by A. K. Smith
Tim’s love of water continued, his summers spent in the little town on the Sea of Cortez in Mexico called Puerto Penasco with his Uncle Dan. Only a four-hour drive from Phoenix, Arizona, his uncle’s work and connection with CEDO—Intercultural Center for the Study of Deserts and Oceans—fed Tim’s desire and fascination with the sea.
Tim, his passion for the water and admiration for his Uncle Dan, surprised everyone by enlisting in the ROTC his senior year in high school and joining the Navy. His brother, Tyler, one year behind Tim, followed in his footsteps, joined the ROTC as a sophomore and signed up for the Navy by the time he was a senior in high school. Tyler and Tim both made the first levels of acceptance into the Navy SEAL program at the same time and were determined to make it through the program.
The Navy SEAL era in his life was never discussed. He didn’t want to talk about it. But on the honeymoon, he woke up yelling and crying out in the middle of the night. She woke up, holding him, wiping tears and kissing his cheek repeating, “It’s okay, Tim.” She heard him whisper, “Tyler”, before he woke up.
Tim didn’t talk about the nightmare.
It wasn’t until the next night under the stars on the roof deck, with his arms around her, sipping tequila, Tim whispered the story, until the sun peeked out from the ocean horizon.
“It was after the last phase of Navy SEAL training we were both home for two days and that’s when it happened. He drowned.” His voice was a whisper. “Tyler and an old high school friend, Max, had been drinking all day and they were swimming laps underwater to see who could hold their breath the longest. It didn’t make sense. He was a SEAL, an amazing swimmer. Tyler died holding his breath too long. My parents died thirty days later in a small plane crash.”
That was all she ever heard about his SEAL days and of his parents’ death.
Tim retired from the Navy and on the G.I. Bill attended Gettysburg College. He didn’t ramble about college days or share ex-girlfriend stories. All she knew was his Uncle Dan lived in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, and he helped his uncle out with his old local bar, during college.
It was in graduate school Tim met Tricia, his first wife, in a bar. She was visiting from New York and became pregnant right before Tim was due to graduate. Tim experienced graduation, marriage, and having a child like ordering a meal with the appetizer, entrée and dessert all coming to the table at once. Days after graduation, he moved to Scottsdale, Arizona, securing a job with an innovative Engineering, Science and Biotech firm.
Tim never talked about his ex-wife. Good or bad. All she knew was she cheated on him after twelve years of marriage. To make it worse, it was with her friend’s husband. After they divorced, he moved back to Gettysburg and re-opened up the bar he inherited from his Uncle Dan, restoring and remodeling it into a contemporary speakeasy called “Jackson’s Easy.” She knew the dissolution of marriage had hurt him deeply, but he never discussed it.
****
Kendall lit the vanilla candle and sank back on the white cushions, when a black creature tried to climb into her lap. Even though Harvey weighed fifty-four pounds, he still thought he was a lapdog. He coiled his body into the littlest ball possible and curled up in her lap. As she stroked his soft black hair and patted his stomach, the exhaustion of the day took over.
For the first time since Tim died, Kendall skipped the glass of tequila and Harvey skipped his nightly vigil of waiting for Tim by the front window. Instead, he curled up and lay beside Kendall, both falling into a deep sleep.
****
Kendall woke up, Harvey beside her, sleeping on his back with his paws in the air, and the lone candle still burning. The scent of sweet vanilla filled the air, grounding her in the present and she recognized the gnarly pain in her abdomen. Her mind, still a little foggy from the day’s events, she remembered the telephone call from Mexico. Did she dream it? She was certain she didn’t as she went into the kitchen searching for food. She took two slices of wheat bread, some homemade strawberry jam and a jar of JIF peanut butter and made a sandwich for herself and a bowl of dog food with peanut butter on it for Harvey.
It was four-thirty a.m. when she and Harvey crawled into the new white sheets. The plethora of pictures of Tim on her bedside, gone.
