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“Used to have exactly that. A little red 1972 Porsche Targa. Loved that thing. Traded it with a friend last year for this beast. He had back surgery and was having trouble hopping up into the high seat, and I needed something bigger for hauling crap around.”
“Hauling crap around?”
Carter put the car into drive and pulled out of the lot. “Yeah. I’m always loading this thing for one reason or another.”
“How long is the drive to your place?”
“About a half-hour. Goes quick, it’s mostly highway.”
During the drive, I went through my emails. There was one I had been avoiding for a few days—responding to my mother. I knew she was at least half loaded when she wrote it, just from her run-on sentences. My well-spoken mother tended to lose her boarding school upbringing after a pint of vodka. Rather than explain what I was really up to, I took the easy way out and emailed back telling her I was traveling with a friend still, and I’d be in touch in a few days.
Before long, we pulled off the highway, made a few quick turns, and were pulling down a road that led to a residential community. The entrance had a large fountain in the middle of a circular drive and a welcoming clubhouse building. To the left and the right, there were entrance gates that blocked passage to what looked like hundreds of condos in a neatly planned community. Carter pulled to the left and stopped to roll down his window and key in a code. The gate slowly opened, and we drove through.
A decorative sign greeted us on the other side. Welcome to Silver Shores. We’re glad you’re home safe. An older man wearing a gray jumpsuit was driving a scooter with a basket on the front and waved and yelled when we passed. “Hey, Cap. Welcome home.”
Carter waved back and smiled. “That’s Ben. He was a New York City garbage man for forty years. Still wears the jumper every day. He’d be the closest to the uniformed doorman you imagined I had.”
As we drove farther into the community, I looked around. It was nothing like I expected. Although it was clean and well manicured, it was the exact opposite of a sleek high-rise. Instead, the buildings were all simple two level condos, very standard and normal.
After a few blocks, we turned left and pulled into a parking spot. Carter smirked and pointed to one of the units on the first floor. “And that there, that would be my penthouse.”
“WELCOME TO MY HUMBLE ABODE.” Carter opened his arms wide as we entered the condo.
It was a nice size, not too small, not too big. Two plush, tan-colored couches sat in the middle of the open-concept space. Palm trees blew outside of the glass door in the back that led out to a small patio area.
“This is like a little hidden paradise.”
“Not exactly what you were expecting?”
“Honestly? It isn’t. I was picturing something like a high-rise on South Beach.”
“I know my life is pretty crazy, but when I’m home, I want peace, basically the total opposite from the fast-pace life I lead when flying.”
My stomach growled. “Goodness…sorry about that.”
“You hungry? I’ll make you breakfast.”
“Maybe a little. Yeah. That would be great.”
Carter opened his stainless steel fridge. “Let’s see what we got. Looks like there are some containers of food.”
“That stuff can’t be good. You’ve been gone too long.”
“No. This was just made today.” He pointed to a label. “See the date?”
Someone had stuck a sticky with today’s date on top of the Tupperware. It said, Hot stuff for my hot stuff. —Muriel.
He took another Pyrex out. That one had a label that said, Try this. It’s better than Muriel’s.
My heartbeat accelerated. “What the hell is this? You have women cooking for you?”
“My neighbors. They have my return dates on their calendar and drop off food. They have keys to my place because they feed my cat and change the litter box.”
“You have a cat?”
“Yes. Her name is Matilda. She hides when she smells a new person. That’s why you haven’t seen her.”
“Of course your pussy is a female.”
