The Mist of Quarry Harbor

by Liz Adair

  Chan nodded, grinning, and Cassie felt the earth shift under her as he looked down and said softly, “I knew you had that certain something.” It was a private moment, though Punky was standing just across the table.

  It was Punky who broke the silence. “Well,” she said. “I just remembered something I have to do at home. I’ll scoot on over and take care of it.”

  “Punky! What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about leaving you two alone. I feel like a fifth wheel. Or is it a third wheel?”

  Chan walked around and pulled out a chair. “Will you please be seated, Ms. Jones? I’m not going to let you get away without finding out where you’re from and what that faint accent is I heard when you said ‘come on in.’”

  “Well, if you really want me . . .”

  “Of course we do!” Cassie affirmed, sitting down opposite Punky. “Chan, you sit there. And will you ask the blessing?” She bowed her head and listened to the prayer offered up from her table, reveling in the familiar Mormon rhythms and speech patterns. Never had she said amen with such a thankful heart.

  “Punky, will you serve the lasagna?” she asked. “And, Chan, will you pour your sparkling grape juice?”

  “I will,” he answered, “but Punky has to tell me where she’s from.”

  “I’m from Flagstaff,” Punky said. “But what you’re hearing is an east Texas accent. I lived in Beaumont until I was ten. I thought it was all gone.”

  “It is, mostly. What brought your family to Flagstaff?”

  “My daddy teaches at the university there. Hand me your plate and I’ll give you some of this.”

  Chan obliged, asking, “And what does he teach?” But even as he listened to Punky’s answer, his eyes slid over to rest on Cassie. Dishing up salad, she looked up to meet his eyes and smiled her thanks for the comfortable way he was including Punky in the conversation.

  Chan stayed until eleven, and the hours flew by. They lingered over dinner, following a thread of conversation that wound from Flagstaff to Mesa Verde and on to Mexico with a stop-off at Beaumont. Chan insisted on helping with the dishes, and as darkness fell, they wandered to the living room, turned on the lights, and talked about rattlesnakes and Gila monsters, childhood fears, first memories, and old commercial jingles. They went from there to Broadway plays, and Chan talked Punky into singing her favorite Broadway tune. She sat at Cassie’s old upright piano and played an arpeggio, humming softly to find the range, and then she sang the first verse to one of Cassie’s favorite songs from the musical Camelot: “If Ever I Would Leave You.”

  Cassie sank into the corner of the couch, leaning back her head and closing her eyes. She replayed in her mind the lovely scene where Lancelot proclaims his love to Guinevere in song. Punky’s full contralto filled the room, as she began the second verse.

  Cassie turned her head and opened her eyes, meeting Chan Jordain’s steady gaze. Their eyes locked and something passed between them, something electric like the arc of a powerful current that welds together two pieces of steel, or like the flash of lightning as the charge from black and brooding clouds finds a ground in the earth. You could almost smell the ozone in the air. So, when Punky finished the song and turned around, though Cassie dropped her eyes, Punky knew.

  She stood and said, “Well, I’m outta here.” Approaching Chan, she held out her hand. “It was nice to meet you. Will we see you again?”

  Chan stood to take Punky’s hand. “I hope so. I was going to ask Cassie if I could go to church with you all.”

  “That would be great. See you tomorrow, Cass. Be sure to tell Chan about FHE. And remember, he’s on my team.”

  Cassie didn’t stand, but waved good-bye from her post on the couch, watching Punky’s exit and turning to face Chan only when her friend had closed the door behind her.

  He was still standing. “I’ll leave, too,” he said. “I don’t want to wear out my welcome.”

  “You could not.” It was a statement but came out as a huskily whispered promise. She held out a hand, and he stepped closer and pulled her to her feet.

  He did not relinquish the hand, but held it as he walked to the door.

  As they paused in the entryway, Cassie, her back to the door, was aware of how close he was standing, and she watched as he raised her fingers to his lips.

  “Can I pick you up in the morning?” he asked softly.

