by Heidi Glick
Marisa walked toward the kitchen. “That’s nice, but I don’t even know him.”
Nice—was there a faint glimmer of hope? Time to move in for the kill. Beth picked up her mug and followed Marisa. “I told him I’d try to get him a dinner date for tonight.” Sure she should have asked sooner, but that would have given Marisa more time to invent excuses.
“Tonight?” Marisa furrowed her brow. “Hey, that’s your problem. If you want me to get to know him, maybe bring him to church some Sunday so I can meet him, OK?”
“All right. Have it your way.”
Now what?
16
Three times the Knight ran his hands under the water. He could stop washing now.
After turning off the bathroom light and checking it twice, he made his way down the hall. The faint aroma of orange incense that traveled down the hallway tickled his senses.
The obsessive behavior—he could never win Beth over, not like this. He had to attend a support group. That was his only chance of a semi-normal existence.
Everything needed to be perfect—just like her. Maybe that’s why his plans had failed before—because they had been anything but perfection.
Still, things were looking up. The Knight had improved.
He’d been working steadily and getting out of the house more often. That was how he’d run into Beth in the first place. The way her dark eyes twinkled and her warm smile glistened…when she looked at Mark and not him. He slammed his fist against the wall.
Problem was, when the Knight came home, that’s when things set in.
After spending all day interacting with others, he became keenly aware and had time to obsess.
The act of smashing the jar from atop the entertainment center had done something to him. He’d searched the attic for Juanita’s picture. Why did he still keep a photo of her? No matter. Nothing Beth needed to know about. He could still be her friend.
He removed a yellow notepad from his desk and sat down to write. Only writing allowed him to express his inner feelings.
There was no other way he could tell Beth how he felt. At least not for now. Maybe in time he could get her alone and let her know how much he cared.
17
Beth dragged herself back to her apartment and slumped onto her couch. She turned on the TV but muted the volume. The world was silent yet deafening.
She and Mark did spend a bit of time together. And what frightened her the most—she enjoyed every last minute.
Beth glanced at the mantel clock atop her end table—4:15 PM. However well meaning, she wished she hadn’t concocted her plan. She picked up a yearbook, flipped open to the first page of signatures. Thoughts of pep rallies brought a smile to her face, and just that quickly, misunderstandings from eighth grade pervaded her thinking. She slammed the yearbook shut.
No matter what happened in the past, she couldn’t cancel over the phone. That would be rude. She trudged outside to her car and drove away.
Hardly a cloud was in sight when she pulled into the parking lot of Fishy Business. Tim and Bill stood inside.
“Is Mark here?” she asked.
“No, sorry, Beth. Tim and I helped Mark take his boat near the lighthouse. A friend lets him use their dock. He might be able to get cell reception out there. You could try giving him a call. I … uh…” Bill blushed. “I assume you have his number.”
“I’d rather speak to him in person.”
“Do you know how to get to the Del Mar Lighthouse?”
She shook her head.
“Tim, can you give her directions?”
Tim opened the desk drawer and removed a yellow memo pad and pen.
After several attempts to scribble on the paper, he tossed the pen in the trash. “This pen’s out of ink. I’ll print them for you. Probably neater than my handwriting anyway.”
Bill leaned against the wall. “Mark said you received a strange note again?”
Tim shot her a look of concern.
“The principal is handling it. No need to worry.”
Tim printed the directions and handed them to her.
“Thanks.” She hurried out the door. Would Mark feel rejected when she told him? Maybe she could go with him instead, to make up for his missing date. But what if he thought she’d set things up like this on purpose?
****
After parking near Riversdale Beach, Beth paced toward the lighthouse entrance. A seagull hovered overhead and cawed. Startled, Beth jumped then relaxed, releasing a sigh and inhaling salty marine air, her hair unfurling in the ocean breeze.
