Chapter Three

Off to the east the sun slowly woke up the dark sky. Each star gave off their last twinkle before yielding to the light. “Snap Shot.” Kate whispered, taking a mental picture of the sunrise. Maybe she could get it down on the clean sheet of paper positioned in her easel downstairs. Later she’d raise the canopy that comes up over the sitting area by the Captain’s chair so she could paint in the comfort of shade.

Admittedly she may never get rich on her art but then it didn’t really matter, she loved to paint. Her mom, Carolyn, was her biggest fan. It never ceased to amaze Kate how her mother priced her art so high yet it sold quickly. Kate would one day inherit the large gallery and studio her mother had purchased years ago. Carolyn Rose paintings hung in some of the richest homes in Florida, including Kate’s. An avid artist since her youth, Carolyn’s gallery was one of the finest in Sarasota.

While Del, Kate’s dad had understood and nurtured Kate’s love for the ocean, Carolyn preferred to experience it only through her daughter’s paintings. Katlin’s paintings captured the beauty of life on the water but also hinted of a sadness borne of a solitary lifestyle. Carolyn had only been to a beach once but that had been enough for her to admit it wasn’t her cup of tea so she joyfully stayed home whenever her husband and their adventurous daughter set sail on one of their quests.

Del had planned on coming along this week but had cancelled in favor of taking his wife to the “Vagina Monologues” for her sixty-seventh birthday. Even though he had been looking forward to the trip, you would never see the stain of disappointment on his face. Del didn’t believe in regret or disappointment and Kate shared his knack of seeing the sunny side of things for the most part.

Blessed with her mother’s rich brown hair, green eyes and high cheekbones, Kate stood out among the regulars at the marina. Many of the fishermen rebuked her for going out on the sea alone. For whatever reason they lived under the ancient notion that the sea belonged to the male race. Kate couldn’t grasp their narrow mindedness but knew a century of dogma couldn’t be changed over night. In fact, earlier at the marina while she was preparing to leave she had turned to see an old fisherman watching her. It had been creepy to suddenly realize you were under observation. He was weathered by the sea - Kate guessed him to be in his 70’s though he looked 80. He had taken a long drink of a dark bottle that looked suspiciously like Captain Morgan whisky. Jittered, Kate waited patiently for him to speak.

“Lass,” he began “I’m all for women’s lib. Women want to get out of the kitchen to be a fireman, I say more power to them. Women can play basketball, jump out of airplanes, fight for our country, whatever they want and I’m the first to applaud. Let woman take part in ‘All Star Wrestling’ I say.” To Kate’s chagrin he spat out chew juice on the boardwalk. “But lassie girl, the sea is a jealous lover and she won’t ever take kindly to a woman captain. I’m telling you straight girlie, the sea is a woman and no woman wants another skirt taking the men’s fancy from her.” Red Eye Bill snorted, taking a long swallow from his Sam Bouka bottle.

“You’ll face nothing but peril girl if you don’t heed what I’m telling you. I’ve seen things out there that would bring you the worse kind of nightmares. Heard things too.” He paused to look around, then leaned forward and lowered his voice almost to a whisper. What your old pappy was thinking in teaching you to sail is beyond me. Why it is borderline neglect.” He had gone on muttering about how it must have been on account of Carolyn not producing a son. Poor Del denied a male child to raise into a man.

Kate had politely listened to the old man prattle on about the importance of a male child. Several objections to his logic jumped to mind but she didn’t lend them voice.

“Heard the Siren singing to me lass. Do you know what a Siren singing means?“

Kate shook her head, intrigued despite herself. He cackled deeply causing her skin to crawl.

“The Siren is a goddess of the sea. She travels the waters searching for a lonely man.“ He took another gulp from his bottle as if he needed it to calm his nerves for what he was about to tell her. “You people nowadays call ‘em “mermaids”. I guess its a way to romanticize them, but lass, there is nothing romantic or whimsical about the Siren.”

Katlin was startled when the old man grabbed her arm with a fairly strong grip. She tried to free herself but he held tight, his inebriated eyes tearing up.

“When a lonely soul hears the Siren sing her sorrowful song it cuts them to their core. Af first your hypnotized by its beauty and you want to move closer to the source. Too late you realize the truth.” He released her to wipe his wrinkled cheeks.

