The Show (Northwest Passage Book 3)

by John A. Heldt

  Joel took a deep breath and gazed at Grace with eyes that she had never seen. They were not the eyes of the boy who had flirted with her through 1941 or who had left her on a rainy doorstep or even taken her to church that morning. These eyes belonged to someone else.

  "You're all I want, Grace. You're all I've ever wanted. Will you marry me?"

  Grace glanced once more at the spectators to see if they were still enjoying the show. They were. The men held the women close. The women looked on through watery eyes.

  Grace put both of her hands on Joel's face, smiled softly, and then dropped her hands to the velvet box. She took it out of his hand and gently placed it to her side.

  "You don't need to promise a thing or even ask the question," she said as her own tears began to flow. "You already know my answer."

  CHAPTER 25: JOEL

  Waimea, Hawaii – Tuesday, October 3, 2000

  "I, Grace, take thee, Joel, to be my husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, for as long as we both shall live . . ."

  Joel looked at the vision holding his hands and then at the ocean behind her and wondered again whether he had won a cosmic lottery. Saints didn't deserve beach weddings in Kauai, much less spoiled, cocky frat boys who cheated on their taxes, dumped pre-law students who looked like models, and gambled on horses and greyhounds at least twice a month.

  He looked at Grace with unbridled awe. Wearing a strapless, short-hemmed wedding dress and a crown of plumeria, she looked every bit the angel in white. He could not imagine a more beautiful bride, a more perfect moment, or a more promising future than the one that awaited him as the husband of the fetching Miss Vandenberg.

  Joel glanced at his best man Adam Levy, who gave him a thumbs-up, and then at his parents, who stood a few feet away. Cindy blubbered away. He had expected as much. Mothers cried at weddings, particularly mothers who had grown attached to their future daughters-in-law. But fathers usually held back. Military men almost always held back. On this occasion, however, Frank Smith was no better than his wife. Joel nodded to the old man as he wiped away a tear.

  The groom then turned from Frank to Franklin, as in Franklin Powell, the family minister the Smiths had flown in from Seattle to do the honors. Joel thought old Frank, the one in the collar, had a pretty sweet gig. For the price of uniting two lovebirds, he could have all the sunshine and poi he wanted for a week.

  Joel took a ring from Adam, placed it on a slender finger he held in his hand, and once again focused on the main attraction. What a road they had traveled. What a road he had traveled. He had gone from an unemployed college senior in an unsatisfactory relationship to the happiest man on the planet in just a few months.

  Joel gazed at Grace and tried to read her smile. He knew she was happy. She had told him as much on several occasions. But he didn't know what was swirling through her mind now. Did she want more than a life as his wife? Did she want children? A career? She had been conspicuously silent on the latter question, despite his attempts to introduce her to the possibilities that awaited women in 2000. He guessed that he would find out soon enough.

  The groom glanced at the witnesses, who formed a small but diverse assembly. The group included Joel's sister Abby and brother Patrick, their immediate families, three aunts, two uncles, six cousins, ten fraternity brothers, Penelope Price, and Rachel Jakubowski. Rachel had taken a week of unpaid leave from a new job to serve as the maid of honor.

  All had been told something about Grace before the wedding, but none had been told about her pre-Pearl-Harbor past. Joel and Grace had wanted it that way. They had wanted a wedding remembered for laughter and tears and not questions about magic mines and time traveling.

  Katherine and Walter Saito, the de facto parents of the bride, had arrived on Kauai ahead of the others to take care of the particulars. Katie had planned the reception with the help of a daughter who ran a catering service in Waimea. Walter had handled nearly everything else, including walking Grace down the aisle – or what amounted to an aisle on a sandy beach.

  Joel lost himself in happy thoughts and then returned his attention to Pastor Powell, a man who had once sprinkled baptismal water on his forehead and later removed him from a confirmation class for flirting with his daughter. The reverend had moved past the platitudes to the words that marked the end of most weddings.

