by Dijorn Moss
We just so happen to come across Adele who is taking a stroll with her straw hat and a bag of groceries.
“Good afternoon, Adele,” I say.
“Good afternoon, sugar,” Adele replies.
“You’re looking good, Adele,” Sam says.
Adele has on her signature white cotton dress which brings out her mocha complexion.
“Hi, Sam,” Adele replies with a crooked smile.
“Adele, Sam caught some lobsters, and I was wondering if we could invite him to dinner tonight?”
Adele mumbles something under her breath. “Okay, Sam, you can come, but we have to be done in time for me to watch my programs. Justified comes on later tonight.”
I love Adele’s thick Bahemian accent. She adds freshness to the English language. She has lived to see her hair evolve from black to gray to silver, a remarkable woman. I lost my grandmother at an early age, too early for me to even appreciate her wisdom.
Adele hands out wisdom like candy, and I am a grateful recipient. She is another reason why I may never go back to the States.
“Nic, I was watching the news this morning,” she says to me. “There’s a lot of talk about the International Ecclesiastical conference going on at Green Cove. I’m surprised you’re not attending the conference, being a minister and all.”
The last place I want to be is at a conference. There are over seven hundred islands that comprise all of the Bahamas. The conference is being held on Green Cove, the island next door to the island I’m currently on, Crystal Cove. I chose this island because it’s less commercial than the other islands. I did not choose Green Cove for the fact that I didn’t want to be anywhere near Pastor Cole. Cole is the leader of the conference and his “God wants us all to be rich” mentality sours my stomach.
“I’m not a big fan of conferences,” I say.
My statement doesn’t sit well with Adele. I know my directness can come off as harsh, but there is no sense in getting close to someone if you can’t be yourself. My deepest desire is to live freely and open, letting everyone see me for who I am.
“Well, let me get to the market so I can get some stuff that can go along with the lobster.”
“I can pick up a bottle of wine for today,” I say.
“Oh, bless your heart,” Adele says before she resumes her trek to the market.
“Yeah, Doc, those walls that Adele has built is about to come crashing down,” Sammy says once she is out of earshot.
In my humble opinion, I believe the children of Israel had an easier time bringing down the walls of Jericho.
Later on that night, Adele, Sam, and I sit around an open bonfire, and we eat lobster and drink a bottle of Pinot underneath the stars.
“See, out here, you can get close to God. In the States, man has built skyscrapers, fast cars, and iPhones just so that he can marvel at his own achievements. But out here, you see a wonder that man can’t even claim. He just has to sit in awe and observe.”
Whenever Sam has a belly full of good food and wine, he turns into a philosopher. Sammy worked for the water and power company, but he spent every waking moment reading and educating his four children into adulthood.
“True, but there is a flip side to the coin,” I say. “Skyscrapers and iPhones speak to man’s creativity, and thus, divine potential.”
“Boring,” Adele says after she sips on her wine. “All you men ever want to talk about is God and sports.”
“What would you rather us talk about, Adele? Atlanta Housewives or Basketball Wives?” I ask.
“You,” Adele says.
“Me?” I swallow a lump of wine down the wrong pipe and begin to cough. It takes me a minute to recover. “What about me?”
“Every day I see you watch as those planes land, hoping and looking for something or someone. Who is it?”
I don’t like talking about myself, and my line of work makes it easy for me to not talk about myself, since I’m always focused on everyone else. I don’t have to deal with the demons that lie within me. I pacify them with a paradoxical cocktail of prayer, alcohol, and nicotine.
At least . . . that was the case until now. I gaze into the flames and think of only one person who can make this night perfect.
“Victory.”
“Who?” Sam asks.
“She is a woman I met recently, and I gave her an open ticket to fly out here. Each day I wonder if she is on one of those incoming flights.”
“She must be a cold piece of work to be named Victory,” Sam says, “and you must be the biggest fool I’ve ever seen to be out here without her.”
“I’m trying to tell you,” Adele says.
The one time these two agree with each other . . . and it’s at my expense. Sam is right.
I am a fool; a fool to think that Victory and I have something special, that my time in Sacramento was not a waste. Love is a cold game, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I don’t have the stomach for combat involving matters of the heart.
“She’ll come,” Adele says, as certain as she is sitting along the fire breathing.
We spend a long time in silence watching the crackling of the fire. It feels good to be in the company of people who can appreciate silence as much as I do.
“What time is it?” Adele asks.
Sammy and I both look down at our watches.
“It’s about ten o’clock,” I say.
“Oh my goodness, Justified is on. Sitting around fooling with y’all two, I almost missed my Raylan Givens.”
Adele takes off heading toward her house like an Olympic sprinter.
An hour later the show concludes. Sam was not invited to watch Justified so he went on home with the promise that he and I would hook up later.
