The Guardian by Bill Eidson Read Free Book Online Page A

before. But he seemed genuinely glad to see Ross, and thumped him hard on the shoulder and invited him out to the offices of the speed equipment distributorship he’d started. Jimmy had grinned at him in his cynical way and said quietly, “So, you passing muster?” Jimmy had been starting a boat brokerage when Ross was selling for Greg’s company after he’d come back from Washington State. Jimmy had also introduced Ross to a friend of his cousin’s, a young woman by the name of Cynthia Bowen, who later became Ross’s wife.
    “Did you call her when you got out?” Jimmy had asked.
    “Sure. Seemed like the thing to do.”
    “How’d it go?”
    “She said, ‘Glad to hear you’re out, but I’ve closed that page of my life,’ or something damn close to that.”
    Jimmy had raised his eyebrows. “I always felt bad about that introduction. She was so pretty and interesting, I thought I was doing you a favor.”
    “So did I.”
    “Come see me when you’ve got your feet under you. I’ve something in mind for you, a salvaged Ericson thirty-four. Needs just about everything. But it’s floating, and you could live aboard it while fixing it up. Interested?”
    “Definitely.”
    Bill and Jimmy knew each other slightly, and after a while, they had drifted away, talking. Ross had taken over the grill from Greg, and other than the occasional guest who came along to comment on the cooking, he had been free to his own thoughts, free to think about his ex-wife.
    Cynthia had been an artist living in Newport, Rhode Island, when Ross had met her. He had just bought the Bon Vivant from Jimmy, a beautiful forty-foot wooden ketch, painted a deep sea green. Cynthia had seemed fascinated with the way Ross was re-creating his life: with the image of the two boys growing up in a seemingly wealthy but dysfunctional home; of the auto racing; of his new directions helping Greg start his business.
    “You’re a born winner,” she had told him. “Both you and your brother got it from your grandfather; it must’ve skipped a generation.”
    Ross had been flattered. Her words soothed that part of him that kept him awake at nights, the image of his father saying, “He and I are just alike.”
    In short order, Ross had taken a significant bite out of the credits needed for a bachelor’s degree in computer science from Northeastern University, and he was making money as the primary salesman for Greg’s computer distributorship. Lots of money, in fact.
    He and Cynthia were married after six short months. They talked of sailing the world; Cynthia talked of capturing new images and experiences that would translate into her work.
    The marriage, however, had proved a disaster. Ross was dismayed to see Cynthia’s commitment to her art fade off soon after they bought their first house in northern Rhode Island. She let the studio lease run out. She didn’t want to go out sailing for more than an occasional day trip on the bay. No other interest seemed to replace her artwork, other than seeing Ross’s own career grow.
    “Doesn’t it bother you?” Ross had asked.
    “Kid stuff.” She had shrugged. And then told him about a new house she wanted him to look at.
    Two years into Ross’s new job and marriage, he realized that he could cut the work, he could make the money—and none of it was what he wanted for himself. He respected the life Greg had built and would be forever thankful for Greg’s support, helping him learn he was capable of more than driving a car fast. Ross loved Beth and little Janine, and he was pleased Greg was earning his dream.
    But that was Greg’s life, not Ross’s.
    The idea of generating more commissions year after year to buy ever-bigger houses filled Ross with an essential boredom that he couldn’t ignore. And Cynthia, meanwhile, had shed much of the persona of the woman he had married the way some might shed a hat. He didn’t believe she had purposely deceived him, but rather once she was married, the things