The Pirate Queen by Patricia Hickman Page A

To everyone’s shock, though, Jackson drew the affections of a young woman who would settle for no less than all of his attention. She wanted more than a relationship on the side. The best he could do for Marcy was pay for her condo in uptown Charlotte.
    Marcy was so devastated that she could not bear to stay at home while the Realtor measured the house for the listing. She stayed several nights with Saphora, Sherry mixing up the martinis and Saphora keeping tissues on the ready.
    Marcy had a master’s degree in business. Running her husband’s printing company had provided her with managerial skills. She could take care of herself when it was all said and done. But their scheme to escape the responsibilities of Lake Norman’s elite circles of spoiled men and eager younger women took a sharp detour. Marcy’s new career obligated her to travel most weeks outside of Lake Norman, leaving Saphora short one best friend and one unrealized scheme. So with torrential rain streaming down her arms and legs, Saphora was mad at herself and Bender. She was mad at Marcy and Jackson. She might as well be mad at God, who seemed to be raining on her. “How about a little relief?” she shouted.
    The wind and rain beat Saphora in the face. She kept tacking but the waves were swelling. The small craft struggled in the roiling water. The mainsail was flapping. Saphora shakily trimmed the sail and headed down the Neuse. The water was calmer inland, but the storm increased in intensity. So much for prayers. Her drenched knit clothes hung on her by the time she spotted the lights of the harbor.
    When she pulled into shore, Captain Bart was beside himself. He hobbled toward her waving his open umbrella. “Woman, I thought you’d drowned yourself!” He helped her onto the dock and then wrapped her fingers around the umbrella handle. “You look drowned.”
    She threw her arms around him apologetically, grateful to be on land again. Captain Bart kept nudging her toward the overhang of the marina.
    Several couples milled around inside the motel, looking out the wall of plate glass windows at the storm, nice and dry while watching her being helped to safety. She pulled off her sopping wet hat and then smiled as if she had enjoyed sailing home in a storm. Several women inside clapped, and one put her fingers to her mouth and whistled.
    “Go on inside. Your fans are waiting,” said Captain Bart. He tied off the boat and hobbled back to his yacht, muttering about women and sailing.

7
    Just don’t give up trying to do what you really want to do. Where there is love and inspiration, I don’t think you can go wrong.
    E LLA F ITZGERALD
    Saphora bought a windbreaker, some dry pants, and a knit sailing-motif top and changed into them inside the tourist shop’s dressing room. By the time she warmed herself with coffee in the café and then drove home, the only light on in the house was the kitchen’s. She pulled into the garage and entered the house through the mud room.
    Sherry was cleaning with bleach. “This house has not been touched since Dr. Warren bought it,” she said. “What was that, a half decade ago? If you ask me, you ought to put a property manager to work, keeping it rented out and the housekeeping up on it.”
    “I could kiss you, Sherry,” said Saphora, throwing her arms around her and glad to be back on solid footing again.
    “What happened to you?”
    “I don’t want to talk about it.” She pulled a towel out of the laundry basket sitting on the floor by the range. She dried out the damp ends of her hair. “Is he asleep?”
    “They must be keeping him on some kind of dope.”
    “Eddie?” Saphora called out.
    “Those are not the clothes you left wearing. You got caught out in the rain, didn’t you?”
    “I sailed home in a storm.”
    “Miss Saphora, that’s not like you at all. You okay?”
    “A little hungry.”
    “I’ll make you an egg sandwich.”
    “Where is everyone?”
    “Eddie and Tobias, they’re up