by Chase, Diane
Chapter Seventeen
The next morning at the kitchen counter, Lexi sliced half a banana over her bowl of cereal and did the same for Juliette. At the table, she’d set sage-green placemats trimmed in tiny seashells, floral napkins, and two glasses of orange juice. The extra effort resembled the Golightly’s hospitality.
“Thanks, Lexi. Do you want to say a prayer for us?” Juliette said when the girl sat down.
“Thank you, God, for grains, bananas, and oranges. Please help Mom and Dad get back together as soon as possible. Amen.” She put her napkin in her lap and looked up. “Aunt Peggy said to pray without ceasing.”
“She knows a lot, doesn’t she?” Their new communication paradoxically fed recesses of her soul and made her blush.
“Yeah.” Lexi slumped as she spooned her cereal. “She also said to pray for God’s will.”
Thankfully someone offered the guidance and support they both needed. Lexi’s phone rang from the dining room, and she popped up to get it.
“Excuse me,” she said halfway there.
Juliette smiled at the progress. In the other room, Lexi greeted the person in English and switched to Mandarin, her voice increasingly shrill and angry. It was hard to tell who called.
“Why not?” she then cried out plainly. “That’s not fair. I want to talk to Mom myself.”
No way. Did Connie nix Teen Mania next week, the kid’s one chance to make friends in a strange town?
In a few minutes, Lexi’s running footsteps sounded in the dining room and then on the stairs. She slammed her bedroom door.
Juliette hurried behind her and knocked. When she didn’t answer, she opened the door slightly and found the girl sprawled out on the bed sobbing. Although her anger flared at Connie, she couldn’t overrule the mother’s wishes.
“Lexi, I’m so sorry.” Helpless to console her, Juliette sat on the edge of the bed.
Lexi bolted upright. “I’m going.” Wild-eyed, she pushed strands of black hair from her reddened face. “I’ll ask my dad.” The kid swiped the cell phone off the bedside table and punched a few buttons.
Really? He’d been that accessible all summer? Did her father know about his ex-wife’s stay at Shady Acres or approve of Lexi living in Galveston with someone she barely knew? His name hadn’t been among the emergency contacts she got from Mai.
“Daddy?” A few more tears rolled down Lexi’s cheeks. She hugged her knees to her chest and looking into the phone, grinned briefly, and then wiped away more budding tears. “Hi, Daddy.” She flashed the phone for Juliette.
It was long enough to see an attractive, Asian guy on the tiny screen. Interesting the kid could’ve been videoconferencing so easily if her anger hadn’t burned against him. Juliette got up to leave and give them privacy.
“You can stay,” Lexi said when she headed the door.
For once, she knew the kid needed her support. Juliette sat back on the bed.
“What’s wrong, Lexi?” On the speakerphone, her father’s voice sounded clear but choked up as his daughter. “Is it Mom?”
“Do you know where Mom is?” Lexi’s mouth hung open in surprise.
“Yes, of course. Is that why you’re so upset?”
“No, well not right now. There’s this program at a church, Dad, and Mom said I can’t go. It starts Monday. Can I, please?”
“Of course, you can. I’ll settle it with her. Lexi, I’m actually at a symposium in New York, and I have a presentation in a few minutes. Honey, promise me you’ll call back this afternoon.”
“Okay.” Peace and calm settled back on Lexi’s countenance.
“Good. Let me talk to Juliette for a minute.”
Juliette straightened. So, he knew of her? She took the phone and tried to get the right angle to see him. Still in her bathrobe, she gripped the front closed. Lexi’s dad stared back and ran his fingers through his short hair.
“Mr. Lin?”
“Call me Eric. Thank you for tending to Lexi during this difficulty. I assume you heard me give the go-ahead on this program.”
“Yes.” All kinds of questions poured in. Did the father’s wishes trump Mai’s or his wife’s? What about having the custody rights to give permission?
“I’ll ask her or Mai to call you.”
“That’d be great. I think if Connie understood how much Lexi wanted to go, she’d approve.”
“I’m not sure. Anyway, thanks again. Call if you need anything.”
“Good to know.” She passed the phone to Lexi and returned to the kitchen in case breakfast continued.