  “Mmm. Yes.” He had somehow opened her hand and had pressed it against his cheek. She felt the roughness of the emerging stubble, and then she felt the pressure of his lips on the inside of first her palm and then her wrist.

  “I’d better go,” he whispered, but he didn’t let go her hand.

  “Yes,” she agreed in the same breathless tone, but neither moved.

  “I’d better go.” Was there an alternative hanging in the air between them?

  Making a concerted effort to overcome the magnetic force that was pulling her toward that alternative, Cassie reached behind her and felt for the doorknob. The faint “click” as it turned in her hand seemed to break the spell, and she pulled the door open a crack. “Eight-thirty tomorrow morning?”

  Chan stepped back so she could swing the door all the way open, and they both stepped out into the warm desert evening.

  She gave his hand a squeeze and released it. “Good night,” she said.

  “I’ll see you in the morning.” Then he was off down the sidewalk, moving in and out of the luminous pools cast by the landscape lighting.

  Cassie stood on the step and listened to the sound of his retreating footsteps. Then she turned and floated back into her house, humming, “If ever I would leave you . . .”

  5

  Cassie was up early Sunday morning, dressing with care in a crisp white linen column dress with navy piping around the collar and two rows of tiny navy buttons down the front. She was glad for the lesson she had to give in Relief Society that demanded her attention, so she wouldn’t keep looking at the clock. She had prayed last night for wisdom, but it was hard to be wise when her pulse was beating out the rhythm of a love song every time she thought of Chan Jordain.

  Dutifully, Cassie sat at the table and began to finish her preparation for Relief Society. After catching herself staring into space with her highlighter in her hand, she bent to her task and was so successful in concentrating on her lesson that when the doorbell rang, she was startled. Hurriedly closing her scriptures and gathering up materials, she stuck them in a canvas bag and grabbed her purse, reaching the door just as the bell rang again.

  Cassie stood just a moment to try to quiet the song in her pulse only to have her heart skip a beat when she opened the door and saw Chan in a dark blue suit, white shirt, and striped red and blue tie.

  Cassie was repaid for the care she took in dressing by the warmth in Chan’s gaze. “Good morning,” he said, reaching to take her bag from her. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes. Thanks.” Cassie relinquished the satchel, checked to make sure she had her keys, and locked the door behind her. The day was already warm, but there was a faint breeze stirring, bringing the scent of newly-mown grass, evidence of Sunday gardeners already at work.

  The drive to the chapel was a matter of three blocks. “I usually walk,” Cassie explained.

  Three deacons were at the flagpole putting up the flag. “Hey, nice car,” one called as the open convertible pulled into a parking spot.

  “Thanks,” Chan called back. He grabbed Cassie’s bag out of the backseat and waited for her on the sidewalk, following her lead to the side door of the building, which he held open for her.

  It wasn’t until they reached the chapel proper that Cassie remembered Ben. He was there sitting by Punky, and Cassie’s heart sank as she realized he had been checking the door, watching for her. Ben’s eyes lit up when he saw her, but the welcoming smile froze when he saw Chan bend his head down to murmur in her ear as he followed her to the Three Amigos’ pew.

  Punky stepped into the breach. Noting Be
n’s set face and Cassie’s stricken look, she greeted Chan warmly and made introductions, making sure that Ben knew that Cassie had met Chan in St. George and that he had only come to town yesterday. She also introduced Ricky, who was sitting on her lap and who looked up with wide, dark-lashed eyes and allowed Chan to shake his chubby little hand.

  Cassie could not have reported on the content of the sacrament meeting talks, but she felt a soaring, affirming spirit all the way through. During the hymns, as she listened to Punky’s full voice on one side and Chan singing a rich baritone on the other, she thought, I have never been so spiritually energized.

  When the meeting was over, Ben leaned over Punky and said, “Cassie, help me take Ricky to nursery, will you?”

  Startled, Cassie could only blink, but Punky said as she handed Ben his son, “I’ll take Chan along with me. We’ll save you a seat, Cassie. Are you coming to Sunday School, or are you staying in the nursery, Ben?”

  “That depends,” Ben said, and his voice was curt.

