The Art of Rivers

by Janet W. Ferguson

  Jordy, of course, excels in everything he touches and somehow wins admiration everywhere I take him, so he’s never a worry. On the other hand, Savannah’s beauty and carefree spirit keeps me on my toes. I never know what mischief that child will create, so I’m hoping the art classes and swimming lessons might keep her safe for at least a few moments.

  I found a bag of green, smelly leaves in Jay’s backpack. The odor was impossible to miss. I don’t know why he thought I wouldn’t notice. Pearl was beside herself when I told her, but she admitted it wasn’t the first time. She said they’d taken him to counseling hoping to help him with whatever underlying issue was driving him to do such a thing.

  My heart breaks thinking of the road ahead of us all if Jay is like Frank. Please don’t let it be so, God. He’s Pearl’s only child. The only child she was able to conceive because of my neglect of her—the scar tissue from her appendix surgery.

  Jay is in a treatment facility this summer, so he couldn’t come with Jordy and Savannah. We miss him. Jordy said he’s tried to reach out and help Jay, but he doesn’t know what to do. None of us do. Pearl has asked for help from anyone who will listen. She’s searched for friends, mentors, youth ministers, churches, hobbies, counselors, whatever she can think of that might help Jay. I pray for him every day and night.

  Jordy will attend college at Mississippi State in the fall to study architecture on a full scholarship. I’m so proud of him. Jay was admitted to Florida State. I just hope he will be well enough to attend.

  Savannah has found a set a friends here and stays out running on the beach with them until midnight. That girl never meets a stranger, and boys flock to her. I hope she has better sense than I did when it comes to men.

  Jordy and Jay didn’t come yet this summer. They are both so busy now. They’ve finished their four-year degrees but will go on to pursue graduate degrees. I haven’t seen Jay much in the past four years, but when he comes, I can tell he’s still in trouble.

  Savannah came on alone, but the boys promised to each spend a weekend here with her. I smelled alcohol on her breath last night when she finally came in from the beach. She giggled and claimed someone had spilled a beer on her. I warned her about the dangers of drinking, but my words seemed to fall on deaf sixteen-year-old ears. I don’t know if I should tell her about Frank. I don’t know if I should tell Brooklyn about my suspicions.

  Savannah’s gone. Jay is in jail. The girls are devastated. All is lost.

  The last pitiful entry had been written shortly before Stella’s death. Jordan said she’d died two weeks after Savannah. Stella’s heart had stopped during her sleep. She had lost hope.

  Rivers closed the journal and shut her eyes. “God, no matter what happens, please don’t let me lose hope.”

  Chapter 31

  COOPER STOOD WITH KEVIN in the doorway of Gabby’s room. Gabby’d given up her bed and had sat in a chair watching over Star all night. The girl hadn’t spoken since the news of Blake’s death.

  Gabby sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing Star’s back. Steam rose from the breakfast on the nightstand, the aroma of coffee and bacon filling the air. “Is there anyone you want to talk with?”

  The sheets crinkled, and Star tucked them farther over her head. “Rivers.”

  “What?” Cooper shot a questioning look Gabby’s way.

  “I said, I’ll talk to Rivers.” Star spoke louder. “But can the rest of you leave me alone? Please.”

  They cleared the room and shut the door. As they walked into the common area, Cooper pinched the bridge of his nose. Star’s request was the last thing he’d expected. “Not Rivers.”

  “God’s working, Coop.” Gabby nudged him. “Let go, and let God.”

  “But Rivers has been through enough. Too much. I’m trying to figure out how to get her out of this place as quickly as possible.”

  “You didn’t bring her here, and you don’t get to send her back.” Gabby held up four fingers. “You’re falling into the trap: Managing, Manipulating, Mothering, and Martyrdom.”

  Cooper rolled his eyes. The Al-anon phrase she was quoting was all too familiar, but that wasn’t what he was doing by trying to protect Rivers.

  Or was it?

  Gabby wagged one finger now. “You can call her and tell her Star’s request or I can, but the decision is hers to make.”

  “Duly noted.” Of course, Gabby was always right.