Having Eric Lin in the picture was like a safety net, someone with authority. She thought of Lexi’s prayer for her parents reconciliation. Peggy said all things were possible with God, but somehow such a hope seemed like a stretch.
If only she had the faith of a child or even that of an older woman.
****
That weekend Harry rolled into town with their friends Jenny and Trevor, big partiers who he knew better than she did. The trio arrived around eight o’clock and caroused on the patio after a late, grilled fish dinner, laughing raucously until two or three in the morning. Juliette’s bedroom faced the backyard, and as she lay listening to them, she wondered what the Golightlys must think.
Saturday, the couple and Harry woke up about noon, complained of their aches and pains over quiche and a salad, and at four o’clock left to visit the couple’s friends who were renting a beach house a few miles away. Harry easily agreed to Juliette’s request to remain home with Lexi, and he called early evening to say they were going for a catamaran ride and staying for dinner. She got into bed about midnight and woke briefly when they all fumbled on the stairs close to two a.m.
The next morning, when she and Lexi returned from church, Harry and their friends were still asleep. She tapped on the master bedroom door and opened it when he didn’t answer. She sat on the sofa and eyed him curled up under the covers.
“Harry,” she said, crossing her legs.
“Uh,” he said without stirring.
“We’re suppose to be at Mrs. May’s in an hour.”
“Give her a call, babe. Will ya? We’ll go next weekend.” He rolled over and pulled the quilted coverlet to his chin.
If he didn’t get onboard soon, their ship would sink. Maybe in her silence he sensed she meant business. It wasn’t long before they loaded up in their cars. Lexi had already left for a movie with the Golightlys, and Jenny and Trevor, still half asleep, said they’d be gone by the time Juliette returned.
She led the way in her little car with his dusty BMW trailing far behind. After turning onto the shady street with modest homes, she noticed Paul Quinn’s truck parked in Mrs. May’s driveway. Tree limbs littered the lawn, perhaps his doing. There was no sign of Mrs. May or Paul. She and Harry were strolling up the sidewalk when Paul came up the driveway from the backyard. Dressed in jeans and a t-shirt with a large cross curved like a fishhook, his shock melted into a smile as he approached them.
His eyes darted from her to Harry and back again. “Juliette?”
She clasped the warm, sweaty hand he offered. “How are you, Paul?”
“Can’t complain. What brings you guys this direction?” He extended his hand to Harry. “Paul Quinn, by the way.”
“Harry Oppenheim. Hey, can I help you with any of this, man?” Harry eyed the cover of limbs.
“No, thanks. I plan to downsize them in a minute. Mrs. May just decided she wants the elm in back trimmed off the garage. I came for the chainsaw.” He swiped his brow and left a trail of dirt.
Barely able to contain the excitement that the two Christmas Bay rescuers occupied the same plot of land, Juliette smiled broadly. “Harry, this is the Paul, the one who gave me a ride that day.”
“Yeah, I remember the name. Thanks, man.” He blew out. “We appreciate it.”
Before they could continue, Mrs. May emerged from the backyard wearing bubblegum pink slacks and a crisp white blouse. “Excuse me, Paul.” Juliet
te crossed the lawn to meet her and motioned to Harry.
“My goodness!” Mrs. May drew Juliette into one of her strong hugs.
“Mrs. May, I want you to meet Harry—”
“Hold on, baby.” Mrs. May walked past them to Paul. “Don’t wear yourself out on the Lord’s day, baby,” she called out.
Juliette and Harry strolled to the porch and sat on the glider. Mrs. May talked a few minutes with Paul and joined them in an adjacent, metal chair with a well-worn cushion.
“Mrs. May, this is my fiancé, Harry Oppenheim.”
“Son.” She nodded but her gaze shot past him to the driveway.
Juliette crossed her arms and ankles. Ideas for how to get Mrs. May talking about Christmas Bay tarnished in her thoughts as fast as an apple browns after it’s cut.
The chainsaw buzzed in the backyard, and Mrs. May’s face brightened. “Hard working boy, isn’t he?” She dabbed her upper lip with a starched, white handkerchief.