  “Follow me, Chan,” Punky directed and headed down the aisle. Chan looked from Ben to Cassie and raised an eyebrow.

  “Yes, go on.” Cassie said. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Chan nodded, looked again at Ben, and turned to follow Punky, who was waiting for him at the door.

  Cassie smiled at Ricky. “Want to go to nursery? You do? Well, come on then.” She reached out for him, and he willingly went from his father’s arms into her own. As they walked to the nursery Ben was a thundercloud, but Cassie kept up a light conversation with Ricky.

  “Are you going to color?” she asked, and Ricky nodded solemnly. “Are you going to sing?” Again the solemn nod. “Are you going to play with the trucks?” Nod. “Are you going to play with the blocks?” Nod. “Are you going to have a snack?” Nod.

  Cassie set him down at the nursery door. “Let me see you go in all by yourself. Your daddy and I are going to talk right here for a minute, and then he’s going to come in and check on you. Is that okay?” Again the nod.

  Cassie opened the door, and Ricky walked in without a backward glance.

  “He never does that for me,” Ben said grimly, looking around. Stepping across the hall, he opened a door and motioned her to follow. “I need to talk to you.”

  “In the janitor’s closet?”

  “I don’t know of any other room that’s not occupied.” He switched on the light and closed the door behind them. “What’s going on, Cassie?”

  “What do you mean, Ben?” Cassie stepped back against the wall to gain some distance.

  “I don’t know if you remember, but I just proposed to you. You gave me an idea you might say yes. And then you show up with Mr. Handsome Playboy. What gives?”

  “Ben, I didn’t make you any promises. I said if it was going to happen, it would happen. I didn’t say I was going to make it happen.”

  “And, is ‘it’ happening with this guy?” Ben propped his hand against the wall behind her and leaned in, his face close to hers.

  “Ben, I don’t want to hurt you.” She stopped to listen to a voice wailing in the hall. “That’s Ricky.”

  “He’ll survive. Answer my question.” Ben noted the flash in Cassie’s eyes and the tightening around her mouth and added, “Please.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you, Ben, I don’t know. I think it could happen with Chan. And if it does, it’ll be easier because of this little display of temper and rudeness.”

  “Temper and rudeness!” Ben jerked a squeegee that was hanging on the wall above Cassie and flung it to the floor. It hit the mop bucket and ricocheted into the mop sink. “Temper and rudeness!” he repeated. “For Pete’s sake, woman, do you know what you’ve done?”

  “No, and I’m not going to stay here for you to tell me. You’ve got a child that is being dragged through the building crying while they’re trying to find his father. You’d better go to him.”

  Pushing her way past Ben, she grabbed the doorknob.

  “Cassie. . . .” His voice was pleading.

  Cassie wouldn’t look at him. “I’ll talk to you about this, Ben, but not now, not here.” Pushing the door open, she stepped into the hallway, grateful that no one was around to see her escape. Without looking back she headed for the safety of the ladies’ room, where she turned on the tap and let it run long enough to ensure that the water was hot. Then, using lots of soap, she washed her hands, rubbing them together and letting the hot water carry the anger and hurt down the drain. Finally, she turned off the water. Shoulders back, she regarded herself in the mirror. “You’ll do,” she thought.

  Two little girls came into the restroom, holding hands. Cassie took one last look in the mirror and left, heading for the Gospel Doctrine class.

  * * *

  Later, as Chan drove Cassie home, he asked, “How did your lesson go?”

  “It went fine, thanks to you. You were brave to go in during the Second Ward’s sacrament meeting to retrieve my bag.”

  As they turned into the parking lot of Cassie’s condo, Chan found a space in some shade. Pulling between the lines, he turned off the engine and regarded her. “Give me another task. Something really hard. Really brave.”

  Cassie cocked her head and frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I want to be able to stand out above the competition.”

  “Competition? I still don’t understand.”

  “What’s his name? Ben? He was obviously bent out of shape to see me there.”

