by Chase, Diane
“Hey,” she said. “I’m on my way into the church. Remember the study group I told you about?”
“Oh, yeah.” He sighed loudly.
“Is something wrong?” She gathered her purple Bible and a new spiral notebook.
“Yeah, but I’ll talk to you later.” He sighed again, making his disappointment loud and clear.
“I’ve got a few minutes.” Juliette rested her books on the console.
“What would you think about Marcie and Keith coming to the wedding?”
A dark cloud seemed to engulf the car. “How did that come up?”
“Marcie’s fishing for an invitation, but I’ve been mulling it over. People neither of us know are coming and a few more we’re not crazy about.”
“But it’s our special day, one in a lifetime. It’s not like you want them there either. I hope you didn’t take this job for me, Harry. I’ll postpone the doctorate, get on with a community college next year, anything if you want to leave.”
“Leave? I’m talking about wedding invitations. Anyway, I love that you want to help out, but a community college job, even if you found one, won’t cover our expenses.” His voice carried a trace of humor.
“Then work with your dad. He offered.”
“He wasn’t serious about rebuilding his practice. He’s talking about buying a boat or a lake house. Anyway, I have a job. Listen, I know the study group starts soon. Call me later.”
Handling so many important issues over the phone, especially before her first class, wasn’t ideal, but the problems were piling up like her laundry. Maybe he just needed encouragement to move on.
“If it’s a matter of money, we could move in with Mother and Daddy for a bit. I hate that you’ve been wrangled into representing Ameropolix and inviting strangers to our wedding.”
“Let’s not inflate the problem.”
“Or downplay it either.” She turned the car back on to circulate the AC. “A lot has changed in a short time, at least for me. It feels like the gap between us keeps widening, and I just want to close it.”
She paused to see if he had anything to say. When he didn’t, she continued.
“I love you more than…” Anything? She fumbled for the right words and gave up. “I want you to know God, to feel His love and reassurance, to understand what He did at Christmas Bay, and share my gratitude. If only we could start going to church together, read the Bible. Maybe one of the books—”
“Juliette, what about the invitation? Can we stay focused here?”
Her nerves pricked in surprise. “I can’t help seeing more than that one issue. If we could just agree on what’s important, it’d be so much easier to make some lifestyle changes.”
“What do you mean lifestyle changes? What’s with the attitude? I’m doing the best I can. How can I convince you?”
“I understand. But life is...things have…Harry, we need to postpone intimacy until after the wedding.” She cringed at how ugly and ridiculous it sounded.
The line was quiet for a full minute. “Oh, I’m a little slow. Is that what the sofa situation was about?” He chuckled. “A little late for that.” His tone sounded so uncharacteristically rude and condescending.
“I’ve got to go.” Frustrated, her fingers shook and punched the hang-up button repeatedly. Is that how it was going to be? She had to fight for the life she wanted, strive against someone she loved? She cupped her hand over her eyes. Fear rose in her heart like never before. What if she lost his understanding and support, the uncanny way he sensed her feelings?
The Bible study had been underway ten minutes, but even more than when she arrived, she needed to go. While she gathered her things, Harry called again. She couldn’t have a decent conversation right now. She picked up the voicemail message.
“Listen, Juliette. Brad Barrington called this morning. In the course of discussing business, he invited me to San Fernando this weekend. I turned him down so I could come to Galveston. After all this, I’m going to take him up on it. I’ll call when I get back.”
San Fernando? Helpless to dissuade him, she panted all the way to the door. What if he really got wrapped up with the Ameropolix folks? A smiling couple emerged from inside, and the guy held the door open. Juliette managed a weak, “Thanks.”
She lit down the hallway past a classroom of rowdy kids with young parents and several teenagers circled on the floor. Around a bend, light shone through an open classroom. A few feet away, she settled her breath. Nothing I can do about this right now.
Around a square of four cafeteria tables sat a dozen or so people. One young guy was talking, and the others barely looked over at her. Seated near the door, a woman in her early thirties with spiky blond hair got up.