“What did you realize?” Katlin couldn’t help but ask. The old man met her gaze briefly then shook his head.

“It don’t matter lass. You’ll do what you want and its obvious you want the sea. Can’t get the saltwater out of a persons blood once its there.” He brushed off her inquiry and began to shuffle back in the direction he came from.

“Hey old timer, you can’t start a story like that and just walk away.” Katlin had called after him. He stopped with his back to her. Katlin had the impression he was arguing with himself. After a moment or two he turned and shuffled back to her slip.

“You want to know what you realize?” He spat chew juice on the wood decking. Kate swallowed hard to quell the urge to gag.

“Yes, I want to know.” She met his piercing gaze again.

“I was first mate on the Angelina, a shrimping boat based down in the Keys. By all accounts I considered my life to be ideal - lonely sometimes but ideal.” He shuddered so hard Katlin worried he’d dislocate something. His eyes teared up as painful memories clenched his heart.

“Ideal…” he mumbled then shuddered again. Katlin waited breathlessly for him to continue.

“I was at the helm watching the most perfect sunset I’ve ever seen. When I heard her the first time. I couldn’t hear the words - just her haunting melody. It was so mournfully beautiful that I wanted to see who was singing. Surely it would be a woman more lovely then even you lass.” He smiled sadly.

“I must have turned the Angelina towards the song though I don’t remember doing so. The song captivated me, pierced my soul to the point that the prospect of not seeing her tore my heart.” He took a long drink, his hands shaking as he tipped up the bottle.

“Then I saw her, just briefly, but there she was perched on a large rock, arms outstretched to me. I realized too late that the Angelina was in mortal danger as it raced towards the woman.” Katlin drew in a deep breath, anticipating the ending.

“The woman slid into the water right before the Angelina struck the first rock. I jumped off the boat - not,” He sobbed softly “to save myself but to save her.” He stopped talking though his lips continued to move.

“What happened?” She pressed him. HE turned away but she halted him with a hand to his arm.

“What happened?” She asked again.

“They died, they all died lass.” Watery eyes met her inquiring gaze. He pulled free of her grasp.

“I see it in you lass. That confidence that your life is ideal right now.” he sighed “Lonely but ideal.” He shuffled off a few feet before stopping.

“The song haunts those that live. It haunts them all the rest of our days.” He muttered without turning around. Kate watched him go down the dock, he didn’t look back, not once.

He had to be a little nuts, she decided, trying to shake off the story’s residue. No doubt he had been drinking or fell asleep at the helm of the ill-fated Angelina and the story of the Siren was born of guilt. Shrugging she took a deep breath and returned to preparing the boat for its upcoming journey.

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

That was two years ago and Kate had spent as much time on the water in the boat as she had on land. There was such a freedom in being able to just exist – no time clock, no rush hour traffic, and no stress. Kate would often sail to an island where she could scuba dive local reefs and wrecks. Of course, there had been a couple of scary moments both in sailing and scuba diving where she had to confer with other vessels, but found that all the seaman were very willing to share their knowledge and their passion for the sea. Often they would come aboard to admire the “The Rose”, throw back a few whiskeys or gins as they told glorious stories of their adventures.
Now Katlin pointed the “The Rose” south towards Key West. It would take hours, six to eight, to get there but Kate never felt the twinge of impatience. Being on the “The Rose” slicing through the water, listening to waves slap against the hull was the real purpose to any trip. Nothing could ever match the pleasure of being on the water.

This trip was more about getting the “The Rose”’s annual service. Marcus Randall, a friend in Key West, was the only person Kate trusted to do service work of any kind on the “The Rose”. Marcus cared about boats more than anything else on the planet. Not just boats, but ships and watercraft of every size. When he’d get into the spiritual aspect of the boats, men rolled their eyes but Kate felt she understood. “The Rose” certainly felt alive and spiritual when caressing the ocean surface.
Marcus was a delight no matter what his disposition about boats. Kate had taken him to the movie “Titanic” when it was in the theaters. Marcus remained untouched by the emotions flowing from the screen until the ship hit the iceberg. Tears streamed down his cheeks as the Titanic’s hull slipped beneath the waves. Kate had almost giggled at his reaction, almost. But she too felt a deep sorrow for the proud Titanic.