Following the lighthouse path, she debated her reason for not telling Marisa about the date sooner. Marisa would have used the time to concoct excuses. Or, maybe Beth wanted Marisa to say no in the first place. That would mean—she shook her head—thoughts she didn’t want to consider. Feelings that went back as far as junior high.
Mark’s rolled-up sleeves revealed an upper body in shape as good as, if not better than, when he’d played football in high school. Beth studied the brown, basket-woven tackle box resting open on his lap. She retrieved a photo from her pocket and handed it to him. “It’s a picture of us. From the back-to-school party. I have doubles, so you can keep it.”
“Thanks.” Mark smiled as he looked at the photo then wedged it inside a book in his tackle box. He held up a metallic lure with red and yellow feathers dangling from the end and examined it. “According to my watch, dinner is not until 1800 hours, so I still have some time left. Wanted to get a little fishing in beforehand.”
Beth stood near where he sat, hands clasped behind her back. “I’m sorry, but Marisa can’t make it tonight. I wanted to find you before you drove over to my apartment complex.”
“Oh well.”
She bit back a grin. “Don’t sound so disappointed.”
“I’m guessing my photo scared her away.” Mark winked.
“No, I didn’t show her the photo. It’s my fault. I’m not the most organized person, and I waited ‘til the last minute to ask her. She had to work on the school yearbook. Besides, she’s really young, and I’m sure you like older women.” She managed a lopsided grin. “You know, ones who are more”—she fingered her dangle earrings—”quiet and who knit.”
He chuckled. “Knit? Might I remind you I’m not eighty?”
Good. She’d made him laugh. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you find someone.”
“Great. Thanks, Miss Matchmaker. In the meantime, would you care to check out the lighthouse?”
“Sure.” The lighthouse stood maybe two hundred feet high. White with black at the top. As beautiful as her brother had described in his letters. And here she was, finally standing next to it, and with Mark Graham by her side. Wonderful and unnerving at the same time.
They continued toward the lighthouse and stopped on the sidewalk for a moment to take in the majestic view. Waves crashed back and forth, occasionally interrupted by the sound of seagulls above. A vast number of crags scattered below formed part of the network of rocks lining the shore.
Beth stared off in the horizon. “It’s beautiful…and so peaceful.”
Mark nodded. “Built in 1912 by a Spanish architect.”
After a few minutes, Beth removed her sandals and walked on the beach.
Mark wheeled across the sand. Special, larger wheels were fastened to his chair. They must have helped him gain traction.
Beth glanced down at the innumerable grains of sand. “God’s promise to Abraham about his descendants. It makes sense. I guess you have to encounter sand to understand the promise.”
“I hadn’t given it much thought before, but you’re right on target.”
“Guess it was as hard for someone like Abraham to trust God. Sure, people in the Bible had more physical encounters with God, like the burning bush and whatnot, but think about trusting God to fulfill a promise after you’re dead and gone.”
Mark stared at her.
Had she done something wrong? “What?”
&n
bsp; He shrugged. “Just listening. I didn’t expect you to carry on such weighty discourse. Not that it’s bad. I haven’t had too many serious conversations involving God lately. I don’t go to Bible study as much as I used to. To hear you talking about God, it ignites a little passion inside. One I’ve brushed aside for a while. Perhaps out of fear.” Mark watched the waves for a moment. “I love God,” he leaned on his armrests and hung his head, “but sometimes, it’s hard to trust the Good General. Completely irrational, right?”
“When Chris died, my dad told me God loved Chris more than we did, so we had to trust God knew what he was doing. I don’t always understand God, but I know I need to trust Him.” She fidgeted with the dog tags that hung around her neck. “That said, it’s not always easy.”
A minute later, Mark rolled forward. “I’m going fishing. Care to join me?”
“Sure, why not.” The summer sun further dried Beth’s already chapped lips. She reached into her pocket and moistened her mouth with cherry lip balm. Mark stared at her. “Sorry. They were chapped.”
“I’ll take your word on that.”
