by Jan Thompson
The back door creaked open. “Mommy?”
Corinne quickly wiped her eyes on the back of her hand. She drew a deep breath.
“Yes, baby?” She smiled broadly.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want her daughter to see her cry, but it was too much to explain. And too soon for the little girl to comprehend life’s complex problems.
“Are you going to work today at the chocolate shop?” Dahlia asked.
“Yes.” Corinne motioned for Dahlia to sit on her lap.
“Can you get me some chocolate? And for Aunt Wanda too?”
“I will. You take good care of Aunt Wanda when I’m at work today, okay?”
Dahlia nodded.
Corinne brushed a fine strand of hair from Dahlia’s face. Her straight but wispy hair was getting long. Next week, Corinne would give her a haircut. It saved money that way.
Dahlia leaned into Corinne and gave her a hug. “I love you very much, Mommy.”
“I love you too, baby.”
Since she had given birth to Dahlia, Corinne knew that she would do everything she could to protect her child.
Everything.
Lord, help me.
Was it time for them to disappear again?
Chapter Ten
Walking among the coconut trees and getting sand in his flip-flops, Martin waited for a phone call or email from Sandra Preston at the chocolate shop. He had been up since seven o’clock, watching the sunrise from beach, and then driving to breakfast at an old restaurant Dad had told him about.
Behind the restaurant, the sand stretched all the way to the Atlantic Ocean, interrupted here and there by coconut trees, hammocks, and tourists taking pictures. At the beach, Martin took in the panorama, thanking God for a beautiful day.
The scene reminded him of his sister Tina’s wedding on Moss Cay in the Bahamas. Corinne had accompanied him. It was tense between them because Martin got his own hotel room, and Corinne mistook him for wanting to play the field.
It all came to a head two days later when Martin finally explained to Corinne about his conversion to Christianity. Corinne didn’t understand what the big deal was. People of different faiths had built families together, hadn’t they? Why couldn’t Martin just put aside his religiosity and make her happy?
Needless to say, they broke up. It was inevitable. Martin suddenly found himself at odds with Corinne. He wanted to know more about God, read the Bible more deeply, and attend church more regularly.
Everywhere he turned, he found himself looking at the stark difference between Christianity and secularism, between life in Christ and life in the world.
There was no way he could reconcile.
Perhaps, in addition to asking Corinne to forgive him, Martin could give her a tract or a Bible.
He wished he had brought more than his own personal study Bible, but if he had to, he would give that to her. It had verses underlined, which could be useful to her.
If she wanted it.
On the other hand, Martin could also find a Christian store—or even WalMart—and buy her a Bible.
Yeah, I’ll do that.
It was a safer route.
That way, he didn’t have to give up his Bible—in case all Corinne was going to do was throw it in the trash can.
Still, Martin wondered what she was doing now.
The sun rose up. Martin donned his sunglasses, feeling pleased with himself that he didn’t need to go to work today. He could just enjoy his vacation.
Unfortunately, he had done something rash—apply for a job at the same chocolate shop that Corinne worked in.
All for the purpose of getting close enough to her to ask her to forgive him for sinning against her and God four years ago.
And to find out if Corinne was still searching for an answer to her life’s problems.
Search no more, Corinne. God is near.
After his lone beach walk, Martin walked back to his hotel room behind the coconut grove to find a woman waiting for him outside his door.
“Martin MacFarland?” She handed him a plastic business card that looked more like a credit card.
Martin studied it, wondering if it could be an marketing idea for MacMuscles. They could have theirs cut out in the shape of a muscle car, for example.
Finally, he read the words.
Private Investigator Pilar Santiago.
“You’re the associate in Miami.” Martin stretched out his hand.
Pilar didn’t shake his hand. “Ming Wei sent me.”
“Yeah?” Martin didn’t believe her. After all, Ming had said he wouldn’t get back to him until Tuesday. “Call Ming right now on your phone and let me talk to him.”
So she did, and put Ming on speakerphone. “Mr. MacFarland here wants to verify that you sent me.”
“Hey, Martin!” It was Ming. “Why are you interrupting my Saturday morning coffee?”
“She said you sent her. But it’s not Tuesday.”
Holding the phone, Pilar chuckled.
“I texted you, dude,” Ming said.
Martin checked his own phone. Sure enough, there was a long text from Ming saying that Pilar was going to take it from here. “I see. I was out walking. Didn’t hear a thing.”
“Too much ocean?” Ming asked, but didn’t wait for Martin to respond. “I have an emergency job I have to do this afternoon. I will be gone for at least a month.”
“Something more important than my situation?” Martin asked, almost sarcastically.
“In a word, yes. I can’t go into details, but you’ll be happy to know I’m picking up Pilar’s tab.”
“Good.” Martin still didn’t like it.
“Emergency rate,” Ming said, as if driving in the point.
“How much?” Might as well ask.
Ming told him.
Martin’s eyes widened. “By the hour?”
Pilar nodded. “I’ve been here for an hour, waiting for you to finish your morning walk on the beach. Add fifteen minutes of your questioning who I am… Let’s just say the clock is ticking fast.”
