by Scotty Cade
“I get that a lot.” Abel chuckled. “But I’m thirty-five. Just look younger, I guess.”
Cullen nodded and then another long silence ensued.
“Southport is a small town,” Abel finally said. “Haven’t seen you around before.”
“I just got here yesterday. I’m staying on my boat over at the Southport Marina.”
“Oh. I live just a few blocks from there.”
More silence until Abel broke it.
“Well… if you’re hanging around for a while, maybe you can come to Sunday service, and we can see about at least trying to mend your relationship with the Almighty.”
Cullen almost snorted. “I appreciate the offer and the effort, but you can take your pastor hat off when you’re talking to me. My relationship with God is… well, let’s just say over. With little chance of reconciliation.”
Abel frowned. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that. Habit, I guess. But I sort of know what you mean. It’s so difficult going to work every day, playing the part of an associate pastor and continuously doubting my calling. So when I can’t take it anymore, I come out here and just sit. It sort of renews me. For a little while anyway.”
They were both now looking out over the water, as if it held all the answers somewhere just under the surface.
“How long are you staying?” Abel asked awkwardly.
“Originally for the winter, but… my plans have changed.”
Abel nodded this time. “That’s too bad. You would like Southport. Small and sleepy but charming at the same time. I’ve been here about a year now, and it has really grown on me.”
“Yeah?” Another long silence hung in the air. Cullen cleared his throat. “Look, man. If you wanna talk about what’s on your mind, I’m a pretty good listener.”
Abel shook his head. “It’s no use. Nothing you or anyone else can do for me. I’m in this one alone.”
Wanting to leave the man with his dignity and avoid prying, Cullen stood. “Okay, then. As long as you’re okay, I guess I’ll be on my way.”
Abel stood too. Cullen quickly looked the man over.
Abel was a few inches shorter then Cullen’s own six-foot-two-inch frame, and he appeared to be very fit. Gym-like fit. With broad shoulders and a small waist. The sun was reflecting off of his boyish reddish-blond locks, and his green eyes sparkled in the sun’s reflection off the water.
Apparently back in pastor mode, Abel flashed a smile, and Cullen swallowed a gasp. Abel’s entire face lit up. “Thanks for stopping. It was very kind and considerate of you.”
What a smile. If this is what he looks like while he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, he must light up the universe when he’s carefree.
Cullen cleared his throat. “No problem. Take care of yourself, Abel.”
Cullen turned to leave.
“Cullen?” Abel asked.
Cullen stopped and looked back at Abel.
“Are you by any chance a member of the clergy yourself?”
Shit! Good going, Cullen. Now how are you gonna get out of this one? You can’t lie to the guy.
Cullen sighed and accepted his fate. “Used to be. But it now seems like a lifetime ago. How could you tell?”
Abel smiled again, and Cullen felt a pang of something unidentifiable deep inside of him. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe your mannerisms. Your compassion for your fellow man. The way your voice reassures a person everything is gonna be okay. And… the fact that you said you were trained for this sort of thing. Separately these things mean nothing, but put them all together and you get a man of the cloth.”
Cullen was sincerely impressed. The man is a listener all right. Even when the person he’s listening to isn’t saying anything.
“The only thing I can’t pinpoint is which religion.”
Cullen chuckled. “I’m a retired Episcopal priest.”
“Damn.” Abel smiled, and then he blushed. “If I were a betting man—and for the record, I’m not—I would have gone with Methodist.”
Cullen found himself a little thrown off balance. He hadn’t talked about his past in quite a while. He knew he was bouncing nervously from one foot to the other, but he couldn’t help it. “Well, I think I need to let you get back to your one-on-one time with the big guy.”
Abel looked a little disappointed, but if he was, he didn’t voice it. He just held out his hand again. “You be safe and happy, Cullen Kiley. Wherever your path takes you.”
Cullen shook Abel’s hand and then impulsively laid his other hand over Abel’s heart. “And remember. Whatever you’re praying for, I know if you look deep enough in here, you’ll find all the right answers.”
