by Heidi Glick
He rubbed his arm and remembered the first warning he received when he found his stepdad could walk and used his wheelchair as an excuse. A cigarette burn reminded him not to tell anyone what he’d seen. And the man who’d tried to steal Juanita away, warning her about the Knight—he’d been in a wheelchair, too. So when the basketball team captain smiled while talking to a fellow student who was in a wheelchair, the Knight figured the girl could easily use his help, just as Juanita did. He’d be the one to rescue her from another man in a wheelchair. Even if he couldn’t rescue Mom from his stepdad, the Knight could still help other women.
3
Mark’s encounter with Beth in front of the café had been long ago. She surely couldn’t remember that. Besides, chances were she hadn’t recognized him then. Good thing a nonconformist didn’t pay attention to detail.
Having stepped away from her car, Beth stood in the parking lot of Fishy Business, a few feet from his wheelchair. The afternoon sun reflected light off a shimmery silver toe ring on her right foot, causing Mark to squint.
Beth sighed. “You never returned to see my family. Never spoke to any of us. It would have been comforting for my mom and dad to know you tried to save their son.”
Patrons walked by and waved at him before entering the store—people who didn’t know about his failed rescue attempt, and he wanted to keep it that way.
He shrugged and lowered his voice. “Everyone got hurt, right? Am I any better than anyone else?” Sympathy. The last thing he wanted from anyone.
“I appreciate what you did. You put yourself at risk to save my brother. Thank you.” Beth bent over and gave him a slight hug. A floral scent wafted in his direction. After thirty seconds of awkward silence, she walked away.
“He would have done the same for me.”
Beth turned to face him. “Regardless, you laid down your life for your friend.”
Interesting choice of words. “Are you going to be in the area for a while on vacation or…”
“I took a teaching job in Warner’s Bay. I found an apartment, but I’m still in the process of moving in.”
“Warner’s Bay.” He scratched his head. “That’s about twenty minutes away from here, right?” Was asking a question he already knew the answer to a form of lying? Some sort of deception at least. Quite out of character for him. But fear can make a man do strange things.
She nodded and looked at the ground. “In his letters home, Chris made this area sound exciting.” She smiled. “I decided to check it out for myself. Maybe find out more about why he liked it so much.”
Moving on a whim. Then again, he’d sort of done the same. But for different reasons. Ones he preferred to keep to himself. “I teach at Riversdale Community College during the day, but on the evenings and weekends, my buddies and I run Fishy Business. The number’s on the card I gave you. If you need anything else, let me know. If I can’t help, I have friends who can.”
Maybe he shouldn’t have offered to assist her. In doing so, he might run into Mr. and Mrs. Martindale. What did Beth know about the past, and what might she find out?
Lord, help me.
****
Mark entered the employee restroom, carrying a small duffel bag. Changing out of his work shirt felt good. Afterward, he went to the back of the store, opened the lid on the bait freezer, and inhaled. Chum, sweet chum. He chuckled and set his bag on the floor by his desk then began to review the company books. Lucky him—being elected to manage the company finances. But at least his math skills had given Bill and Tim a reason to partner with him. Mark manually performed several calculations and recorded them. He scratched his head for a moment and smiled. No reason to complain. Business was good.
He sniffed. Nacho cheese. That could only mean one thing—Tim was nearby.
“What kept you so long?” Tim asked. “The night crawlers have been restless without you here.”
Mark kept his head in the books, entered a number into his calculator, then proofed it against a number in the ledger to ensure he’d entered it correctly. When did Dalton invent the modern calculator—1902? Mark set down the calculator, turned to face his two friends and attempted to take an interest. “The night crawlers? Restless? Really?”
“That’s a joke.” Tim held a bag of chips in one hand and wiped his cheese-covered hand on his denim shorts.
Mark raised an eyebrow. It wouldn’t hurt Tim to at least try to prevent crumbs from falling on the floor.