“Wow. Thanks, Ming.” Martin sat down.
“I’m sorry for the sudden change of plans, but Pilar’s got it.”
“What’s the plan, Ming?” Martin asked.
“Tell me you’re not outdoors somewhere, calling me in an open space with WiFi everywhere.”
Martin reached for his hotel room key. “We can talk inside.”
After Pilar stepped into his hotel room, Martin locked it.
“Ming, you still there?” Pilar was still holding her cell phone.
“Yeah.” Ming’s voice came through just fine on the speakerphone.
“Want some water? That’s all I have.” Martin walked to the small refrigerator in the cabinet under the television.
“No, thanks. I’ve got water in my car.” Pilar sat down in the lone armchair without being invited.
“What’s the plan?” Martin sat on the queen bed. Somewhere at the back of his mind, he wondered what Corinne would say if she found him here with a woman who was not his sister or stepmother.
Then again, this was business. And Ming was on the phone.
“Stay away from the Key Largo Chocolate Shop.” Pilar’s voice hardened. “Let me get to know Dinah for a few days. See what’s going on.”
“And how are you planning on doing that?” Martin asked.
“Already got the ball rolling,” Ming replied.
“I thought you said to wait until Tuesday.”
“Well, after we talked on the phone, I was afraid you’d go do something incredibly ill-advised,” Ming said. “You know, like applying for a job at the chocolate shop.”
Martin nearly choked on his water. “How did you know?”
“No comment,” Ming and Pilar said in unison.
Martin raised an eyebrow. He could have raised both eyebrows, but that would give away the fact that he was surprised that Ming was doing his job. Along with that, Martin would have to admit his lack of
knowledge regarding matters related to private investigations.
“I start work tomorrow,” Pilar continued.
“Tomorrow? Corinne doesn’t work on Sundays,” Martin said.
“Exactly why I start tomorrow. They need someone to fill in for her—this being a busy summer, you know. I’m happy to work at minimum wage.”
Martin frowned. He pursed his lips. He wanted to be the one working there with Corinne.
Then again, his presence at the store could scare her off and she’d run again.
“The chocolate shop opens at noon on Sundays,” Pilar said. “I’ll leave the church service fifteen minutes early. I don’t expect to stay here for more than two weeks. After that, I’ll be gone.”
Martin wanted to say that he didn’t care what she did with her own free time, but he didn’t want to get on the wrong side of a PI who was helping him to reconnect with Corinne.
“If you’re looking for a church to attend, there’s one about fifteen minutes from here. Google Beach Town Church. Pastor Butler.” Pilar smiled—almost slyly. “It’s a tiny church—and frankly, the building on the website looks like it needs a new paint job—but one Dinah Miller is singing in an ensemble tomorrow morning at eleven.”
Corinne?
Somewhat shocked, Martin tried to remain calm.
“Nonetheless, we can’t be seen together, so from now on, separate cars. Text me or Ming or call if you need anything.”
Martin barely nodded.
Corinne singing in church?
It was all he could think of the rest of the day.
Chapter Eleven
Wanda’s church was so small that sometimes they met behind the Christian-owned gift and tackle shop next door that closed on Sundays. The parking lot was empty all the way to the shady trees, but it was too hot for the congregation to meet under the bright morning sun, so they took their camp and folding chairs to the grassy patch that separated the parking lot from the beach.
Corinne looked up when she heard a truck door slam. She watched the woman get out of the bright red Chevy.
“Pilar!” Corinne waved, pointing to an empty spot near her. Corinne wanted to be friendly with new hires at work. She didn’t know for sure where Pilar stood spiritually, but she had accepted Corinne’s invitation to church, and that was a good start.
Today there were maybe fifty people in attendance at the church service. The nursery workers had taken the kids down to the beach for their children’s church.
Corinne would rather Dahlia stay with her throughout the church service, but this was how Wanda’s church worked. Some day, when Corinne found a place to settle down, she would find a church where families worshipped together.
Wanda went to sit with her friends in the front row so they could hear the preacher better. They weren’t the only ones who missed Pastor Butler when he took his family to the Grand Canyon on a summer vacation to celebrate the high school graduation of his firstborn son.
Corinne also missed his preaching, but it looked like he was going to pick up where he had left off two weeks ago.
His wife, Chiyoko, came over to see Corinne just as Pilar reached her as well. Corinne introduced them to each other.
“I’m on diet, but I always make an exception for chocolate,” Chiyoko said.
As Pilar chatted with the pastor’s wife, Corinne heard another vehicle door shut. She turned, and froze.
What is he doing here?
How does he know I attend this church?
Her mind went blank.
Truly, she should have expected Martin to hang around. He had arrived on Thursday and visited the chocolate shop. She had called in sick on Friday.
On Saturday, Sandra had called Corinne into her office to ask about Martin’s application for job at the chocolate shop. Corinne had come clean—mostly—with Sandra, telling her that Martin was an ex-boyfriend who was probably just passing through town.