Abel reached up and placed his hand over Cullen’s. “Thank you.”
Warmth ran through Cullen, and for a moment he felt almost alive—a feeling he hadn’t experienced in a very long time.
Abel lowered his hand, and a smile graced his lips. Cullen smiled as well. Something had passed between them just then. Something odd but also comforting.
“Take care.” Cullen took off running and didn’t stop. He had no idea what was propelling him or what he was running from, but by the time he got back to the boat, the lady in his phone said he’d run nearly eight miles. He sat in the cockpit totally exhausted and stared down at the sun shimmering on the water. Out of the blue, memories of his dream started coming back to him. In little pieces, at first, and then as one came to him, so did others.
It was a heavenly day. The sun was high in the bright blue sky, and the seas were calm. He and Cole were aboard T-Time, cruising the Atlantic Ocean. For some odd reason, Cole had gone down to the swim platform, and after a few minutes, he hadn’t returned. Cullen stopped the boat and went to check on him, and he was not there. Cullen ran below, calling Cole’s name frantically. But no one answered. Cullen looked out over the water, and in the distance he saw Cole fighting to stay afloat but drifting farther and farther away.
Cullen ran down to the swim platform, but Cole was too far away to toss him a life ring. With no other options, Cullen jumped in to save him. No matter how fast or far Cullen swam, Cole was always just out of reach, waving his hands and calling Cullen’s name.
Cullen turned to look for the boat, which was nowhere in sight. When he turned back, Cole was also gone. Cullen scanned the surface in every direction. Nothing. He frantically called Cole’s name, but no response came. After panicking and flailing in the water for who knows how long, Cullen was suddenly overcome with exhaustion. His arms and legs would no longer move, and he finally decided to give up. He cursed God, raised his arms into the air, and sank peacefully beneath the surface. As he calmly descended into the abyss, he cocked his head and watched the sun’s rays shimmer under the surface. He began to inwardly gasp for oxygen, but of course there was none. His body bucked and heaved for the nonexistent air. When he could no longer hold his breath, Cullen closed his eyes and opened his mouth, inhaling as much salty seawater as he could get into his lungs. His body convulsed once, maybe twice, and then it was over.
Damn, Cullen! He wrapped his arms around himself and rubbed his forearms, suddenly bitterly cold.
Cullen shook his head, trying to shake the dream he’d worked so hard to remember. His thoughts quickly drifted to another person he thought was also drowning: Abel. Something was definitely weighing heavily on the man’s mind and bringing him down, but what? Abel hadn’t given him any clue, and it had set his mind wondering.
Cullen showered and sat on the edge of his bed. He cradled his head in his hands, suddenly emotionally drained and physically exhausted. He couldn’t escape his feelings of inadequacy for not being able to save Cole in his dream, or his helplessness in regard to Abel.
Cullen pulled back the covers and climbed into bed. His last thought before he drifted off was of the ginger-headed stranger.
WHEN CULLEN woke he was very disoriented. He sat up, trying to determine his whereabouts, but the room was pitch black except for the red glow of the numbers on
a digital clock: 7:32. He instinctively felt for a lamp next to the bed and flipped the switch. The boat. You’re on T-Time.
Cullen glanced at the clock again. Jeez, Cullen. It’s 7:35. In the evening? You slept all damn day? And into the night? He pulled back the covers, swung his bare feet around, and planted them on the teak and ivory floor. He was hungry and thirsty, but above all he had to pee.
After taking care of business, Cullen drank what seemed like a gallon of water and then showered and dressed in khakis and a baby blue golf shirt. He started walking out of the marina with dinner on his mind and remembered a little restaurant he and Cole had enjoyed on North Howe Street called Ports of Call, which was owned by a gay couple. If memory served, Cullen remembered how to get there. And truth be told, he was well rested and had nothing better to do, so why not walk? It was only eight blocks or so, and it was a very nice night.