  "By the power vested in me by God and the state of Hawaii, I now pronounce you husband and wife," Powell said. He looked at Joel. "You may kiss the bride."

  Joel smiled at Grace and then glanced once again at the guests. He saw crying relatives, fist-pumping fraternity brothers, and a few others who seemed more interested in the wedding's venue than its participants. This was as cool as cool got, he thought.

  Pastor Powell did not appear eager to join Joel on a detour down Sentimental Street. After several seconds of inactivity at the surfside altar, he raised an eyebrow and gave his former problem student a look of annoyance the problem student had seen before.

  "Close the deal, Joel."

  Joel nodded, grinned at the minister, and then turned toward his bride. For the first time in twenty-two years, he did as instructed.

  CHAPTER 26: JOEL

  Joel settled into a chair as he watched a photographer train a lens on his table in the open-air pavilion. Keoki of Keoki's Perfect Pictures focused first on the blushing bride, then on the maid of honor, and finally the best man as he rose from his seat and approached a microphone.

  "I have to tell you, folks," Adam Levy said. "I didn't see this coming. Five months ago, I had a best friend I could read like a book. He went through the same motions every day and had very familiar habits. Put differently, he was predictable."

  Joel eyed Adam nervously. He wondered where this was going.

  "How predictable, you ask? Well, let me tell you. Take Saturday mornings. Joel had a ritual that never changed when we roomed together. He would roll out of bed at eight, turn the TV on to SpongeBob SquarePants, and head straight to the kitchen – not for cereal, not for coffee, not even for cold pizza. Oh, no. Not Joel. He opened the fridge and went to work on a big jar of dill pickles. He finished at least a jar a week."

  Joel sighed and then smiled at his laughing guests.

  Adam Levy had more dirt on the groom than the FBI, but he appeared determined to take the high road. If he wanted to talk about Saturday mornings with sponges and pickles instead of Saturday nights with Maria in Mazatlán, then Joel Smith was OK with that.

  Joel settled into his chair as Adam continued.

  "He was also predictable at restaurants. If a waitress wanted to know if he had questions about any menu items, Joel wouldn't ask 'Does it come with fries?' or 'Can I have the dressing on the side?' Nope. Not our Joel. He'd ask instead whether the chickens had been humanely plucked or whether Juan Valdez had ensured the quality of the coffee."

  Joel looked at Grace and saw her try to stifle a laugh. He could see that she was enjoying the show and learning new things about her husband of two hours. He grabbed her hand, kissed her lightly on the lips, and returned his attention to the speaker.

  "My buddy was predictable even when he went out of town. He had a big-time weakness for tourist traps. When we went to Yellowstone in May he bought a keychain he has never used and a cowboy hat he has worn maybe twice. Whenever he went on a distant trip I could count on him bringing back three things: a postcard, a T-shirt, and a bumper sticker. I have an entire drawer full of postcards from Pasadena, T-shirts from Texas, and bumper stickers from Boston."

  Joel scanned more than thirty faces and saw smiles and nods.

  "My point here, folks, is that the Joel Smith of last spring made sense to me. He acted as he had always acted. So when he went to Oregon in June, I expected that he would bring back what he had always brought back from a trip: a postcard, a T-shirt, and a bumper sticker. I didn't expect that he'd bring back a postcard, a T-shirt, a bumper s
ticker, and a Victoria's Secret model."

  Laughter filled the room.

  "I also didn't expect this newly eligible bachelor to throw himself on the spikes before the Seahawks opened the regular season. That was very un-Joel-like, by the way," Adam said as he shook a finger at the groom. "It was the last thing I would have expected from the guy I had known for ten years."

  Adam paused and lowered his voice.

  "But it's the first thing I would have expected from a man in love."

  Joel smiled.

  "Joel is not the same guy I used to know. He no longer badgers waitresses or drives on freeway medians or enters abandoned mines with KEEP OUT signs. To my knowledge, he no longer counts cards in poker or scratches himself in public. He is instead someone who surprises and inspires me every day – a caring, sensitive man I'm proud to call my best friend."