Bill Wilson stood nearby at the register, perusing a comic book. “If that was a joke, then it was a lousy one.”
Mark grinned as Tim flashed Bill a dirty look. How could two brothers be so different? “I knew our stranded traveler, so we chatted for a while.”
“A student from Riversdale?” Tim asked. “Because you can’t date students, but you could introduce her to me. She is one, isn’t she? Does she play sports? Volleyball? Basketball?”
Could Tim think about anything other than food, fishing, or women? Mark sighed and shook his head. “Someone from back home.” He didn’t have to specify who.
The snack vending truck pulled into the driveway as Tim munched on more nacho cheese-flavored chips.
“Does she need help with anything?” Bill asked.
The door opened, and a bell announced the presence of Randy, the snack vendor. The lanky man entered, bringing in products to restock the store. Mark held his ledger away from his face and squinted. Time to restock again already? He wheeled over to the counter and picked up a pair of reading glasses then moved back to his desk. “I fixed her tire. She didn’t say she needed anything else, so I assume we won’t be hearing from her.” He reached into his pocket for his cell phone and ensured it was turned on. Just in case.
Tim tilted his head. “Your hometown was pretty small, wasn’t it?” He popped a chip in his mouth.
Mark peered at Tim over the top of the books. “And your point is?”
His friend shrugged and finished munching his chip. “What are the chances of running into someone from back home?”
“Well, and someone related…” Mark bit his lip. It was too late to reel the words back into his mouth like a large kelp bass on a line.
Tim’s hazel eyes widened, providing a stark contrast with his ginger-colored mop. “Related to…?”
Mark clenched his jaw.
His friend took a break from his chip fest for a moment. “Details, I want details.”
Mark glanced at his ledger and continued performing his calculation. He lowered his voice. “She’s Chris’s sister.”
Tim stuffed another chip in his mouth and crunched it quickly. “Chris?”
Randy handed Bill an invoice and left. Bill reviewed it and scratched his sandy blond hair.
Tim raised his voice, “As in Private Chris Martindale? His younger sister?”
“That’s the one. I gave her my card, and she recognized my name.” He looked up from his ledger, staring off in the distance. “At first, I thought she was a student, and maybe that’s why she recognized me.”
Bill turned toward Tim, arms crossed over his sci-fi t-shirt. “I didn’t know Martindale had a sister.”
Tim nodded and licked his cheese-covered fingers. “Yeah, I remember him getting letters from her.”
No reason he couldn’t work outside. Mark rolled his chair through the door, and though Tim and Bill’s voices faded, he could still make them out.
“Will you look at that?” Bill said. “He went out back to get more night crawlers.”
“So what?” Tim crunched his chips.
“So he tried to save Chris but couldn’t. You know he doesn’t like to talk about it, tends to bring on his, you know”— Bill lowered his voice—”episodes. Change the subject when he comes back.”
Mark returned. “It’s a thin door. I could still hear you, you know, even despite my…episodes.” He wheeled over and picked up the books. Once back outside, he went over to a picnic table and examined the store’s financial records. Hadn’t he
come to Riversdale to forget the past? Out of all the people he could have run into, it had to be Martindale’s sister. And so pretty, too.
Why Lord?
Especially in the midst of one of his episodes—amazing how things that took place during the ambush still affected him physically and mentally. Everything was fine until the last month or so, until he came across a picture of him and Chris from high school. Then the nightmares returned.
Mark’s students, many of his university coworkers, and even neighbors had no knowledge of the ambush. He shared the information on a need-to-know basis. Maybe they assumed he had multiple sclerosis or some other malady. For now, he didn’t know and didn’t care as long as the details of the past remained buried like hidden land mines.
He gazed off in the distance and leaned his head on his hand. Over time, he had learned to trust God more and rely less on his own reasoning. Maybe God placed Beth in his path for a reason. Perhaps He’d be so kind as to share the reason with Mark.