Cullen strolled four blocks up W. West Street to North Howe and turned right. He stopped dead in his tracks when he looked across the street and saw the Southport Baptist Church. Abel’s church.
The stately red brick building with its single white steeple, bell tower, and small chapel off to the right consumed the entire block. It was not at all what he’d expected. Not that he’d actually pictured it in his mind, but if he had, this wasn’t it.
As he studied the building, he decided it was far less formal than an Episcopal, Presbyterian, or Catholic church, but statelier than the many small Baptist churches that lined Cape Cod. Somehow it reminded him of a small country church one might see at the head of a valley somewhere in the mountains. It was larger, of course, but was charming in its own way. It fit its surroundings perfectly, and that made Cullen smile.
Some type of gathering had just ended, and people were exiting the church, milling about and standing on the steps conversing. He quickly scanned the crowd, looking for any sign of Abel speaking to or saying good night to his congregation, but no such luck. He had no idea what he would have done had he seen Abel, but luckily he didn’t have to make that decision.
Cullen hesitantly started walking again, still scanning the crowd until he crossed the street onto the next block. Let’s see. If the restaurant is still in business, it will be up ahead on the right in a block or two. When he entered the next block, he smiled as he recognized the red brick building with the blue-and-white awnings. Whataya know? It’s still here.
Stepping inside, Cullen realized the restaurant was crowded but not full to capacity. Off to the right, behind the bar was a guy playing guitar and singing a James Taylor song. Cullen listened for a moment and smiled when he recognized the song as “Sweet Baby James.” It had been one of Cole’s favorites.
Am I ever going to go someplace or do something that doesn’t remind me of Cole? For the first time, he realized the answer to that question was a big fat no. But isn’t that why you’re here? To not forget? When his family and friends convinced him it was time to at least make an attempt to move on with his life, they probably never imagined he would end up here.
Cullen nodded his head along to the music, enjoying the soothing waltz-like melody. He listened intently until a guy he recognized as one of the owners approached him. “Mike’s great, isn’t he?”
“He is. That song brings back so many memories.”
The owner smiled but thankfully didn’t ask him to elaborate. “Going solo tonight?”
“I’m afraid so.” Cullen didn’t take the time to reintroduce himself. He didn’t have the heart to explain for the thousandth time where Cole was. He didn’t want the pity. Not tonight.
“Right this way, then.” The owner started walking across the restaurant, and Cullen followed. On the way, Cullen stopped, dug into his billfold, pulled out a twenty, and smiled as he put it in the tip bowl on the stool next to Mike. Mike nodded and smiled back but kept on singing. Cullen was shown to a table for two, and after he sat, the owner removed one of the place settings and quickly disappeared.
The evening was a pleasant one, devoid of any meltdowns or anger brought on by painful memories, and Cullen was enjoying himself immensely. Halfway through his meal, Mike took a break and stopped by to thank Cullen for the tip. Up close he was a handsome man with shaggy brown hair and eyes the color of caramel that, if used as a superpower, could have easily melted a person who stared too long. When they shook hands, Mike held on to Cullen’s hand a little longer than protocol demanded, smiled warmly, and winked. He was soft-spoken and gazed into Cullen’s eyes intensely as he laid a business card on the table.
Mike lingered a little longer and then nodded. “Have a great evening.”
“You too,” Cullen said.
Maybe I still have it. Cullen wasn’t interested, of course. He’d not been with anyone since Cole, but it sure felt nice to know someone still found him attractive.
After an exceptional dinner, a little healthy reminiscing about his and Cole’s time here, and Mike’s smooth voice—and moves—it was finally time to call it a night. He paid the check and made his way to the door. When he passed Mike, the singer waved and winked again.
Cullen could have sworn Mike mouthed the words “call me,” but he couldn’t be sure. Cullen stepped out into the chill of the fall night and inhaled the crisp salty air.
He’d slept the entire day and wasn’t quite ready to go back to the boat, so he exited the restaurant and headed for the Riverwalk. When he hit the water’s edge, he turned left and entered the park where he and Abel had had their encounter.