  Adam turned toward the groom and raised a glass.

  "I wish you and Grace all the love and happiness you can find. Cheers!"

  CHAPTER 27: JOEL

  Joel and Grace walked west along the longest beach in Hawaii in pursuit of the setting sun. He had told her that if they caught Old Sol before it slipped below the horizon, the world would always be hers. They didn't quite make it. The sun disappeared just as they reached the water's edge, but Joel didn't mind. He literally had Paradise in the palm of his hand.

  They stared at the waves for a moment and began the half-mile trek back to the resort and a bungalow that had scarcely been used. Only a handful of others occupied their beach, or at least others they could see in the darkening sky.

  "Do you know what day this is?"

  "Tuesday, I think," Joel said. "I've lost track of time here."

  "We're maintaining our proud tradition."

  Joel smiled. She remembered. Tuesday had been more than just another day in the summer of 1941. It had been his day off, the day he had been able to escape the retail jungle of Carter's Furniture and Appliance, visit Grace at the university library, and walk her home. They had used the precious time together to become better acquainted, fall in love, and build a relationship that had stood the test of time.

  "You have to admit that it beats a stroll through the campus," he said.

  "This beats a stroll through anywhere. I know now why you always spoke glowingly of Hawaii. I cannot imagine a more beautiful place to be married and start a new life."

  Joel brushed some sand from the front of his swim trunks and reclaimed Grace's hand.

  "Have you given any more thought to a job or a career?"

  "I have, but . . ."

  "But what?" Joel asked.

  Grace put a hand above her eyes and peered into the distance.

  "Is that your sister over there?" Grace asked.

  Joel put a hand to his forehead, squinted, and made a mental note to visit an ophthalmologist in November. He conceded that failing to recognize his oldest sibling at forty yards, even in dwindling light, was probably not a good thing.

  "Yeah. I think it is."

  Joel waved and led Grace toward his sister.

  Abigail Smith Merriman, 26, stepped forward with her husband, Steve, in tow. She laughed when the two couples got within speaking distance.

  "You wore it!" Abby said, referring to an orange string bikini she had given Grace at a wedding shower in September. "I didn't think you would."

  "I admit I feel a bit naked," Grace said.

  "You're supposed to be naked, dear," Joel said. "It's your wedding night."

  Grace gave Joel an elbow to the side.

  "You look good in it," Abby said. "Doesn't she look good, Steve?"

  Steve smiled.

  "You look good."

  "I don't know," Grace said. "People were staring at me when we left the bungalow."

  Abby laughed.

  "That's because they were admiring you," Abby said. "You had better get used to it."

  "I'm not sure I want to."

  "Of course you do," Abby said. "You know the old saying, 'If you've got it, flaunt it.' Well, sweetie, you've got it, so you might as well flaunt it. Once you have a baby, you'll yearn for the day you could wear something like that."

  "Well, that will be a while," Joel said. "So in the meantime, I'll just have to put up with a wife who wears string bikinis. It's so unfair."

  Abby chuckled.

  "Are you two headed back to the resort?"

  "We're taking the slow road."

  "You should. It's your wedding night."

  "What about you?" Joel asked.

  "We'll probably go a little further down the beach before heading back."

  Joel put his arm around Grace.

  "Enjoy. We'll see you at breakfast."

  "Be good," Abby said with a twinkle in her eye.

  Ten minutes later Joel and Grace approached a bungalow on the perimeter of a resort that specialized in weddings and family gatherings. Joel had picked the resort because of the privacy it offered and its access to the beach. Frank Smith had agreed to the choice because he had been able to rent the facilities at a substantial discount.

  Joel grinned at his bride as they walked up the path to the rental.

  "I'm going to give you a choice, Mrs. Smith. I can carry you through the door or chase you through. Which will it be?"

  "Chase!"

  Grace dropped his hand and raced toward the door. She followed the path, which wound around a palm tree and two Adirondack chairs, to the steps.