And yes, even though he was harmless, Corinne explained that she would feel uncomfortable if Sandra hired him to work in the office.
Sandra then rejected Martin’s application and tossed it in the trash can.
Now he is here. In my church.
Who told him about this church?
Could it be Pilar? She had arrived in Key Largo two days after Martin did.
Corinne glanced over at Pilar.
Who is she, really?
The only thing Corinne knew about Pilar was that she was a fast learner, and would be filling in this afternoon for her and another worker who didn’t work on Sundays.
Someone played a hymn on guitar, and Chiyoko said she had to go. Pilar sat down on the grass. She hadn’t brought a chair.
Someone tapped Corinne on her shoulder. She turned to find Old Man Pete offering up his seat on the bench to Pilar.
“Thank you. That’s very kind you.” Pilar sat down behind Corinne.
Old Man Pete walked to the back of the gathering, and stood by the trees where several other men were standing, sipping coffee and eating doughnuts that someone had brought.
Corinne looked over the lyrics she had folded and stashed into her Bible. She and the other four women only had to sing once, but it was one of her favorite hymns.
Of all days, Martin would hear her sing it.
Would he have many questions?
She couldn’t offer him any answer—not the ones he probably sought.
She had willfully left Savannah four years ago. Left her old life behind. Gone into the seedy side of Las Vegas. Met a gambler who took a chance on her. Broke up with the man of violence to protect her daughter. Wandered around the country.
And ended up here.
Corinne knew she couldn’t hide forever.
But there was no way she was going back to Martin. Her life had become too complicated. There was too much to unravel.
Martin wouldn’t want her now.
She’d have to find a way to tell him that he had to let her go. She had moved on, but it seemed that he hadn’t.
Chapter Twelve
Leaning against a tree and listening to the congregation sing, their voices lifted into the open air, was something unexpected for Martin.
So this is what an outdoor church looks like.
“We usually meet next door,” the man who called himself Pete said when everyone sat down after they finished singing. He pointed with his arthritic fingers.
Martin couldn’t see anything beyond the trees.
The man who called himself Pete—
Actually, he said that his name was Old Man Pete.
Martin almost asked him how old he was, because he didn’t look too much older than Dad, who was in his seventies now.
Martin stared at the wrinkles on his face, tanned from the sun. His arms seemed dry.
“I know you’re wanting to know how old I am,” Pete said. “After about three heart attacks, I’m finally living my age. I’ll be seventy five next month.”
“But that’s not why they call you Old Man Pete.”
“No, I got that because I dispense free wisdom to anyone who cares to ask.”
“Ah.”
“I know much of what I usually say is common sense, but this church knows that a widower needs to feel useful.”
“It’s a ministry then,” Martin said.
“Exactly.”
The pastor made some announcements. A baby shower here, a hospice visit there.
Then Martin watched as five ladies went to the front. Corinne stood to one side. She never looked his way.
He dared not look at her either. He began to doubt himself, doubt his decision to come to Key Largo to get a glimpse of the woman he had lost.
She must be strong if she could stand there and sing while he was in the same space as she was.
Then again, her focus had to be on God and not on him.
This is my Father's world.
O let me ne’er forget
that though the wrong
seems oft so strong,
<
br /> God is the ruler yet.
Martin closed his eyes, listening along with the five-in-one ensemble. They didn’t let Corinne sing solo but Martin could pick out her occasional soprano.
She used to sing in his shower—back in his unsaved days. And here she was, singing in church.
God can change anyone.
The hymn stuck in Martin’s head all the way through the sermon, the benediction, and the dispersal of the church.
Don’t let me forget, God, that You are still in charge.
“Well, it’s good to meet you, Martin.” Pete extended his hand.
Martin took one look at his hand and knew. “You work on cars?”
“Can you tell?” Pete wiped his hand on his cargo shorts. “I thought I got all that oil off.”
“They’re under your nails, in between the rough cracks in your hand.”
Pete looked at both his hands, palm and back. “My wife—she’s in heaven now—used to tell me to wear gloves.”
“What kind of cars do you work on?” Martin asked.
“Old cars. Old trucks. I’ve been spending a lot of time on a 1959 Volkswagen bus.”
“Wow. Did you restore it?”
“It’s unfinished. My shop is in my backyard, and it’s going to take a while. I have to scrounge around for tools.”
He sounded like how Dad started out restoring classic cars. Car parts all over his car porch.
“What are you going to do with the bus when you get it restored?” Martin asked.
“I don’t know. But my cardiologist said I needed to pick up a hobby that’s not stressful.”
“Restoring old vehicles is fun.”
“Indeed. Other than the bus, I try to work on my Chevelle.”
“A Chevy. What year?” Martin asked as they navigated through the small crowd of people standing around, just chatting.
Martin wanted to go get lunch before his stomach rumbled.
“Some of it was built in 1967, the rest 1969. I’ve been looking for parts. It’s not cheap, this Malibu.” Pete’s eyes brightened. “You know anything about old cars?”
“A little bit.” Not as much as Dad.