’t judge a book by
its cover. This may look like a Swiss Chalet, but it’s Italian through and
through. Judging by the stares I was getting, I tossed out my last line of
defense. “Don’t trust me, trust Siri. Besides, maybe it’s Italian Swiss.”
Fortunately, they did.

Looking to my spicy Italians for guidance, they ordered four of Benitto’s
specialties to share, Chicken Piccata, Eggplant Parm, Chicken Parm, and
Flounder Francese. By the end of the meal, Gio and Mile praised the talented
chefs of Benitto’s for their authenticity. Candi and I, not to be outdone,
added our two cents to Trip Advisor, 5 star reviews, 1101 and 1102.

“You good guide, D,” replied Gio. “Where we go next?”

Before I could answer Gio, I
f
elt
Candi move in close.

“What have you dreamed up for the rest of today, D?” I asked, as my lips
briefly touched his neck.

I chilled. Regaining my composure, “it’s tough being a tour guide with hop
along here,” I replied, pointing at Giovanni and the cast he rode in on. “Doing
my best to visit places we can ride. Next stop, Bonaventure Cemetery, Savannah.
But we need to get there by four. The dead go home around five.”

“I’ve heard of it, D. Johnny Mercer is buried there. Sounds like fun. Let’s
ride,” I announced, confidently assuring Mile and Gio it was an integral part
of D's master plan.

So much for staying on the back roads, interstates were designed to make
time. I-95 did not disappoint, dropping us into Savannah proper by 3:30.
Allowing the GPS to route us, it guided us up to the main gates with ease. I
stopped, made a generous donation to the Historical Society and snagged a map.

Riding through the ornate iron gates of Bonaventure, time literally
stopped. Before us, huge, centuries old live oaks lined the main roads creating
a majestic live canopy, dripping of Spanish moss, dancing at times to the
recurring oceans breeze. Monstrous concrete pillars, vaults and tombstones of
all shapes and sizes, paid homage to another time, another era. Even in death,
its residents could still make an eternal statement of their values, their
beliefs, their worth. Many of the tombstones in the Jewish section were lined
with small stones, signifying someone had visited the grave and reminding those
entombed that they were not forgotten.

Looking at Candi, I could tell this place moved her as well. “Speak, baby.”

“D, this is beautiful, serene, peaceful — a place for healing
troubled souls in the land of the living, not the dead.”

After spending a generous ninety minutes, exploring, discovering,
photographing a simpler time in our past, we rode out through the gates and
back into reality. I wanted to return and linger with the memories we made, but
today called…

‘Live like there’s no
tomorrow.’ I planned to.

Chapter
70

C
ruising
through downtown Savannah on the way to the B&B, I was overwhelmed by the
sheer number of squares — twenty-four in all — that the founding
fathers located throughout the town’s initial design. Gathering places of green
space under massive live oaks where neighbors packed tightly in zero lot line
homes could be … neighborly.

After
quite a few calls and internet inquiries, I settled on the Kehoe Inn on
Habersham. With only three steps to negotiate to access a first floor room,
this B&B was centrally located in the heart of the Historic Area. Rolling
up to the entrance, I watched Gio and Mile give it the once over. before Gio
turned to me and spoke.

“
Works, D. Mile like. Candice you? Stairs?
”

Patting
Candi on the knee,
“
check us in, please. I
’
ll bring the Italians and
our bags along shortly.
”

“
With pleasure. Our room does have a garden tub, doesn
’
t it, D?
”

“
I can
’
t remember,
”
was
not what Candi wanted to hear by the pouting of her lower lip. I continued,
“
I recall one of them does.
For my sake, I hope it
’
s yours.
”

“
I will let you know soon enough.
”

“
I am sure you will sweet cheeks,
”
I quipped, slapping Candi firmly on the rear as she walked
past the bike on the way inside.

“
Gio, there are only three steps,
”
I assured him. Unstrapping all our gear, I tossed my bag
over my shoulder and carried their bags in each hand.

“
I help you, D,
”
offered Mile.