“We just started,” she whispered. “Pepper Burke.” The woman’s cool hand clamped hers.
Exhaling, she said, “Juliette Prescott.”
“Welcome.” The woman reached to a canvas bag by her chair and passed Juliette a small booklet. “We’re on page twenty-five, the last week of this study.”
“Thanks.” Juliette’s legs wobbled on the way to a seat close-by and next to a girl about her age.
“That’s how I took it,” concluded the forty-something guy who was talking.
“Insightful. Anybody else?” asked an attractive woman, also forties, presumably the teacher Kathy Dawson who sat with Pepper Burke. Several other people chimed in and added their remarks.
The girl on Juliette’s right leaned in. “We’re still on question one.”
The booklet from Pepper titled Into the World looked brand new. On page twenty-five, the question read: How does Paul say we wage war in the world? Below it was the scripture, 2 Corinthians 10:16.
The young woman fumbled in her purse and slid a CD across the table. She nudged Juliette’s arm. “Keep it,” she whispered. “I saw you make your profession of faith on Sunday.”
Juliette’s shoulders relaxed, and hot tears sprouted in her eyes. A perfect stranger showed interest in that special occasion, and the man she loved hardly acknowledged it. She looked down at the CD cover but pictured Marcie and Keith Graham at their wedding and Harry hobnobbing with a porn production company over the weekend.
Something had to change. Or somebody.
It took the first half of the Bible study to decompress. The second half she flipped back and forth in the purple Bible looking for scriptures. Meanwhile, the group members, whose ages ranged from early twenties to sixties, fleshed out the questions.
When it ended, Juliette walked to the car with Minh and Trina, two women about her age who were medical students. They traded bios and agreed to get together sometime. In no hurry to get home, she drove down Seawall Boulevard awhile before cutting over to a street that led to her parents’ place.
Lexi and Lauren certainly took no notice of her, and Connie, scarce and cozy as an icepack, felt the same. It wasn’t too late to call Harry, but why recycle the same arguments? Normally, she confided in Amanda or one of several other friends. That was then.
It made sense the way Kathy, the group leader, explained it tonight. Juliette just didn’t like the answer. A single sentence from Psalm 119:19 summed up the new loneliness in her life.
I am a stranger on earth.
She, not Harry and the rest. They fit in the world just fine.
She needed help. Jason, the pastor at Lighthouse Community Church, was one possibility. Maybe he could explain salvation through Christ to Harry like he had in the service. Asher and Peggy Golightly with their long marriage and years of faith were a second but odd possibility.
She pulled next to Connie’s car in the driveway and shut the car door.
Slam!
For an instant, Juliette pictured her fingers caught in the doorframe. Standing under the mercury light of the garage, her heart pounded as she stared at the window laden with harmless, salty grim. There’d been the orange-coconut fragrance and the little lady sitting right there in the passenger seat.
Juliette inhaled the ric
h air and looked up at the gallery of stars in the clear sky before strolling to the backdoor. Of anyone, the woman could best talk to Harry about God and Christmas Bay.
Finding a red sedan among the scant communities along Bluewater Highway wasn’t that much of a long shot. She owed it to Harry and herself to try.
Chapter Nine
The shrill ring of the phone on the bedside table woke Paul Quinn from a dead sleep. He rolled over, and seeing it was Casey from Sunset Marina, his feet hit the floor in a panic. No one called at five a.m. to chat.
“Casey? What’s up?”
“Paul, man…” Wind swooshed in the receiver as Casey hesitated. “Get over to the marina. Your boat’s half sunk.”
“What! Let me get my pumps. I’ll be—” In the moonlit room, Paul jumped to his jeans and t-shirt hanging over the back of the chair.
“Just get on the road. I’ve got pumps.” His voice breathless and high-pitched, his old friend didn’t sound like himself.
“I’m on my way.”