Heat rose in her cheeks, and she quickly slipped the lip balm back in her pocket and pushed her sunglasses further up her nose, hiding behind them as much as possible.
They headed farther along the beach, down to the dock—six hundred feet of weathered two by fours—to where his boat was tethered. “I’d advise you to put your shoes back on before walking on the dock. I can’t guarantee there won’t be any splinters.”
A dog yipped. Beth spotted Sparky on board the small fishing pontoon. The black creature sported a bright yellow life jacket. Beth smirked. What a funny little animal.
Mark rolled along the dock and onto the pontoon boat, using a wheelchair accessible ramp. He held up a life jacket and handed it to her. “Safety first. Everyone wears a jacket on my boat, even the barge dog.” He looked at the animal. “Isn’t that right, Sparky?”
Beth saluted Mark. “Aye, aye, captain.” She slipped on her life jacket while Mark fastened his. “So why are they called barge dogs?”
“They make great ratters onboard barges, not to mention they’re good guard dogs.”
She nodded. “Oh. I see. With such large teeth, not a surprise. Wow, good at guarding and delivering messages.”
Mark glanced at her sideways.
Yes, she’d remembered other facts he’d spouted. Did that surprise him? “What? Occasionally, I listen.”
The closer she got to the boat, the worse the odor of bait. That is, until Mark reached to help her onboard. The masculine, outdoorsy scent of his cologne provided a fresh relief from the fishy smell. A round, white life preserver sported the name of the peach-colored pontoon in black lettering—Orange Roughy.
She took a seat on the end of the pontoon, away from the khaki overhead canopy that covered the rest of the boat. She removed a ponytail holder from her pocket and tied back her hair. “How far are we going?”
“Far enough out so we can fish.” Mark secured his chair nearby and headed the boat away from shore.
“So, Orange Roughy? Did you come up with the name yourself?”
“For the boat? Yeah.”
So he’d named the store and the boat. Interesting. “Nice.”
Perfect weather. Cute dog. Nice guy. Relaxing boat ride. Nothing to do but fish. And what exactly was the downside?
****
The glimmer of the sunset reflected off the ocean. Relatively calm seas. Mark figured he should enjoy the moment. Yet something nagged at him. Why bother to set up a date for him with her friend but still spend so much time with him? Beth couldn’t be interested in him. Maybe she needed another job.
He grabbed a couple of sodas from the cooler and handed one to Beth. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He opened his can, took a sip. “So what happened with the strange note you received?”
“The principal is looking into it. No new notes, so I feel better.” Sparky jumped on Beth and sniffed the outside of her can. She petted the dog on the head.
“Are you planning on going home for Thanksgiving?”
A gull sounded overhead. Sparky ran to the other end of the boat, jumped on a seat, and yipped.
“I don’t know yet. Haven’t thought that far ahead. You know me, living in the moment.”
Ouch. So she did occasionally listen and still remembered his comment. Maybe he’d been too harsh.
“By the way, I wanted to tell you. My parents said Mr. Crandy bought your old house and added a second story.”
“Oh.” He imagined what the exterior would look like. Maybe he should go home sometime to see it. Then again, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like it was his house anymore.
“My folks have always liked you. Thought you were a good friend to Chris. And you were.”
Yeah. Some friend. He couldn’t even save him. Mark baited his hook and cast his rod. Then he baited a second and handed it to Beth. Their fingers brushed in the exchange. Despite the heat of the summer sun, her hands were cold. Maybe he should rub some warmth into them.
“Thanks.”
He reeled his line in a little. “Once you asked me if I hung out with you because of guilt. So I ask you, why do you spend time with me?”
“What do you mean?”
“You could be hanging out with friends who could run and play volleyball on the beach, or something like that.”
Beth’s eyes widened. She put one hand to her chest and gasped. “Oh, my goodness. You’re in a wheelchair. I hadn’t noticed.”