  A firm hand squeezed Cooper’s shoulder. “Haven’t you learned not to argue with my sister?” Kevin raised his brows, his brown eyes nailing him with a serious look. “You really care about this girl, don’t you?”

  “I care.” Cooper tried to sound nonchalant.

  “Oh, that’s the understatement of the year.” Gabby scoffed. “I saw y’all lip-locked outside the gallery, so pretending to be all casual with me is about as successful as”—she made her dramatic gestures—“I don’t know—trying to organize a parade of cats.”

  “And now you’re using a Davis quote on me?” Cooper shot her a mocking leer. “Maybe you’ve got a crush?” Could he divert her attention by teasing her?

  “Oh, no, Mr. Smarty Pants. I don’t play that. Don’t even try to mess with me.” She was mad now. “Cocooning yourself from joy isn’t what we teach here, and you know that better than anyone. You can keep sailing your shame boat out to sea and let guilt rob you of your joy if you want, but you and I both know that isn’t our Savior’s Gospel.” She pinned him with a glare.

  “I’ll call her.” Maybe he could word the request in a way that would give Rivers an easy out. Because he doubted Gabby would soften her tact. Especially now that he’d ticked her off.

  Thirty minutes later, and despite his efforts to covertly persuade her not to come, Rivers marched through the front door of the Re-Claimed women’s house. The phrase face set like flint came to mind. He knew better than to get in her way.

  “Hey.” He pointed to the beach bag slung over her arm. “Going someplace after this?” Not that it was any of his business.

  “No. How bad is she?” While he told the little he knew, she dug around and pulled out an old book. “This is for you. I finished reading Stella’s—your grandmother’s—journal.” Gloom etched her features, tugged on her mouth. “You can choose whether you want to open it or not, but I’ll warn you, it’s sad.”

  His hand wavered before accepting the book. He felt like he was grabbing a snake before seeing if it were venomous or not. Maybe there were things about his grandmother’s life he didn’t need to know.

  “I brought my sketch pad and pencils.” She nodded toward the bag. “I’m not sure why, but I felt like I should.”

  “Keep following the Spirit’s lead then.” He offered her a sympathetic smile as he remembered that first day in the boat and the way she guarded that thing above her own life. Neither of them had realized the heartache those tides would sweep in.

  “I’M HERE IF YOU WANT to talk, Star.” Rivers settled into the chair next to the bed. “If not, I’m just here.” She could say she was praying. She could say how well acquainted she was with the grief of losing someone she loved, but Star knew those things. In the early days after Jordan’s death, visitors had meant well, and their reaching out was appreciated, but nothing they said took away the pain and loss. She’d had to grieve. Her father had known to just be there.

  Star needed to be allowed to grieve.

  “Thank you.” Her voice from under the covers was mumbled.

  Three hours later, Rivers had outlined, from her best recollection and from a social media search, a sketch of Blake. She’d found one picture where he looked happy, his face turned toward Star in an obvious selfie.

  “What are you drawing?” Star slid up to a sitting position and tried to corral her mussed hair into a ponytail.

  Oh, Lord, maybe I should show her the ocean pictures instead.

  No. This is what her hands and mind had conjured. “If it’s okay. I wanted to...” She sighed and turned the pad. “I was workin
g on this for you. If you want it.”

  “Oh.” Star pressed her fingers over her lips.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

  “It’s beautiful.” Her voice was raw and honest. “We could frame it and put it on a stand at a memorial.” Her lashes blinked, heavy with tears.

  “Here.” Rivers grabbed a tissue from a box beside a tray of uneaten food on the nightstand and handed it to her. “I’m glad you like it.”

  “Could you help me plan one?” She wiped her eyes and nose. “A memorial, I mean.”

  Plan another funeral? Help me, God.

  “If it’s not too hard on you.” Star waited for an answer.

  Though walls seemed to crash down inside Rivers, unleashing the wreckage she’d worked so hard to cover, she nodded and forced herself to calm down. “I will.”

  Chapter 32

  “HOW DID YOU GET THROUGH it? Because I don’t think I can.” Star’s teary gaze drilled into Rivers, begging for answers she didn’t have.