A change was going to come. Her heart seemed stronger, her mind clearer. She needed a wake-up call. It was hard to believe she had actually tried swallowing all the pills. Before Tim’s death, suicide would never have crossed her mind, never…but she had a feeling, call it an intuition, call it strength from above, change was coming and someone was looking out for her.
And for the first time in a long time, change didn’t scare her or make her incredibly sad.
Chapter 6
With strong arms, he lifted his body up and out of the crystal turquoise liquid with little or no effort. He gently shook off the beads of water, flung his dark, wet hair out of his face, scaled the limestone ledge to the ladder, climbed up, and pulled himself up to the edge in a simple gesture.
She was waiting for him when he walked out of the lush green jungle and into the clearing. He smiled as he moved toward her. Her gaze roamed appreciatively over his body. She’d told him he had the body of an Olympic swimmer with the grace of a male ballerina.
“It will be here before we know it.” Her long brown hair was wavy in the humidity, her body toned and petite under a colorful flowing Mexican sarong, her skin tan from days of sunshine. Her gracious smile enhanced her face.
“I know,” he said, smiling. “We’ve waited a long time. Perhaps this time it will really happen.”
“Do you think it will happen?” she asked.
He clasped her warm hand in his. “We can only hope and believe.”
Chapter 7
Kendall could tell by the brightness in the room, and how the light hit the canvas print of Tim and her on the wall, it was late. The waves were not moving. She had overslept. She surged out of bed feeling remarkably energized; Harvey jumped dramatically as if to emphasize how late it was, and barked. Twenty minutes to shower and make it to her office. Stripping her clothes off, she walked into the bathroom and turned the hot water on.
Grabbing a black pinstriped skirt and black blouse, she was ready. She looked in the mirror. Behind her in the reflection were the new white comforter and the clutterless dressers void of all the pictures, except one. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of the black blouse as she peeled it off and put on a light blue one instead. She liked black; even before Tim died she sought out cute black outfits, but in the last year and a half, it had become a uniform. Time for a change. Adding a belt and boots, she kissed Harvey on the nose and was off.
Grabbing her iPhone, she took a sharp intake of breath…the message from Puerto Morelos. She didn’t dream it. She would barely make it to the nine a.m. Director’s meeting. I’ll put it out of my mind until the meeting’s over, then I’ll make the call.
****
Kendall’s foot moved up and down against the bottom wheel of her chair. As hard as she tried to keep her mind focused on the upcoming graduation ceremonies at Western Maryland College, she could not stop thinking about Mexico, and the message left on her inbox. Staring at the hands on the clock, watching Frank Alexander’s mouth talk about Commencement services, back to staring at the hands of the clock, back to his mouth. Gripping the bottom of her chair, she tried to calm down, taking soft deep breaths and holding her foot still, she did her best to appear interested in the meeting.
Finally, the meeting ended. Her heart raced and she stood up. Pulling her phone out of her skirt pocket, she headed for the outside.
Kendall concentrated on each stair. She didn’t want to meet anyone or have any discussions; she just wanted to make the call. She rushed down the four flights of stairs and escaped into the outside air.
Like a newborn opening his eyes after a nap and realizing the wonder of light in the world, for the first time in what seemed like forever, she noticed the warmth of the sun and the prisms of light shining th
rough the towering trees on campus. Western Maryland College was a picturesque campus, filled with green leaves, spring flowers, and a party of old sturdy trees dancing in the wind and leaning against old buildings. Built on a hill overlooking the town, it was covered with emerald grass sprinkled with a gardener’s dream of crayon box colors of flowers lining the walks. Peaceful and inspiring; anyone could study here. Sidewalks meandering through the campus, either of bronze earthy cobblestone or red brick pavers, completed the canvas. Only 1500 students had the privilege of attending this small, private liberal arts school. It was the oldest co-ed college south of the Mason-Dixon line, started in 1867 after the Civil War. WMC quietly touted an alumni roster of unique, prominent men and women, not well known to most, but whose actions made a difference in significant outcomes in military and government history. Its strong PhD program in biochemistry and bioscience was in close proximity to the nation’s capital, Gettysburg, and the mountains of Catoctin.
