Chapter 18
Heather Graham
To Rhonda Saperstein,
with lots of love and thanks.
And to Coral Reef Yacht Club and
its members, with deepest thanks,
especially Fred and Marian Davant,
Teresa and Stu Davant,
Dr. Michael and Kelly Johnson,
Jock and Linda Fink, and the Commodore
and his wife: Eric and Elisa Thyree.
“You’re going to feed them again?”
Molly Monoco looked up at the sound of her husband’s voice. She had been busy in the galley, putting together a goodie bag filled with substantial meals. Ted, speaking with a growl in his voice, had been at his workstation. Apparently he had just noticed how industriously she had been preparing food.
Her husband appeared both aggravated and disgusted.
He knew what she was up to.
She couldn’t really blame him for his feelings. Ted had worked hard all his life, and had earned every bit of the income they were now enjoying after his retirement. They both came from Cuban families who had made the move to Florida long before the refugees had begun fleeing the little island. While Molly’s maiden name had been Rodriguez, her first name had always been Molly, just as Ted had been Theodore from the start. Their parents had brought them to the States, believing in the American dream, and teaching them a work ethic that would allow them to achieve that dream.
Ted had started out playing the drums at nightclubs in Miami, not unlike a man who had become a lot more famous, Desi Arnaz.
He had worked as a busboy, as well, then a waiter, a host and a dancer. From his playing, he had fallen in love with salsa. So he had kept playing the drums, kept dancing, kept bussing tables and being a waiter and bartender until he had made enough money to buy his first studio, totally dedicated to the art of salsa. Eventually he had owned several studios, then sold them for a nice fat profit.
Work. Ted had known how to do it well. He had little patience with those who would not or could not help themselves.
And she did understand.
But