“
Names pack mule D, to you,
”
replying to Mile, before addressing Gio in my next breath.
“
Remind me, the next time we
ride together to treat you like Candi. Each of you is entitled to one backpack,
no more.
”

Gio
hung his head,
“
D, all Mile, not me. I bring toothbrush and your De-odor
—
Right Guard.
”

I
cracked up.
“
Mile, did you pack Gio any clothes?
”

Reaching
into a side pocket of the second bag in my left hand, Mile grinned, producing
two stallion-sized, banana hammock, man thongs.

“
I know where her heart lies, pal.
”

Gio
sported a sheepish smile,
“
not her heart ... how you say ... it is her...
”

“
Multiple orifices, I got it. You look confused. Sorry,
orifice. If Mile has a hole you fill it.
”

Gio
nodded, Mile too,
“
Si.
”

Wrapped
up in sexual shenanigans bouncing back and forth between the three of us gave
Candi ample time to check in and return.

“
I have rooms and keys and no people to fill them. What
’
s taking you so long?
”

“
It
’
s my fault, baby. We were lost in translation. Don
’
t even go there. I
’
ll attempt to tell you
later,
”
I smirked.
“
After you.
”

Dropping
Mile and Gio off at their ground level room, I asked that we eat in tonight and
watch the movie,
“
Midnight In The Garden of Good and Evil.
”
With no objections, I followed Candi up two flights of
stairs to a Queen suite, complimented by a cast iron slipper tub. I lucked out.
Brownie points
—
that is if they are still allowed on this ride.

“
Baby, do you remember ... in Missoula, when I pulled you
into a tub much like this one, clothes and all?
”

I
giggled.
“
I remember being elbow deep in you before you
’
d let me shed my clothes.
What made you so amorous that night? Hold that thought. Oh, I remember
—
the book you were reading,
50 Ways to Get Laid.
”

Men
are so clueless sometimes.
“
It was
Fifty Shades of Grey,
by E.L. James. You are
acting so not Christian right now.
”

“
Seriously, you
’
re bringing up my personal beliefs? What have I done that
was so bad?
”

OMG!
“
D, Christian is the handsome
millionaire male character in the book. It
’
s on my iPad. You really
need to read it. Maybe a little of Christian will rub off on you.
”

I
took offense.
“
Did this Christian what
’
s-his-name give away over a
billion dollars trying to fix a situation commonly known in military circles as
FUBAR?

“
Did Christian unselfishly provide his sweetheart a meal
ticket worth 10 mil, and in doing so make his life a living hell?
”

I
was rolling!
“
I bet Christian never got his girlfriend off on a
motorcycle doing 50, maybe even 60 mph down the open roads with the wind in her
hair
—
come to think
of it, I did that twice.
”

He
has a point
.
“
OK,
maybe Christian could learn a trick or two from you,
”
I relented, remembering our first night on the bike
cruising through the cornfields of Iowa.

“
Damn straight.
”
I huffed,
“
We
’
ve made love on just about everything that moves and floats
—
but to date,
nothing that flies. I regret I
’
ve yet to introduce you to the mile-high club.
”

“
Slut that you are, how many women have you screwed in the
air? And another question that begs
 
to be answered ... did you do Victoria on the bike on the ride back?
”

Dang,
that was close
!
“
Last
question first, no! As to the other one, I don
’
t kiss and tell.
”

“
Excuse me, Mr. Gigolo, you shared quite a few of your
adventures when we first met. If you
’
d found the time to write, I
wouldn
’
t
be surprised to find our exploits already in a bookstore somewhere. I can see
it now, 'Candi
—
A Ride to Remember.
’
'
”

If she only knew...

Chapter
71

T
aking
in our well-appointed room, we were blessed with an inviting four-poster Queen
bed, an oval mirrored antique dresser, two club chairs, and a mahogany, drop
leaf legal secretary. None of which, other than the bed after being long on the
bike, called my name. Laying down, it swallowed me, even before Candi
crash-landed on my stomach, pushing me deeper into the plush goose down
comforter.