The sounding of the bells in the church tower indicated it was eleven a.m. She headed down to the park bench on the golf course pond to make the call. The phone was ringing. Kendall knew she was calling Mexico because of the long ring tone. A woman answered the phone, “Buenos dias, Scout’s Dive Shop.”
Her heart beating rapidly, she said, “Buenos dias, hola, Señor Scout Whitman por favor?” She was out of practice on her little known Spanish. No response. “Do you speak English?”
“Si. Yes. Mr. Scout he is not here, I take messages for him. Would you like to leave a message?”
“Yes, this is Kendall Jackson.”
“Sorry, Chango Jackson?”
“No, ummm, Tim Jackson’s wife returning Scout’s call about the trip. He left Tim a message, I mean he left a message on our phone about a trip…Are you a dive shop?” Her heart was pounding like a fast drum. Tim had scheduled a dive trip? When?
“Yes, this is Scout’s Dive Shop.”
“Could you ask him to call me at this number today after four?”
After repeating the phone number twice, and spelling Tim Jackson as the contact name, as the name Kendall made no translation in Spanish, she put the phone back in her pocket and wished, with every jumping nerve in her body, she had not dumped what was left of her pills into the toilet last night. Her skin crawled with sensation, itchy, tight with pulsating blood. She was anything but calm, and the idea of holding onto something regarding Tim was probably the wrong road to lead her mind down. When did he plan a dive trip…he has been gone for sixteen months?
It was an excruciating, long day at work. The Student Government Association last year, had selected the founder of Twitter, Jack Dorsey, to be their Commencement speaker and arrangements were finalized. Now due to a schedule change and a court battle over Twitter IPO, they were left with finding someone two months before graduation.
The task of securing a speaker was the highest priority to the administration. It was the final event of each student’s career at Western Maryland College and the message was of the utmost importance. After the students reluctantly agreed to give up on Mark Zuckerberg, the top three names on the list were all technology-driven.
Generation Y and Z heroes. With over a billion users on Facebook, the world was tech crazy and social media obsessed. The students had even suggested the Commencement speaker be on a webcast or Skype. The committee insisted on an in-person speaker.
Time was running out to secure a speaker at this date. The fourth backup speaker was the only one who was an alumnus of the college, well, sort of an alumnus. After taking Mark Zuckerberg off the list, it consisted of Tim Westergren, founder of Pandora Radio, Connor Pope, founder of ‘What is it?’—a website and hot phone app that helped users identify objects such as insects, plants, trees, animals and food—and Conrad Nathaniel, a thirty-something alumnus biologist who was working on a scientific process whereby humans could breathe underwater.
She studied his bio. The Conrad Nathaniel family, one of the biggest benefactors of the college since its inception in 1876. Numerous buildings named after his grandparents and great-great-grandparents. But unlike his ancestors, Conrad attended his freshman year at Western Maryland before transferring to the University of California, Santa Barbara, majoring in Ecology, Evolution, and Marine Biology. The amazing thing about Conrad, not only did he graduate with honors from UC Santa Barbara, he completed his remaining credits from Western Maryland online, and successfully graduated with degrees from both schools. Now, based outside of Baltimore, he was a prominent figure in MCDB—Molecular, Cellular, and Developmental Biology—leading the world in underwater technology.
Kendall remembered a conversation with Steve, Tim’s partner at the bar, stating Conrad Nathaniel came in Jackson’s Easy last year, after Tim’s death, and expressed his sympathy for the loss, leaving Kendall a card with a sizable donation made in Tim’s name to the college. When Steve handed her the donation card, she remembered wondering how Tim had known him.
Well, if I can’t get the other two tech wizards to speak…maybe the connection with Tim will help me secure Conrad Nathaniel. Kendall was sure she had sent him a thank you note, the donation was quite a large sum of money, but she had never met the man.
Her iPhone vibrated. An exceptionally long line of numbers flashed on the screen; it was Mexico calling.