Paul dressed, grabbed the keys from the kitchen bar, and slipped on a pair of sandy boat shoes at the front door. He tore downstairs, and taking his friend’s advice, bypassed his storage room where a pump and tools might have helped.
What about all the business he had lined up? In a few days, four guys from Houston were scheduled, and another group was reserved for Sunday. Several other bookings weren’t enough to get him over this financial hurdle, but he hoped God sent more business his way, including one guy who promised to call this afternoon about an excursion for six. Paul hit the steering wheel with both palms and pain vibrated up his arms. Letting go of those tours would put him dangerously behind with his bills.
From his short road, he slammed the pedal to the floor and flew down Bluewater Highway toward Surfside Beach. At the intersection and only traffic light, he screeched right and made a second hard right onto a gravel road leading to the marina. Rocks pelted the truck’s underbelly as he rattled over potholes. Out of nowhere, a rabbit sprang out of the grass. He jerked the wheel missing it by seconds.
The soft lights of The Hook Bible Church sign lit the road part of the way. At the end, Casey’s marina shone like a beacon. As he neared, Paul narrowed his eyes across the parking lot at the Della Rae. Her pilot house sat well above water, thankfully, but she listed noticeably on the starboard side.
Casey’s truck was parked near the slip, but he wasn’t around. Paul skidded to a stop and ran down the wooden planks to his boat.
Heart thundering, he paced up and back assessing the problem. Two starboard ropes broke free from the dock cleats. No telling how much water seeped in. He was about to climb onboard when Casey called out.
“Hold on. Let’s get the pumps hooked up first.” He ran from a storage building, hoses draped over both arms and a pump in each hand.
Paul jogged out to meet him and reached for the hoses.
Casey jerked away. “I got these. Go get a few extension cords inside the office closet.”
Paul took off for the marina store. The door was wide open and light spilled out to a patio with several picnic tables. He ran to the back office. A TV blared the morning show as he surveyed the packed closet. Casey, where? A box of wires and other electrical gear lay on a back shelf. In one motion, he freed several extension cords and sent the rest of the contents flying. He raced back across the lot where Casey already had the pumps outfitted with the expeller hoses.
“We’re gonna need a flashlight,” Paul said as he untangled the cords he brought.
Casey took one of the cords toward the plug strip at the end of the slips. “Got it. Let’s get these pumps juiced. She’s got to come out of the water, Paul, get cleaned up inside and out. Not a trace of salt left in her. She’s not through if we can work fast enough. Remember Barney’s boat last summer.”
Paul’s fingers shook as he hooked up the pumps to the electrical supply. Yeah, he remembered how it sank and after thousands of dollars was just fine. Right now, Casey’s optimism felt like a pep talk to a dying man—him. He didn’t have the cash to revive the boat if she suffered much damage. Even so, he had to do everything he could for Della Rae.
He eased onto the boat and standing in the fishing cockpit in the aft took the flashlight Casey offered.
“Get in and get out, my friend,” the older man said softly.
Paul took a deep breath and headed to the aft door. He swung it open and shined the flashlight around the pilot house, the helm well above water. With shaking fingers he opened the hatch to the engine compartment and shined the flashlight as he descended the tight steps. A sickness invaded his gut.
“How deep is it?” Casey called out.
The mix of fishy water and oil in the oppressive heat made Paul gag. “Two feet. Maybe more.” He hooked up a pump in the engine compartment and went back to the deck where the hose already expelled seawater back to the bay where it belonged.
“Ah, music to my ears,” Casey said. “These are going to do the trick.” He passed Paul a second pump.
Paul descended the stairs from the pilot house to the cabin. He jerked the flashlight in horror as he drug the hose through thigh-deep water toward the galley. Water sloshed through the queen berth, the fixed seating in the salon, all the storage compartments. What a mess. Besides whatever damage the engine and electrical system suffered, the interior would cost a fortune to restore.
Where was the breach that caused it all?
Paul dropped another pump near the head, not wanting to further disturb the situation by opening the door. Rushing back to the deck, he brought down the third pump and hose and hooked it up near the settee. One last time, he shone the flashlight about the nightmare that woke him up.