Marcus was a thirty six years old, ex-psychology teacher who deemed after almost ten years teaching that the human race was hopeless. He’d spent the last three years repairing, salvaging and building boats, a skill he learned from his father decades earlier. His father, Norman, was proud that his wayward son had found his way back to the family business.

A tall 6’4”, Marcus was lean and tan, not an inch of fat on him. With brown hair and big brown eyes, women literally threw themselves at him though he pretended not to notice. Kate was sure it was all an act but in the 2 years she’d known him he had never dated. Kate had asked him once, point blank, if he did indeed like women. Marcus had smiled his most winning, white smile and assured her that, if he wanted to date, women would be his choice.

Kate, intrigued, had asked Norm about his son’s lack of womanizing. Norm had shook his head, a sad expression creasing his weathered face. It was something too painful to discuss, he had told her. Kate had briefly considered letting her computer whisk through cyberspace to look for clues but realized Marcus would tell her if he wanted her to know. She had backed off, never again broaching the subject directly.

Still, Kate always looked forward to seeing Marcus. If they had time, they’d hit up the clubs to tango the night away whenever she was down that way. Marcus was wonderful at tangoing, at all the waltzes too. Kate loved the feel of their bodies moving together in the tight choreographed moves.

Chapter One

Chapter One

Unfurling its sails in the dim light of pre-dawn, “The Rose” slid gracefully out of Sarasota Bay. Within seconds the main sail grabbed the breeze, fully extending. Katlin Rose pulled on the wench until the sail snapped crisply. The main sail sported an underwater scene with a Mako shark, an orca, and a barracuda winding through the coral. Towards the top of the sail, an immense devil ray soared, heading for the surface. Katlin loved the sail. It had been a gift from her father in celebration of the purchase and refurbishing of “The Rose” two years ago.

The boat had caught her eye at the pier at Marina Jacks. Filthy dirty, sails ragged, and drowning in barnacles, it had been love at first sight. A hand painted “For Sale” sign was draped over her bow so Kate stopped to check it out. She had been greeted by a young northerner whose lack of a tan and knowledge of sailing made the details of the boat foreign to him. They toured the deck, which was a dingy white and close inspection revealed that the three sails would need to be replaced. There were chip marks throughout the paint job that would have to be sanded out – it needed a lot of work.

The hull housed two bedrooms both with showers, a kitchenette, a small but cozy sitting area, and a nice bathroom all of which was done in beautiful sandalwood. The beauty of the boat might have been lost on most viewing her due to the utter chaos below. It looked like a tornado had gone through it. The engine room was no better and that almost caused doubt about its sea-worthiness but Kate was in heaven standing there.

The young man, David, said the boat had belonged to his parents. It was in chaos because it had rolled in a storm off the Keys the previous summer. No one had taken the time to fix her up again with the exception of pumping out the seawater. His mother, who had never really cared for sailing before the storm, refused to step foot on the boat after it. His father could never quite bring himself to sale the boat though he never sailed her again either. Less than a year later, he died from a coronary – Kate figured it was more of a broken heart from giving up something he loved so much. David, who shared his mother’s dislike of the ocean, wanted to sell it rather than keep paying dock fees for it to sit there.

It didn’t take long before the then ineptly named “Crusty Geriatrics” became “The Rose”. With the help of friends the loving but tedious task of cleaning the sailing vessel began. It had taken two months to sand all the wood down, clean off the barnacles, repaint the boat a bright white with royal blue trim, and to receive the new sails that had to be flown in from a company in California. The diesel engine had to have a complete overhaul and the old captain’s chair up top was replaced with one much more comfy. A state of the art communications system was installed with radar, fax machine, depth finder, and – of course – computer outlets. Traveling alone, Kate wanted to be sure every safety angle was covered.

A local artist painted on the vessel’s new name – “The Rose” – in a beautiful Forte print. She had also designed a mural for the living space below – an underwater scene with manatees, dolphins, starfish and an array of beautiful coral. On the deck by the captain’s chair she painted an old fashion compass, which Kate thought added a bit of nostalgia to the vessel. The Captain’s chair was 10 feet from the rear of the boat to allow for storage of the diving tanks and diving dock. Three months after her purchase, the “Crusty Geriatrics” was christened “”The Rose”” with a proper bottle of champagne across her bow and all the fan fare of a major event.