  A leaf came fluttering down from the mulberry tree they were parked beneath and landed on the console between the seats. Cassie picked it up and tossed it outside. She opened her purse and took out her house keys. “Well, I’ll tell you about Ben. I love him dearly . . .”

  The sentence lay suspended between them, unfinished, for a moment.

  “But . . .” prompted Chan.

  “You asked for a task,” Cassie said finally, looking down at the keys in her hands. “This is your task: be kind to Ben. Get to know him. Treat him like the brother he is, in the gospel. He’s a good man; he honors his priesthood. He goes out every day and lays his life on the line for the community. Your task is to love him as I do.”

  “No dragons to slay? No distress to rescue you from?”

  Cassie looked up, and her eyes were shiny with unshed tears. “That is my distress. Rescue me.”

  “Done! Shake on it.” Chan offered his hand and solemnly she clasped it in a firm grip.

  “Done,” she echoed. “You can start by coming to play basketball with us at FHE tomorrow night. Seven at the church house.”

  “Who all will be there?”

  “Just the Three Amigos: Punky, Ben, and I. It’s our ward single adult family home evening group. Would you like to come up for lunch? I’ve got leftover lasagna.”

  “As good as that sounds, if I’m going to play basketball with you tomorrow night, I’ve got things I need to do. I’m supposed to leave town tomorrow. I’ll put it off ’til Tuesday, but if I’m going to do that, there are bases that have to be covered.”

  “Leaving town?” Cassie tried to keep her voice light and only mildly interested.

  “For a few days.”

  “When will you be back? Next weekend is Labor Day, and we’re all going up to Punky’s folks’ cabin at Flagstaff. I know she was going to include you in the invitation.”

  “Who is ‘we all’?”

  “Punky and Ben and I. Ricky is coming, too.”

  Chan traced the letters on the circle in the middle of the steering wheel. A lock of hair fell over his forehead, and he smoothed it back, then shook his head. Frowning, he faced Cassie. “It’s a schedule I can’t change. I would if I could.”

  Cassie opened the car door. “That’s all right,” she said. “But, we’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks for the ride.”

  “Tomorrow, then. Seven at the church.”

  Cassie turned and walked across the asphalt toward her doorway, and Chan started the engine and backed out of the
parking space. As he headed out the driveway, Cassie hollered, “You’re on Punky’s team.”

  Chan didn’t look around but raised his hand as a signal that he had heard. Then he turned onto the thoroughfare and was gone.

  6

  The day had just begun to cool when Cassie arrived at the chapel. Ben, dressed in cut-off jeans and an old tee shirt, sat with his basketball beside him on the lawn of the chapel, occupying the tip of a very long shadow cast by a tall juniper tree in the parking lot.

  Cassie parked her car and looked at her watch, then got out and strolled over to sit on the grass by him. “I wonder where Punky is. Usually she’s here early.”

  “There she comes.” Ben pointed as a green Volkswagen turned into the parking lot, bounced over a speed bump, and pulled up in front of them. Leaving the car running, Punky jumped out and tossed a key to Ben. “They called me in to work. Two people out and a soccer tournament in town. I gotta go. Sorry.”

  “Oh, Punky!” Cassie complained. “You can’t leave us!”

  “Yes I can. I gotta go.” She got back in the car, ground into reverse, bounced back over the speed bump and out into the street.

  “Well,” Cassie said, carefully retying a shoe. “Our numbers are dwindling.”

  “Not so you’d notice,” Ben said through clenched teeth, staring at the white convertible just turning in. “Who invited him?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did,” Cassie said. She kept her tone light as she waved a welcome.

  Chan returned the wave. As he got out of the car, Ben sprang up, grabbed his basketball, and stalked to the meetinghouse door. Unlocking it, he disappeared inside.

  “Hi, there.” Chan, looking cool and pressed in a white knit shirt and khaki shorts, smiled as he approached.

  Cassie got up and smiled a greeting. “Hi. I guess it’s just you, me, and Ben. Punky found out she has to work.”

  “My teammate! But I see that Ben is here already. Are we still going to play, or shall you and I take off and leave sour Ben to practice free throws?”