Drama Queen. Mark shook his head and tried to suppress a smile at her sarcasm. Finally, he’d found a girl who didn’t care about his condition, yet he couldn’t be honest with her. No matter what Beth thought, he wasn’t a whole man.
She furrowed her brow. “You plan on growing a third eye or horns?”
“No.” Hard not to chuckle at that.
“Well then…On the other hand, a third arm might actually be useful for fishing.”
So she wanted to spend time with him, no strings attached. Too good to be true.
When would the other shoe drop?
****
Beth hunched forward and gripped her rod between her hands. “I’ve caught something.”
Mark leaned toward her. “You got it?”
“Think so.” After a few minutes of playing tug of war with the creature, she reeled in an odd-looking fish. Yellowish tan with orange, black, and brown spots on the top and sides and white on the bottom.
A look of pride spread on Mark’s face. He inspected the fish and placed it in a container. “Looks like a thirteen-inch spotted bay bass.” He patted her on the shoulder. “Not bad.”
She smiled inside. Too bad Chris or her dad weren’t around to see her big catch.
“Not bad at all.” He winked. “For a girl.”
She scowled and squinted at him as he grabbed her rod.
Beth snatched the rod from him. “I can do it.” She smirked. “I wouldn’t want the old guy to hurt himself.” She attempted to bait her hook, but her finger became caught. “Ow. I hooked myself. It’s bleeding.” So much for attempting to act tough.
“Let me see. Hold still.” Mark reached for her hand and examined her fingers. “Give me a minute.” He found his first aid kit, stashed near his chair, and patched her up with a tube of antibiotic ointment and a Band-Aid. “Here, good as…” He looked up. Their eyes met and locked in a tender moment.
Warmth flooded over her. He had a gentle touch. Something safe and comforting about him. More than friends? Maybe Marisa had been right after all. Beth cleared her throat and glanced at her watch. “You know, I should go home soon. It’s getting late.”
“We haven’t been fishing that long. Is something wrong?”
What was she doing there with him? Eighth grade. The school play. Pep rallies all over again. Was her head spinning? It sure felt like it. She shrugged. “No. Well, yes. I…” Her yearbook. Were they more than friends? “Just rememb
ered something Marisa said.” That was true. “I better go help her with the yearbook layout.”
“OK, we’ll go back.” Mark turned the boat around. They sat in silence as they made their way back to the shore, and Mark docked the boat. “Do you need to help your friend right this minute?” he asked. “Perhaps you can call her?”
That word again. Friend. If she and Mark were just friends, why did this whole exchange seem awkward, uncomfortable even? Was that hurt in his eyes? Beth averted her gaze and sighed. The one time she wished she was truly invisible to Mark. “It’s better if I go now. Sorry.”
Sparky yipped and followed her as she left.
“C’mon Sparky. Leave her be.”
The dog turned on his heels and scurried back to his master.
Beth jogged to her car. In her hurry, she fumbled for her keys then started the ignition. Why was she suddenly clumsy, with legs like a middle schooler? She reached the freeway and drove toward her apartment—a ride that suddenly seemed longer than before.
****
Mark spied a rock formation in the distance and wheeled toward it. The waves crashed, over and over again, like the thoughts tumbling through his mind. Why didn’t she remember her obligation to help her friend earlier? Then again, she was quite the free spirit, forgetting to charge her cell phone. He had tried to be gentle, tried not to hurt her taking out the hook.
Or maybe she had other plans—better than fishing with a guy in a wheelchair. Like plans with a male teacher.
And what about Tim? He was the first to lay eyes on Beth when she’d been stranded in their parking lot. Could his friend have stooped so low as to divulge Mark’s secrets? If so, maybe Beth warned Marisa to stay away. Maybe Beth came to confront Mark but then lost her nerve and backed down at the last minute.
He dropped off Sparky then drove to Fishy Business. On the way there, he changed the radio station three times. No matter how hard he tried, every song reminded him of Beth. Fourth time might be the charm.