“Whoo wee, I just love my Raylan Givens, especially when he asks folks if they are willing to bet their life on it.”
“Yea, it’s a good show.” It has a little too much violence for my taste, but I see why Adele finds the show appealing.
“Do you mind if we watch the nightly news?” I ask.
“Sure, sugar.” Adele hands me the remote, and I change to the news station.
A breaking news bulletin appears on the scene with a local reporter. I still haven’t adjusted to the contrast between the news out in the States and the news on the island. In the U.S., our news primarily focuses on what’s going on domestically, while out here in the islands, the news is focused on what’s going on internationally.
“Breaking news: tragedy struck this Faith Conference when the keynote speaker Pastor Jeremiah Cole was found dead.”
“Oh my Lord,” Adele says.
My Lord is right. A famous pastor is found dead on an island next to mine. What could that mean for my vacation?
Chapter Two
I wade in the warm water and let the tame waves pass around my body. With my arms outstretched and my eyes closed, I pray to God for peace, for direction, and on this day, I pray for a fallen comrade, Pastor Jeremiah Cole. In truth, I never liked Pastor Cole. I never got a phone call from his peoples, and he taught a capitalistic view of the scriptures that I vehemently disagreed with. In this day and age, I feel like the people of God need to be made whole more than they need a new Mercedes. Pastor Cole thought different; at least, that is what his sermons suggest. However, I wouldn’t wish hell nor suffering on my worst enemy. I pray that Pastor Cole was square with the Lord by the time he checked out of this life and into eternity.
I open my eyes and take one look into the sky and see a clear path to God; nothing in the way except for smoke clouds. I start my day the same way I have started it since I arrived here for vacation. I go for a swim and relax. I cut through the walk, tilting my head from side to side. I feel a slight burn in my legs and arms as I continue to push for another mile until the inside of my body feels like it’s consumed by a fire. I then dip underneath the water and observe the multicolor corral reefs before maneuvering my body in the opposite direction.
I come up for air and aft
er a moment of wiping the water from my face, I see that the shore is a short distance away. It won’t take long for me to get back, but it’s a little more challenging to get back when your energy is spent. I start off well toward the shore, but the burning inside of me comes on quick, and I start to slow down. Here is where my will has to push me past the pain, so I keep pushing, digging, and twisting my head from side to side. My will to reach the shore subdues any pain that I may be feeling at the present moment.
Eventually I arrive at shore with my body exhausted, and that concludes my morning exercise. I lie out on the sand and catch my breath.
“Nic!”
I look up and see Adele waving for me to come in. If there is one thing I love more than swimming, it’s Adele’s cooking. I regain my breath and do a light sprint up the beach toward the house. Adele has a white two-story house that looks like it was plucked out of the suburbs of North Carolina and landed on the beach.
She has a breakfast nook on her deck that faces the massive Caribbean Sea. Every morning I sit out on the deck with Adele, and we eat our breakfast while enjoying the picturesque view. One would think we were a part of a painting, which sits in one of those upscale Beverly Hills doctors’ offices. I walk into Adele’s nook and pull out a chair for her.
“Thank you, sugar,” Adele says.
“With pleasure,” I say after I sit on the opposite side of her and begin to serve us up some breakfast. Adele has made her famous Salmon Croquet along with grits and eggs. She also made freshly squeezed orange juice. After we pray, we break bread. The meal is great, even though today the Salmon Croquet is a little too salty. Adele must’ve been distracted, and I know why.
“I still can’t get my mind off of Pastor Jeremiah Cole,” she says.
“Yeah, that’s tragic.”
“Why would anyone want to kill a man of God?”
“Adele, you’d be surprised. The possibilities are endless.” I am not sure if Pastor Cole is a true man of God or if he was just posing as one. Nevertheless, murder is murder, and the grim details of Pastor Cole taking two shots in the back of the head gives me the chills.
“It’s a scary time when folks start killing ministers.” Adele got the shakes from her statement.
“It sure is,” I say.
“We have to pray for his family. That’s a shock, and the deaths you don’t expect to happen are a lot tougher to get over,” Adele says.
Now I know that I am not Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky. I’m not built that way. I am pragmatic in my approach, and while I believe that all things work together for a greater good, I also believe that life does not fit into a nice bow. With that being said, I have to agree with Adele when she says that we are living in a dangerous time when a preacher can be murdered with little regard of divine consequences.
I hate when I get this feeling, this feeling of duty. All I want to do is enjoy my vacation, but part of me feels like I cannot have peace as long as there are questions looming over me about Pastor Cole. Why would anyone want to kill him? Is the murderer still around?
“You know, I was thinking of going down to the island and paying my respects to Pastor Cole.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” Adele says.
“What sounds like a good idea?” Sam asks as he approaches the nook from the shore.
“Go away, Sam. Folks weren’t talking to you,” Adele says.