Chapter 8
Scout Whitman turned off the key to the Jeep and let out a deep sigh. Looking up to the sky through his polarized Ray-Bans, he could see the gray outline of the rain clouds rapidly covering the blue. He stretched back, grabbed anything that shouldn’t get wet lying on the backseat and stuffed it into the long yellow dry bag.
He had just completed teaching a three-day training course for cavern diving with four seniors from Arizona State University. Four different dives in three caves in three days. The guys had done a great job and had been easy to work with. He burped. Maybe he should have stopped at the fourth Negro Modelo Especial beer and fifth shot of tequila. The ASU guys, twenty years younger, were diving and playing hard. He tossed the age difference aside like a wet bar napkin and kept up with them drink after drink. When he left the Palapa Bar, the four guys waved, bleary-eyed, as he walked sober as a Christian woman coming out of church. He could hear them as he hoisted his body into the jeep, cheering each other on as he pulled out of the parking lot and drove the short drive to his dive shop.
Lily was sitting on a stool behind the counter, with her legs crossed, staring at the computer. Petite with doe-brown eyes, she had lovely black hair, which sometimes turned red and once purple, but now sported blond ends. Scout noticed she spent quite a bit of time today applying her makeup and extra-long black lashes. Red lips, red nails, and black eyeliner with silver shadow completed the picture.
“Buenas tardes, Scout.” Lily flashed her dazzling new white smile, since just recently her braces had come off. She held out a phone message slip on hot pink paper. She had copied hundreds, perhaps even thousands of these “while you were gone” notes on fluorescent sheets. Scout had fifty calls a year.
“You have a message, from a gringo, someone you called calling you back.” Her mouth went back to a line as she stared at the computer.
He was relieved to see the message was from Tim Jackson. It had been a long time, almost two years, since he had contact with Tim. In the last six months, he had emailed him repeatedly, tried numerous phone numbers, and finally left a message on his wife’s phone yesterday. He was looking forward to the cave diving trip with Tim and his son. Tim visited him almost two years ago, rented a few tanks, and paid him to take him out for a day of diving.
He remembered the day distinctly. Tim had a commanding look but a sincere, gentle demeanor. Women would find him attractive with a movie star quality, some famous actor sort of resemblance. He was confident enough in his manhood to notice when a man possessed something special and he knew to most women Tim was something special.
He had enjoyed the day as if he were diving with an old friend who was part fish. T
ime flew by with easy conversation and stories about cave diving. As a leader in cave diving expeditions, with more cave dives under his belt than anyone in the Western Hemisphere they discussed his explorations and mapping of various cenotes in the Yucatán which were the first English published books on cenotes. Tim asked him intriguing questions about certain dives and the stories flowed easily.
Packing up the gear and closing up the boat, Tim pulled two beers out of a cooler and handed one to Scout. “Buy you a beer?”
They sat down on his little deck under a beautiful leaning palm tree, looking out at the sea with the color of the sky turning orange, a warm hue signaling a day’s end. Tim pulled out a long round cylinder out of his backpack.
“I want to hire you as a guide for a diving trip for my son’s eighteenth birthday.”
He presented a hand-drawn map, noticeably old by the writing and numbers on the scale, but preserved and in excellent condition. Scout didn’t recognize this area or underground cavern system. Cenotes for the most part were privately owned and the cenotes in the area Tim wanted to dive were definitely off limits and had been for as long as Scout had been in the area.
“It’s a difficult area to access by any vehicle and it’s private property.” Most unexplored cenotes were unexplored for a reason, they were passed down with the land from generation to generation with no access to the public.
“I understand. I have permission from the land owners.” Tim presented a letter in Spanish signed by the owners of the land, sealed with a notario stamp allowing Tim Jackson and his son Ryder and three guides access into the area. Attached to it was a much smaller copy of the hand-drawn map, barely readable.
“It’s a special present for my son. I want him to be part of a discovery on his eighteenth birthday,” Tim said. “This trip is confidential. I know you are in the cave diving circuit, but no one should know. I promised the owners I would not bring in any tourists or public interest. Between us. Understood?”