  “But for God, I wouldn’t have.” Rivers squeezed Star’s hand. “We need each other too.”

  Waves lapped not far from their feet as they waited for the other mourners to arrive. The sun sank lower on the horizon, and a late afternoon breeze lifted the scent of the salty ocean air.

  Rivers had been blessed to have her father by her side during Jordan’s funeral, praying and encouraging, holding her up, along with Jordan’s parents. And Cooper’s. Star didn’t have the benefit of a parent being there. They’d phoned Star’s sister, but they’d gotten no answer or returned call, so Star had no family to lean on. Rivers had determined to see the girl through the memorial, no matter how many painful memories the experience dredged up. And God knew it had. She’d had to hear terms like autopsy and coroner’s report again.

  Blake’s body would be returned to his parents in Louisiana, and since they’d been estranged from their son for years, they had no idea who Star was. They’d not been inclined to include her in any funeral they’d hold there. Besides New Orleans was a good ten hours southwest.

  Rivers had spent the last few days planning with Star while they sat with Priscilla. The women had bonded quickly, which had been a blessing in so many ways. Maybe with that bond in place, Star wouldn’t give up her sobriety.

  Star had said Blake loved being near water, so they’d made arrangements to hold the memorial at the beach across the street from the cottage. Rivers had finished the drawing of Blake gazing at Star. They’d framed it and placed the picture on an easel in the sand.

  The men of Re-Claimed had set up a small podium and chairs on the shore facing the Atlantic, then went home to change. Star had asked Davis to speak. Perhaps she’d seen the same spiritual spark in Davis that Rivers had noticed. Perhaps he gave her hope for sobriety.

  Two vans pulled up, and Star’s lip quivered. “They’re here.”

  “God is here too.” Rivers wrapped an arm around her. “We can do this.”

  The mourners made their way down the beach, each stopping to shake Star’s hand or give her a hug. Gabby and Kevin both offered a long-stem rose.

  Cooper brought up the end of the line with Priscilla’s arm in his. She hobbled along slowly until they reached the group. Priscilla held Star’s neck for a long moment then kissed her cheek.

  Cooper nodded at them both with tired eyes, and then helped the older woman to a chair.

  Once everyone was seated, Kevin said a prayer. Gabby led the small group in singing Amazing Grace. Her strong, deep voice belted above the waves gently cresting on the shore in front of them, and the rest of the Re-Claimed residents sang along through tears and sniffles.

  They may not have known Blake long, but the tragic death still stung. Rivers had talked with several of the ladies over the past few days about their sorrow. It tunneled deep into their psyche, intensifying their unspoken fears. Would they be next? Would they be lost to this fierce enemy?

  Davis came forward and offered Star a sympathetic smile. He held a notepad and another notebook, both of which he laid on the podium. “Hi, friends. Like you all, I wish this were just a fun day at the beach watching the sunset, but it’s not. So I want to say what I believe God has given me to help make sense of this loss, the best sense we can find on this side of heaven.

  “My grandpappy used to quote a phrase when I was a kid that never meant anything to me back then. He’d say, ‘Davis, every tub has to sit on its own bottom.’” One side of his mouth lifted. “One day when I was in Afghanistan on patrol, the meaning suddenly became clear. I’d been pretty good at blaming other people for the junk in my life rather than taking responsibility and sitting on my own bottom.”

  He held up the notebook. “Most of you know every resident of Re-Claimed is given a flimsy notebook like this and encouraged to work the steps. You know number eight, about making a list of all the people we’ve harmed and being willing to make amends. Blake had begun a list, and with Star’s permission, I’ll read a short portion.

  “‘To God, my parents, my friends, my brother, my daughter, the mother of my child, and to Star,

  “‘I’m sorry for all I’ve put you through. The lies. My absence. Letting you down. Not being the son, brother, father, or friend I should have. For allowing you to be hurt or causing pain.

  “‘I hate what this slavery has done to my life, but I hate even worse the hurt I’ve caused.’”