“
I
’
m hungry, D. What
’
s for dinner?
”
After a long pause, I asked,
“
What
’
s up with that? ... Where is
the quick-witted man I remember?
”
I
pouted.
“
There was a time when you
’
d tell me I could have you
for dessert, first. And I did, too, multiple times.
”

“
Girl—
”
I
caught myself and the word friend did not escape my lips, Victoria wouldn
’
t understand.
“
You
’
ve said very little on the
ride up today. Now you want to get frisky? I
’
m not being petty, but you
’
ve not hugged me, kissed me
... laughed with me all day.
”
Damn
... I sound like a woman
.
“
Now
you belittle me and call me names. Tell me, Candice, are you angry, jealous,
frustrated, PMS-ing
—
what? At least tell me something.
”

“
Maybe all the above. D,
”
I pleaded.
“
Can
’
t you see it? The newness is gone along with the thrill of
the chase. I chased you. You chased me. We lusted, we connected, we bonded
—
then poof, we disconnected. Now we
’
re connecting again. I won
’
t lie. It
’
s harder than I thought it
would be. It was much easier for me to dream of what we had, what we lost and
what could have been when we were apart. You lived vividly in my memories of
us.
”

“
What you see is what you get, Candi. I
’
m imperfect and flawed. I
got it. You can look at my precious dysfunctional family and see that. We were
individually looking for the same thing. We were just too self absorbed to find
it in each other. And we could have, mind you, if we
’
d talked more, hugged more,
laughed more and loved more together, rather than apart.
”

I
continued.
“
Life is not black and white. It
’
s emotionally charged, gut
wrenching shades of gray, hints of orange, smatterings of red and brilliant
hues of blue. Collectively, these feelings cohesively tossed together becomes
the formula that makes us into what we are today.
”

“
D ... help me take us back to the way we were.
”

“
You
’
re not listening, Candi. ... It can
’
t be absolutely the way it
was. You
’
re right; the newness is gone. And so is the chase now that
we
’
re
together again. That
’
s not always a bad thing. The emotional fluff is gone. If
you
’
re
committed to make us work, our relationship can be deeper, healthier, stronger,
but it begins at the foundation. The last time I looked that foundation, though
chipped and dinged, is pretty strong. You
’
re a spoiled brat, Candice
Parker, who has always experienced life through rose-colored glasses. Me, I
’
m an imperfect man, subject
to fail without notice, trying to redeem himself one day at a time.
”

“
I don
’
t want perfect, D. I want ... I want ... you
—
or someone like you, who makes me whole.
”

“
There you go. If having me in your life makes you strive to
be better, then we have in place the very cornerstone to build our future on.
”
Bam, bam, bam ... I could tell by her knockers ... knocking
... Mile was at the door.

“
D? Candice? Hungry?
”
bellowed Mile.

“
We
’
re not finished talking, Candi. I got it. Over the next
couple of days, let
’
s reacquaint and recapture us while having fun with the
Italian stud and his filly. Speaking of ... please let Mile in.
”

I wasn
’
t finished ...
But I had to be for the moment.
“
Coming, Mile.
”

We
ordered in, Maddiao
’
s Pizza to be exact, complimented by two large Greek
salads. And we dined fine, drinking Sam from a glass, no wine, watching
director Clint Eastwood
’
s classic,
“
Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil
”
until eleven.
“
In the morning, say around
eight, Candi time, I will take you to Clary
’
s, the most delicious
breakfast cafe, bar none, in Savannah. Established in the early 1900s, this
restaurant has been a local favorite of mine for as long as I can remember. Oh,
and it was featured in the movie we just watched.
”

“
Sound good, not hungry...
”
beer burped Gio.
“
Cuz.
”

“
You will be by tomorrow. Night.
”

“
Good night, Mile.
’
Night, Gio. Mile, if you
’
re up early, beat on our
door. We can all go for a walk, can
’
t we, D?
”

“
Yes, Candi, we can,
”
I replied, while my mind wandered,
That is, if I can get enough rest sleeping beside this ice-cold
popsicle in the making.

I
dropped my clothes on the chair, slipped into bed in my shorts and turned on my
side facing away. Beer and pizza is conducive to sleep. Serious late night
conversations, it is not.

How
dare he?
I
pushed on his shoulder with both hands.
“
D, turn over! We
’
re not finished talking.
”

“
You talk, I
’
ll listen,
”
I assured her, two
minutes before I woke myself snoring, on my side. ... Imagine that!

He
’
s snoring already? ... I can
’
t believe it
! Snuggling up to him, I
tossed my right leg over his, followed by my arm.
This I remember most ...
how safe I felt with him in my arms
. My anger slowly subsided. Sleep
quickly followed.