  Joel admired her speed and agility. She had not lost a step since he had paid an unexpected visit to the university library in October 1941 and had chased her around the Crypt – a dark, musty archive in the rare books section. How long ago that time seemed.

  Joel didn't follow Grace up the path. He instead took a shortcut to the left, leaped onto the front porch, and assumed a position in front of the door. He grinned and held his arms open as she approached the steps.

  "Come to Papa," Joel said.

  Grace scowled.

  "I don't like you."

  Grace stepped away from the porch, moved her head around, as if looking for options, and walked briskly toward the side of the rental. Within seconds, she disappeared from sight.

  Joel laughed at the thought of chasing his wife on their wedding night. He was getting too old for this, but he relished it just the same. He looked forward to life with this woman.

  "There's no escape, Grace. This is an island."

  Joel walked slowly to the back of the bungalow and closely examined the smaller, unlit porch in back. He could find neither hide nor hair of the blonde who had apparently escaped his grasp. He continued his inspection of the perimeter until he returned to the front of the structure. When he reached the bottom of the steps, he heard a door slam.

  "Grace?"

  "You stay right there," she said from behind the door. "You can't come in."

  "Why?"

  "Because."

  "Because. OK. That's a start. Because why?"

  Grace lowered her voice.

  "Because you haven't done what you're supposed to do."

  "We're getting closer, Grace, but I just may have to 'phone a friend' on this one."

  "You do that."

  "What haven't I done?"

  "You haven't serenaded me."

  Joel chuckled.

  "OK. What do you want me to sing?"

  "The 'Macarena' song."

  "Hmm. I don't know. That might damage my vocal cords. How about 'Edelweiss' or something from Guys and Dolls?"

  "No. I want the 'Macarena.' I won't let you in until you sing it."

  Joel took a few seconds to ponder her statement. No stand on principle was worth spending one's wedding night – alone – in an Adirondack chair.

  A moment later, Grace appeared in a small window near the door. She folded her arms, raised her brows, and stared at Joel through the screen.

  "I'm waiting," she said.

  Joel quickly jumped aboard the Macarena Express. He began humming the popular tun
e, mumbling in Spanish, and moving his arms like a cheerleader on five cups of espresso.

  He glanced over his shoulders, to make sure no one else was watching, and continued swaying and mumbling for a couple of minutes until he looked again at the window and saw a slight smile form on Grace's face. A few seconds later, he heard a door lock click.

  He nervously ascended the steps, hoping that he wouldn't hear the lock click again. When he opened the door and walked inside, he found chairs, tables, and cabinets made of rattan, wicker, and bamboo, and a bride made of something better.

  "You didn't really sing to me."

  "Trust me, Grace. You don't want me to sing. I wouldn't do that to Adam."

  Grace pouted.

  She stood by the edge of a queen bed that had barely been touched when they had changed out of their wedding clothes a few hours earlier. A bottle of expensive champagne, also untouched, protruded from a crystal cooler nearby.

  Joel locked the door and then walked toward the bed. When he reached the modest girl in the not-so-modest string bikini, he put his arms around her waist and kissed her softly.

  "What did I ever do to deserve you?"

  Grace smiled.

  "You dropped to a knee in public and professed your love."

  She tilted her head and looked at him more thoughtfully.

  "Are you ever going to sing to me, Mr. Smith?"

  "I may, someday – but not tonight. Tonight I'm going to tell you how much I love you and tell you how lucky I feel just to be standing in this room."

  Grace sighed and looked at her husband with welcoming eyes.

  "I'm so happy, Joel."

  "I am too. We're going to have a great life, Grace. I know it," Joel said. "As soon as we get back, we'll find a house. I know of at least one in Madison Park I think you'd like. It's not big, but it's big enough. Then we'll get you a job or get you in school – whatever you want."

  Grace smiled sadly as moisture formed in her eyes.

  "What's the matter?" Joel asked. "Did I say something wrong?"

  "No. I like the idea of a house. I like the idea of making you happy."