  Davis tapped the opened page. “Blake was trying to take responsibility for his life and his choices. I respect that. If we confess our sins, the Bible says, God is faithful and forgives. And, in my mostly humble opinion, I believe God accepts Blake’s confession. But Blake also wrote some words I think some of us can relate to.”

  Davis looked down at the notebook again. “‘Drugs have stolen everything inside me. I feel empty and lost. I want to make a new start, but the voices in my head say otherwise. I don’t know if I can fight them.’”

  Davis squeezed the edges of the podium and shifted his feet in the sand. “Many of us have heard those dark voices whispering lies, and I’m standing here today begging and praying you’ll understand there is Someone who can destroy that darkness wanting to devour you. There is a Lighthouse in the middle of your stormy waters. Don’t keep standing at a distance, holding back from the Savior. When you feel that deep thirst or hunger, Jesus is what you are hungry and thirsty for. Turn that craving over to Him. Show God your problem, then show your problem your God. Say to the darkness, what’cha gonna do about my big God?” He pointed toward the sky.

  “Every human, at some point, has been a prisoner of the enemy and sin. That’s why God sent His Son to save us, to free us. You accept the Son, and you are free indeed.” He looked at Star. “Blake told me he believed this. From what you’ve told me about him, he was a protective sort of man. He did his best to keep you safe. That’s such an honorable trait. And I think he’d love nothing more than to see you”—he let his gaze roam the other mourners—“and to see every one of us beat those dark voices.” He looked at Star again. “In God’s power, I pray that you do. That we all do.”

  He scanned the crowd, and then his focus landed on Rivers. “I pray through the Holy Spirit right now that every single one of you see His light overcome the darkness you battle. You can survive your worst nightmare with God’s help.” His voice rose in power and volume. “There is life after death, here and now.”

  His words landed on Rivers and their meaning soaked into her soul. Maybe she would leave this place of both pain and healing, but this place wouldn’t ever leave her.

  Chapter 33

  COOPER LINGERED AFTER the memorial.

  The sun disappeared in the west, leaving a touch of gold against a deep purple sky. They’d removed the chairs and podium. He’d walked Priscilla home, and now the residents loaded into the vans. Rivers stood with Star, saying goodbye for the evening.

  This situation had to have been tough on Rivers. Had to have brought up memories of death and loss. But she’d been
there for Star, and she’d amazed him once again with her care and grace. No wonder Jordan had loved her.

  They were a good match. Jordan and Rivers should be together. There was no Cooper and Rivers.

  He needed to remind himself of that fact over and over—like the slogans they repeated in AA—until it became ingrained in his mind. Because even though Jordan was gone, there had to be another great guy like him somewhere in Memphis for Rivers. Memphis, the city where she belonged. Not St. Simons.

  The vans rolled away, and Rivers walked toward him, her sandaled feet sinking in the dry sand. “Hey.” Her gaze met his, somehow communicating the volumes of the day’s sadness without words. When she was close enough, she fell into his chest and embraced him.

  He should hold her at arm’s length in so many ways, but his heart wasn’t listening or obeying. All slogans flew out of the window, and he melted into her. With nothing but a hug, she burrowed deeper into his soul than any human ever had.

  Long moments passed before she pulled back and wiped her eyes. He missed the contact immediately.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. Her blue gaze locked with his.

  “This has been hard.” He cupped her cheek, her skin soft beneath his fingers. “You’ve been a trooper.”

  “Last night, I spoke with Gabby, and I’m not selling the gallery. I’m not leaving Shane in charge of things anymore though. I’ll call him tomorrow. Gabby and Kevin will oversee the properties, but nothing else has to change.”

  Properties? What did that mean? His heart raced. “Why? What changed your mind?”

  “What y’all are doing—what you’re doing—is important. Doing life with the people of Re-Claimed, it’s God’s work. A life-changing, life-saving ministry.” A cool breeze lapped around them, and she licked her lips before continuing. The small action drew his attention to a dangerous location, so he wrenched his gaze back up. “I’ll leave the cottage in their charge too. Keep the place like one of those online vacation rentals, and Gabby’s ladies will clean it between residents. Extra income for us all.”