He strolled along the sidewalk, feeling all right for the first time in a very long time. Cullen stopped at one of the swings and took a seat. The hinges creaked and whined as he moved the wooden porch swing back and forth, but the sound was more soothing than annoying, reminding him of the porch swing at his grandparents’ farm in upstate New York.
He and his brother, as well as his cousins, had spent many summers there when they were all kids, and they ended every day with family time on the porch, either swinging or rocking, after dinner. He hadn’t thought about that place in years. His grandparents and the farm were now long gone, but he suddenly realized he still had the memories. Sure, something had to jog them, but they were still there, like it had all happened yesterday.
The answer descended on him like a ton of bricks. It would be the same way with his memories of Cole. Wouldn’t it? Cullen’s fear of forgetting Cole scared him almost as much as losing the man himself. Their memories together were really all he had left to hold on to.
You won’t lose them, Cullen. Just like all your other memories, they may fade a little over time, but just like this stupid old porch swing did, something—a smell, a sound, a song, a photograph—will always bring them flooding back.
Cullen looked up, taken aback when he heard a soft voice. “I didn’t mean to startle you, but this time you look like you could use a friend.”
Surprised, Cullen grinned. “Abel?” The handsome face looking down at him was stoic but laced with genuine concern.
“Are you okay?”
Cullen thought for a moment. “Yeah. I’m working on it, but for now I am.”
Abel looked at the empty spot on the swing and then back up to Cullen.
Cullen jumped to his feet. “Where are my manners? Please, will you join me?”
For some odd reason, Cullen was suddenly concerned for his new friend. Abel’s expression was much like what he had worn earlier in the day. They both sat, and Cullen rested his hands on his lap and looked out over the water. “I might be okay right now, but I don’t think you are.”
Silence lingered between them for a moment, and then Abel stretched out and rested his arm on the back of the bench. “It was a really tough night.”
“You wanna talk about it?”
Abel continued to stare out over the darkness of the Cape Fear River. “It would do no good.”
Swinging together in the darkness of the crisp fall night in perfect rhythm, the screech and whine of the swing protesting every move, Cullen
counted the seconds between each time the Oak Island Lighthouse far off in the distance bathed them in the glow of its lamp.
In one of the rotations, Cullen could have sworn he saw the light reflect off of a single tear sliding down Abel’s cheek. Unable to let it go, Cullen finally said, “It might.”
“It was just another Bible study with those holier-than-thou, Southern Baptist, backwoods attitudes. I don’t think the church will ever change.”
“So that’s what was going on,” Cullen said. “I passed by the church on my way to dinner and saw the crowd mingling on the steps.”
“I thought that was you,” Abel said. “I waved, but you were already gone. I had some things to do in the church, but as soon as I finished, I took a chance and walked over. I was hoping I’d find you here.”
Cullen looked back out over the water. “What verses of the Bible were you studying tonight?”
More silence. And then Abel sighed. It seemed like he was about to finally take Cullen into his confidence. But instead, they both jumped at the sound of a woman’s voice.
“Pastor Weston?”
Abel jumped to his feet. “Courtney! Hey. What are you doing here?”
Cullen listened as the girl explained. “I saw you walk this way after Bible study, so I followed you. I just wanted to tell you that you did a great job tonight with those old coots.”
Courtney looked between Abel and Cullen. “Oh. Courtney. This is uh… uh… Reverend Cullen Kiley. He’s an Episcopal priest visiting Southport for a few days.”
What the…? Episcopal priest?
Cullen stood and extended his hand. “Uh… that’s retired Episcopal priest. It’s nice to meet you, Courtney.”
Courtney shook Cullen’s hand and looked back at Abel. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, Pastor Weston. I just wanted you to know there are people in your corner. I’ll let you gentlemen get back to your conversation.”
“Oh no, Courtney. It’s okay. It’s too late to walk alone. Where are you parked?”
“Back at the church.”
“Okay, then. I’ll escort you.”