****
Beth drove toward her apartment, picked up her car charger, and began charging her cell before heading toward the storage facility. Turning left out of her complex, she realized the storage facility was in the other direction. Her blast from the past with Mark distracted her too much. She debated whether their reunion was a good thing.
She had to go straight for a few more miles but couldn’t remember the name of the street where she needed to turn. At least, she’d written down the address. She stopped at a red light and fumbled through her purse to find the scrap of paper with the address. The light turned green. A horn honked behind her. Beth looked up and continued driving. Maybe she could stop at the next light. Or perhaps she could remember something about the place. A sign with a giant burger came to mind. John’s Jumbo Burgers. The storage facility was near the fast food chain.
Beth’s dad had helped her move her stuff in a moving truck then dropped everything off at a storage facility until she found an apartment. She’d upset him with her plan to move her things herself. Mom understood, at least.
There was no way Beth was going to fit all her stuff in her tiny car. If Chris were alive, things would have been much easier. He would have helped her in an instant, assuming he stayed in one place that long. But like her, chances were he would have gotten bored and wanted to move on. Which is why she’d moved in the first place—for a change in scenery. She’d lived in the same small town her entire life. But California was a different story. The place was home to Hollywood and amusement parks, the beach, the mountains, and the desert. The Golden State was full of excitement. And no winter snow fell in Riversdale.
The big, colorful giant burger sign lie ahead. Bingo. She hung a right and pulled into the driveway of the storage facility. Which one was hers? B something—B98.
She parked and fumbled through her purse three times before finding the key to the padlock. Aha! She whisked it out, opened the lock, then pulled the handle on the door and attempted to shove it upward to open it further. If only she were taller. At least she opened it most of the way.
Beth walked toward a dresser next to the wall and pulled. When it didn’t move, she tugged again. A sharp pain rushed down her back. She climbed behind the piece and tried to push it, moving it just a few inches. As her lower back muscles pulsated, she slumped down against the side of the wall and sat on the concrete then reached into her bag and grabbed her cell phone. Next to it sat Mark’s card. She flipped it over. He’d said his friends could help even if he couldn’t.
Her mind flashed back to eighth grade. No way. Someone else could help her. Not Mark, not after his reaction to the note from long ago. But who else did she know in town well enough to call for help?
Beth stood and winced then yanked on the storage door to close it. There was no sense in losing all her junk. She replaced the padlock on the door and hobbled back to her car. Though the initial movement into the car proved most painful, the ride back to her place was not as bad as she feared.
She pulled into her apartment and noticed her landlord walking by her neighbor’s door. “Is Marisa home?” Beth asked.
“No.”
So much for asking Marisa for help.
Beth could call her dad, but then he’d lecture her about her impulsivity. Nope, she had to figure this one out on her own.
She took a deep breath. Eighth grade and the Valentine’s Day debacle happened long ago. Maybe too long ago for Mark to remember. And besides, she couldn’t remain angry with him forever. When God said to forgive seventy times seven, she supposed that included Mark, too. Beth entered her apartment and slouched onto her couch. She opened her bag and removed her cell phone and Mark’s card. Someone from back home. Better than no one. She stared at the phone, then the card, then the phone again, as if waiting would change her circumstances.
****
Mark continued to review the books. His cell phone rang, and he looked at the time before answering. An hour and a half had slipped by. He removed his phone from his pants pocket and glanced at the caller ID. Maybe a sales call. Still, he answered it. A chattering gull flew overhead. Mark held his phone to his right ear and covered his left ear.
“Are you still offering your assistance?” Beth asked.
He cleared his throat and managed a nervous laugh. “I wouldn’t have given out my number otherwise.”
“I need to move some furniture. Do you think some of your friends could help?”
Mark looked down at his stomach. The last time barracudas swam in his gut had been before the ambush. Perhaps not a good sign. “Are we moving a few small boxes or something larger?”
