Secretariat Reborn by Susan Klaus Page A

two hours of sleep in two days. The next morning, he rose early to talk to Juan.
    He found Juan cleaning the stallion’s stall while the horse was turned out. “I’m worried, Juan. Dad is growing worse. He needs to be in an assisted living or a hospital.”
    Juan stopped raking. “Your father would not go. He is too proud. And in such a place, the unhappiness would kill him faster than the cancer. He says he wants to die right here.”
    “Well, something has to be done. He can barely get up.” Christian kicked some shavings back into the stall. “He can’t stay alone anymore. I’ll call his doctor and see if hospice can help out.”
    “I have told Mr. Roberts that my mother is available. She would not charge much to come during the day and cook, clean, and wait on him, but Mr. Roberts said no.”
    “Did he?” Christian said. “Tell your mother that she’s hired and to be here tomorrow.”
    Juan grinned. “She can come with me in the morning when I take care of the horses and leave with me when I’m done feeding them in the afternoon.”
    Early the next morning, Juan’s mother, Rosa, knocked on the door, and Christian let her in. “Thanks for coming,” he whispered. “Dad doesn’t know I hired you. We’ll let it be a surprise.”
    The plump, middle-aged woman nodded. “
Sí, señor
, I will start with the kitchen.”
    “Christian, who’s here?” his father called and shuffled into the kitchen, an ever-present cigarette between his fingers. He stared at Rosa, washing dishes. “What’s she doing here?”
    “I hired her,” said Christian. “She’ll be here every day, helping you out.”
    “Wait just a darn minute. I don’t need or want help.”
    “And I didn’t want the colt,” said Christian, “but I took him for you, so do this for me. I’ll feel better if someone is here.”
    Instead of answering, his father turned and crept back to his bedroom. Christian heard him start a fit of coughing as if reproaching his son’s meddling.
    Christian finally drove toward home. For the last several days, he’d felt like a fireman, racing up and down the state, putting out flames, making sure the colt was okay in Miami while trying to please a bitchy girlfriend, and making sure his father got help in Ocala. Now he headed to Sarasota, anxious about his boat business and lack of income caused by his absence.
    He reached Sarasota and mumbled, “Screw it. Jake can close up. I’ll deal with the business tomorrow.” He longed to kick back on
The Princess
, watch the sunset, and sip a cocktail all by himself.
    As he pulled into the Sailing Squadron, his cell phone chimed. He recognized Kate’s number on the caller ID, but didn’t answer it.
    He had received five phone messages from her while in Ocala, the first one predictable. Calling him “baby,” she had sweetly explained she was sorry for being short. Her apologizes had grown old, and he didn’t return her call. In the following messages, she grew angrier.
    Outside his SUV, he flipped open his cell and hit the voice mail key to hear her latest ranting.
    “What the fuck, Chris!” she screeched. “Answer your goddamn phone!”
    He closed the phone. “I’m really ready for that drink now.”
    The following morning Christian woke in the cabin to the gentle rolls and a cool breeze that swept across the bay. He turned on the small propane stove to heat up water for coffee, and by the time he slipped into some cutoffs and brushed his teeth, the water was boiling. He fixed a cup, slipped on his sunglasses, and ascended thethree steps to the open deck. On the port side, he noticed a stir of water and looked down at a young manatee munching sea grass on the bottom. “Hey, fella. You sure don’t look like a mermaid.” He reflected on reading that ancient sailors had once mistaken these sea cows for mermaids, starting the myth.
    While taking a sip of coffee, he glanced toward City Island. Instead of swallowing, he choked at the sight of Kate’s