“Is this really your will?” he whispered. “Why?” The Lord’s presence touched him, pushing back the anger rising up. He listened with no satisfaction to the water pouring back to the bay. He had no insurance, except for the liability needed for his business, and little funds for the parts and repairs needed even before this catastrophe.
“Paul,” Casey yelled.
“Coming.” Paul headed up the steps and joined his friend back on the narrow slip. “Thanks, man.”
Casey folded his arms. “Any obvious signs of what might have happened?”
With the adrenaline rush subsiding, his muscles ached all over. Right now, he didn’t share Casey’s curiosity. “It could be a few different things, I guess.” He sighed. The gentle swells in the canal shimmered under the starry and moonlit night sky.
“Come on. I’ll make that strong coffee you like.” Casey headed back to the parking lot. “We’ll check the pumps in a half hour. Who knows, we might be able to get her over to the lift after that.” He waited for Paul to catch up. “You alright, man? I think I’ve got some shorts in the office. If not, I’ll run over to the house.”
Paul brushed his hand through his damp hair. “This is too weird, Casey. Guess what I prayed for last night?”
“A new boat?” He sounded like he meant it.
“A sign.” He followed his friend into the store. “You know the issues, the financial ones…”
“Yeah, and the Lord knows them, too.”
“So the boat sinks. That’s my sign, the answer to my problems?”
In the office, Casey pulled out a pair of shorts from a credenza behind the desk and tossed them to Paul. His weathered face and eyes lit up in a soft smile. “Get out of those wet jeans, and we’ll talk about it.”
Paul sighed. The seawater pumping out of his boat didn’t change the bottom line, clear enough no matter what Casey said. The vessel might be worth something as salvage but no more.
God had already answered his prayer, loud and clear. His days as an offshore fishing guide were over.
****
Juliette pulled out to Seawall Boulevard well before the tourists and islanders hit the beach. The morning sun glittered off the water, seagulls swooped across the blue sky, and a fishy breeze blew through the open car w
indow. She sipped her McDonald’s coffee. However pleasant the morning, her purpose seemed flaky in the light of day, the idea of finding the woman or her car. But she had to try.
The strip of oceanfront condos, hotels, and businesses on Seawall Boulevard eventually gave way to sporadic coastal subdivisions some miles out. She passed through a tollbooth and proceeded across the San Luis Pass. On the long bridge, huge pelicans swooped near the car, monstrous looking things up close. She shrieked and closed the window.
At the first subdivision, she surveyed the lower levels of beach homes on pilings. but none resembled the woman’s. Back at the highway juncture, she turned left. There turned out to be more homes along the way than she expected. The day of the accident occupied her thoughts. What if she’d paid more attention to the road and made it across the bridge where the road would have been high and dry?
But it didn’t happen that way, the easy way. The way she would have understood. Her hands shook on the steering wheel as she eyed the ocean on her left. At times, the bay on the right was close and at other points a mile or so off.
It was like this.
She eased off the highway, and the car rocked over the hard-packed, riveted sand. Of course, it rained that Sunday, the tides were up, and the water almost reached the road. Now, marsh grass fluttered in a gentle breeze, a little pathway to the bay was visible, and a truck was even parked on the bank, perhaps someone fishing.
She got out and walked a few yards across the dry marsh grass. Except for a few houses in the distance, there were no real landmarks, no road signs.
“Christmas Bay?”
Could this be the spot the car skidded off-road? Right here under her feet. A rise of tears closed her throat. “Thank you,” she said. “I will not forget.”
She’d never forget the lady either or Paul Quinn, whether she saw them again or not. It seemed unlikely he’d have ideas about how to find her, but he was from the area. And he’d been so kind and wouldn’t mind if she called, even if good judgment said it was best not to strike up a friendship with him.
Back in the car, she used her cell phone to search the phone directories and came up with a number associated with his fishing business. She called, and he answered after several rings.