The afternoon humidity definitely had them all in a sweat. Juliette took in a deep breath, and Harry’s unwashed body assailed her nostrils. There wouldn’t be another opportunity like this.
“Mrs. May, I think what happened at Christmas Bay is a little fantastical for some people to believe.”
“Juliette, not now.” Harry sent the glider into squeaky motion, and Juliette’s stomach fluttered.
“Well, I guess if you’ve heard that story once, it’s enough. Right, son?” Mrs. May said.
“Maybe that’s it,” Harry said.
“But you’ve got such a different perspective, Mrs. May.” Juliette cringed at the way her voice sounded so desperate. Her breaths came so fast she thought she might choke.
The woman tilted her head a little. Smoldering like geysers, her eyes bore into Juliette’s and said she wouldn’t be giving her side of the story, the one that might win Harry to faith. But why?
“The restroom?” Harry slid off the glider and smoothed his wrinkled shorts.
“Down the hallway on the left,” Mrs. May said.
Folding her sweat-slick arms, Juliette said, “Why didn’t you tell him what happened?”
Mrs. May picked a speck on her pink slacks. “Because you did.”
“It’s different coming from you. Harry needs to know about God and his love. You have no idea. I can’t stand it anymore, Mrs. May.” She blinked back tears and looked over at the street.
“God draws a man, baby. I’ll be praying for him. Already have been.”
The husky voice brought comfort but didn’t quell her disappointment. Was her relationship failing despite Mrs. May’s prayers? She didn’t get it. The chainsaw buzzed in the backyard, and she leaned forward.
“Interesting that Paul’s here today.”
“I invited him.” Mrs. May smiled slightly.
Juliette was about to comment when Paul came up the drive to the porch steps. “Okay, I’ve got the elm trimmed like you wanted. Let me get the branches bundled.”
“That’s enough for today, son.” Mrs. May took a straw hat from an adjacent table and fanned herself.
“It’ll just take an hour or so.” Paul’s wet shirt clung to him like he’d gone swimming. He cast Juliette a quick smile. “Nice to see you,” he said as Harry strolled through the door.
A frown came and went on Harry’s face before he flashed a tight smile at Mrs. May. “Nice to meet you, ma’am. Paul, you, too. I need to get back to Houston.” He shook Paul’s hand briskly as he passed. Juliette followed him to the car and watched him drive off.
There was no reason to stay. She returned to the porch for a short goodbye and got in the car ready to cry all the way home, but a meltdown would have to wait. An email had arrived from Dr. Cabot, and at the corner stop sign, Juliette opened it.
Juliette—No problem extending your summary deadline. As far as changing topics, it’s your funeral. Avery and Bill can meet Wednesday morning at 9:00. Contact me at once if that works. Kim
Wednesday!
Her plea to Harry might fall on deaf ears no matter who she got to be her mouthpiece, but the words of Dr. Kim Cabot always hit like a smart bomb. Sole ruler of the art history department, her sharp tongue shot down flimflam and mediocrity without mercy. Now, she rounded up two members of Juliette’s dissertation committee rather than discuss a new direction informally between the two of them.
Juliette pulled out to the highway. Instead of tears, her breath heaved like the refinery smoke stacks pumping vaporous clouds in the distance. She had three days to justify shifting her research at this late date.
But it wasn’t just about facts. It was about the heart. Her new faith had to count, had to be lived out, expressed, and… be understood? Was that her frustration in all this, including Harry?
She turned left on Bluewater Highway and before long noticed the Graham’s beach house. As she drove toward Galveston, she wondered which place might belong to Paul Quinn. What an odd gaggle of friends she’d made this summer.
Her cell phone chimed with a text. Traffic was fairly heavy so she pulled into a condo parking lot to see if Dr. Cabot was still tracking her down.
It was from Lexi. Unc Ash wants 2 no do u want 2 go 2 the cafeteria later
Yes, she replied. Thank you, Lord. Yes.
****
Paul loaded up some tools to return to his friend Casey along with the chainsaw he borrowed. This morning at church, they made tentative plans to grill steaks at Sunset Marina, and if that was on, he’d make a grocery store run. He turned left from his road to the highway and with the sun in his eyes, pulled down the visor. The traffic picked up the closer he got to Surfside Beach, but he paid little attention.