“Some boxes but also some furniture.”
He grabbed his pen. “I’ll call a friend to help with the larger stuff. I can get the boxes. What’s your address?”
“121 West Balboa Street, Apartment B-13, Warner’s Bay.”
Mark scanned his books but didn’t have any scrap paper handy. He jotted the number down on his hand. “Balboa Street? Named after Vasco Núñez de Balboa.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“See you in about twenty minutes.” He grabbed the books and took them back inside. Turning, he wheeled toward the back door, again detecting the faint scent of nacho cheese.
“Where are you going?” Tim asked.
“Out—probably for the rest of the day.” He didn’t need to explain his whereabouts to everyone. Then again, it might have been fun to add “and with a girl” just to see Tim’s reaction. But that would only bring on more questions. Mark left the store and wheeled his chair into his van. Once inside the vehicle, he put on his sunglasses and looked at his hand: 121 West Balboa Street. He breathed a sigh of relief. Balboa was far from Oleander Avenue, which meant less chance of being recognized and fewer questions. He punched the address into his GPS and entered the freeway, driving toward Warner’s Bay.
He shook his head. Perhaps this was a bad idea and would prolong his current episode. He was in no mood to talk to a shrink about his condition. What was God trying to show him through all this?
Mark pulled up to the Playa Del Sol apartment complex. There was no guard station, so he drove directly into the main parking lot, unannounced and unnoticed. Traffic roared in the distance. Who could sleep with all that noise? Four adobe-colored stucco-adorned buildings stood before him, framed by a plethora of queen palms and pink and white oleander. He located building B then Beth’s apartment. Number 13. Good thing he didn’t believe in superstitions.
Mark approached her door and wondered what Chris would have done. He’d probably be concerned about Beth’s safety. Maybe Mark should look after her. It wouldn’t be hard for him to check in on her from time to time. He rapped on the door.
She answered his knock in a hurry and greeted him with a smile.
After exchanging pleasantries, Mark examined her door. He pointed at the bent and battered strike plate. “Is your father around? This should be beefed up a little.” No way would the man allow his daughter to live in
a non-gated community with a flimsy door lock.
Mark breathed a slight sigh of relief, knowing if the man wasn’t around, at least that meant no chats with the Martindales. He liked them well enough, but he didn’t need to see them, didn’t want their pity. “This lock is useless. I’m no cat burglar, but even I could pick this with a credit card. We can go to a hardware store and get you a new one.”
Beth tilted her head. “Or I could mention it to the landlord. Whatever you think.”
He noticed a slight limp as she walked away. “You OK?”
“Yeah, I tried to move something on my own. Bad idea. Hurt my back a little.”
Mark followed her inside. Walls coated in flat white paint enclosed the dinky apartment. Just the thought of the grainy texture set him on edge, like nails on a chalkboard. In the center of the living room, against the far wall, stood a grayish blue couch and a small, oval coffee table made from oak-veneered particle board. Dorm-room furniture.
A musty smell filled the space but lessened as he neared Beth, the scent replaced with her floral perfume—just right, not too overpowering.
Boxes and posters cluttered her apartment. One wall sported a theatrical poster for a Broadway musical. He spied a copy of the Buckeye. “I see you brought your yearbooks with you. Say, what year is that? That’s not my senior year, is it?” He began to reach for it.
Beth bent over, picked up the book, and shoved it into a box. “No, I don’t think so. Sorry.”
Mark lifted his eyebrows. She’d moved toward that yearbook with surprising quickness.
A large, dark brown teddy bear in a purple vest peered from another box. “Do you remember when your brother and I built a fort and you tried to bring your stuffed animals in there, and we chased you out?”
Beth grinned. “I hadn’t thought about that in years. I’d like to think this place is a little bit nicer than that fort. It’s definitely small, but at least it’s in a relatively safe neighborhood.”