The golden lights in the pink-and-cream-colored high-rise condominiums that dotted the edge of Sarasota Bay were starting to blink on as Samuel Morton drove homeward on Ringling Boulevard. The sky at sunset over the Gulf of Mexico was a melding of rose, purple and blue hues. If an artist were to paint a picture of it, the painting’s beholder would be skeptical the depiction was accurate, so unlikely was it that such a vivid, magical spectacle could occur naturally. But many evenings in Sarasota, it did.
The southwest Florida city was an incredibly beautiful place to live, with much to enjoy besides the world’s whitest sand beaches and breathtaking sunsets, and Samuel had never regretted moving down from the North. Sarasota was a cultural cornucopia. The Asolo and Florida Studio Theaters provided first-rate dramatic productions. The strains of Beethoven, Bach and Puccini filled the Opera House. The Van Wezel Performing Arts Center staged Broadway shows, touring national celebrities, musical comedy, dance companies and orchestras. Shaped like a giant lavender sea-shell, the locals affectionately referred to the Van Wezel as “the purple cow.”
The Ringling Museum of Art, Florida’s official state art museum covered a sixty-six-acre estate that included the art museum, circus galleries, a charming rose garden and Ca’d’Zan, John and Mabel Ringling’s thirty-room Venetian mansion. Works by El Greco, Velasquez, Rubens and Van Dyke hung on the art museum’s walls.
The city attracted artists, actors, dancers, painters, musicians, authors and Northerners like Samuel who wanted to escape. They hated the winter months in colder climates and longed to get away to warmth, wide beaches, soothing water, great shopping and excellent dining. Though the summer months were long, warm and humid, the heat was tempered by afternoon or early-evening thunderstorms. Sam infinitely preferred the tradeoff of staying inside in the air-conditioning in July and August, to dealing with the cold, ice and snow of Northern winters.
Until now.
The “big” season would be beginning again in earnest next month, and the population of the city would swell as many of the retired residents returned from summering up North. The thought of being barraged with invitations to charity fundraisers, theater and gallery openings, galas, receptions, balls, banquets and cocktail parties on the circuit overwhelmed Sam.
He wasn’t up to it this year.
Sam put his foot on the brake when he reached the causeway leading to Siesta Key and his car waited in line with all the others as the hinged bridge opened to permit a high-masted schooner to sail through. In the dimming light the white sailboat skimmed peacefully through the placid bay water. Sam could see a woman and man on board. The breeze was blowing back the woman’s long hair. The man had a drink in his hand. It was a serene picture.
But Sam knew things weren’t always as they seemed. He wondered about the prosperous, attractive couple on that boat. Were they really happy? Samuel certainly wasn’t. Yet anyone watching him, tanned, well-dressed and driving home with the convertible top down, would look at him and think he had the world by the tail. Instead he was wracked with anguish.
It was time to get away for a while. He had to.
His parents still kept their pied-à-terre in New York. He could stay there, in the city he enjoyed so much. The firm would just have to do without him. Samuel wasn’t much good at the practice of contract law right now, he hadn’t been for months. Always preoccupied, he had been going through the motions and Leo had been carrying things. He knew his brother was worried about him, and Samuel was certain Leo would understand when he heard that Sam wanted to take a leave of absence from the firm. In fact, Leo would probably be relieved not to see his dour puss around the office for a while.
The bridge came down and the cars drove on. As he crossed the causeway, Samuel looked out at the mesmerizing expanse of water and felt somewhat soothed. A decision had been made.