Juliette Prescott stayed on his mind.
What a different girl. Those dresses and fair skin, nothing like the scantly clad, summer crowd. And her voice, sort of far-away or ethereal, like she was from another place, another time. The few times he saw her, she pulled her chestnut hair back with some kind of sash thing, like a headband. He wondered how the shiny locks would look freed, rustling just past her shoulders.
He sighed. It wasn’t all he noticed, even the day at Christmas Bay. She wore a rock on her left hand that costs as much as his truck. Today he met the nice-looking guy with the BMW who gave it to her.
Thinking he might be ahead of a guy like that made him smolder in humiliation.
He drove past The Hook and glanced at the cross atop the dark-wood structure on pilings. He had good friends here, almost all of them from the church, and he’d never felt second rate among them. The idea he wasn’t as good as someone like that, good enough for someone like Juliette made him want to be a better man.
But what was a better man? A richer one? Better looking? He drove toward Sunset Marina which sat at the end of the gravel road. On his left were empty lots that could be developed if Casey ever let them go. The coastal grasses stretched to Bluewater Highway in the distance.
For the last five weeks, Juliette had been on his mind a lot. Too much. Not one to talk about that kind of thing, today he just might have to. He eased in a space close to the entrance of Casey’s humble marine store, and decided of anyone, he could best talk to his wise friend, and not just about Juliette but the rest, like what does a good man do when he’s down on his luck?
Chapter Eighteen
Early Monday morning, Juliette coated herself with mosquito spray and settled in the cushioned chaise on the patio while the coffee brewed.
For a few minutes, she listened to birds sing and insects buzz in the stillness. Soon enough she’d hit the library and not come up for air until the meeting Wednesday morning, except maybe a break for Bible study. Thankfully, Teen Mania would occupy Lexi beginning today.
She imagined Dr. Cabot and her two henchmen assembled at the umbrella table and whispered, “My life changed course unexpectedly this summer. I’d like this dissertation to reflect my new faith.”
In her mind’s eye, they sneered. Dr. Cabot asked a question.
“Yes,
I have a few ideas.” A blue jay fluttered to the fence and flapped its wings. “Bible prophecy in the Italian Renaissance, not just art, other stuff, too.”
Stuff? She cleared her throat. “I mean, prophecy in the Italian Renaissance, not just art, but in culture and liturgy. Let me begin with notes on the Sistine Chapel.”
Ha! She didn’t have any notes. Her only work lay on the library floor, the pieced copies of the chapel’s ceiling that got dustier by the day.
She was sunk and knew it before going to bed last night. That’s when she ogled the dozen Post-its on Michelangelo’s masterpiece again and reached an obvious but deflating conclusion. The Old Testament scenes in the chapel ceiling probably did foretell Christ’s birth, but it was hardly an original conclusion.
I think we all heard that on the tour bus. Dr. Cabot’s pet rebuke rang in her ears.
Yep, in two days she needed another angle. What inspired Michelangelo anyway? Did he know Jesus as well as Mrs. May seem to?
“Did he? Did you?” She pictured Michelangelo slumped at the glass table, gaunt, exhausted, and dressed in scruffy, sepia-toned clothes.
“Jonah’s over the altar, then clockwise, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, Joel, Zechariah, Isaiah, Daniel—with the pagan sibyls between them.” She looked at the empty chair and up at the sky. “You knew what he was doing, Lord.”
“Are you talking to the grasshoppers, Juliette? If you are, I’m moving in with the Golightlys.” Lexi ambled up to the table, yawning.
“Good morning, you two.” Skipper jumped in the chaise and lapped Juliette’s face. “So, you missed me?” She hugged the dog and kissed her behind the ears.
“She likes sleeping with me.” When Lexi drummed her legs, the dog gave Juliette one last slurp and scampered to the girl’s lap. “Don’t forget about Teen Mania today.”
Juliette raised her brows. “Of course. Don’t forget it starts at ten.”
Lexi laughed. “Don’t forget to pick me up at four.”
“Ahh.” Juliette got up and did a lopsided stretch. “Hey, come in the house. I want you to help me with something.”
“What?” She sneered and adjusted her glasses.