“We’re talking about Pastor Cole,” I say.
“Oh yeah, that’s some cold business right there.” Sam takes off his baseball cap and scratches the back of his head.
“I was thinking about going over to the island next door and paying my respects to Pastor Cole.”
“Say the word and we can take my boat,” Sam replies.
“Sammy, don’t nobody want to get on your cursed boat,” Adele says.
As much as I love Sam, Pastor Cole’s body would’ve been sent back to Atlanta, Georgia, where he’s from by the time Sam’s boat reaches the dock.
“Actually, Sam, time is of the essence, and I’m going to need a flight. Do you know of any charter pilots?”
Adele lets out a laugh as if I have just missed a private joke.
“Yeah, I know someone,” Sam says, absent his flair and panache.
“Is he any good?” I ask.
“Whew, Lord!” Adele says.
Adele can’t stop laughing and I wondering what is so funny.
“What?” I ask.
“Oh, nothing.”
Whoever this pilot is, I hope he can get me to this island in one piece.
Sammy gives me a ride in his pickup truck. The road out in the island is so narrow that an American driver would have a difficult time. Even though the lanes are painted for two cars to travel on, it’s easier said than done. There is only one major road throughout the island, and Sam and I took it all the way to Paradise airport.
At the airport, even the landing strip is very narrow, but I watch the plane land perfectly on the runway. I hope that is my pilot because I am very familiar with the stories of Kennedy, John Denver, and Aaliyah.
“Is that my pilot?” I ask.
“Uh-huh,” Sam says. His voice still lacks the flair that I have been accustomed to hearing.
The plane’s propellers come to a stop, and I get out of the truck and shut the door. I thought that Sam would get out of the vehicle to introduce me to the pilot, but instead, he stays in the truck. I walk toward the plane and see a dark male figure walking toward me. I can only assume it’s my pilot.
“How do you know this pilot?” I ask, but before I could turn around to look at Sam for a response, he not only turned on the ignition, but he backed up and pulled away.
“What the heck is wrong with him?’” I ask myself before I turn around and see the dark figure in a pilot uniform within a few feet of me.
“Nic Dungy.” He extends his hand, and I shake it. “Hi, I’m Donny Moses.”
“That means you must be Sam Moses’ . . .” I just made the connection.
“Son,” Donny says with more annoyance than gratitude.
There is a story as to why the father and son can’t be in the same air space, but that is for another time. Right now, I have to get to Green Cove.
“Are you ready to go?” Donny asks.
“Yes, I am,” I say, but I am not sure what I will find when I get there.
Chapter Three
The island looks like a crooked letter I from up in the air. The water is more of a teal color with white tips. Back at home, I wouldn’t be able to see water that looks like the water that surrounds the Bahamas. Donny maneuvers the plane and aims for a thin landing strip. He touches down on the narrow landing strip with ease. For Donny, I believe it’s another day at the office.
“How long have you been flying?” I ask.
“Six years. It always was a dream, but I never decided to pursue it until I got laid off from Boeing after twenty-three years.”
Losing a job can be very stressful, but then I hear stories like Donny’s and realize that God always has a plan for our lives, even when it seems like the world doesn’t. If I had to guess based on what transpired at Crystal Cove airport, Sammy is a touchy subject for Donny, so I won’t pry; instead, I’ll sit back and enjoy the flight.
“So you’re from California?” Donny asks.
I nod my head in agreement.
“Boy, I sure do enjoy watching my Heat beat up on your Lakers.”
“Aw, man, just fly the plane,” I say.
Donny and I enjoy a few good laughs, and we even get a chance to talk about the Bible before he makes a soft landing onto the landing strip of the Green Cove airport.
“Well, here we are,” Donny says as he unfastens his seat belt.
“Thanks so much.”
“How long you plan to be here?” he asks.
“I’m only going to be a couple of hours, three at the most.”
“Well, I’ll be here waiting for you,” Donny says.
I hear the sound of a
horn, and I look over and see off in the distance a kid with long dreads waving me down as if he knew me. The boy has a motorcycle with a cart attached to it.
“Who is that?” I ask.
“Cameron, a knucklehead-turned-entrepreneur. He calls himself running a taxi service,” Donny says while he ties the plane down.
“You know anyone who has ridden with him?”
“No,” Donny says without hesitation. “Feel free to risk your life after we clear customs.”
I clear customs without any problems, and when I got on the other side of the airport, there is Cameron still waiting for me to hitch a ride on his truck. Even though Donny’s answer is disconcerting, I love an underdog, so I decide to approach the young entrepreneur. The closer I get, the wider Cameron’s smile grows.
“Good afternoon, fam. Cameron here is the fastest taxi on the entire island.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. I need to get to the Marquee Hotel pronto,” I reply.
“No problem, boss. Cameron will get you there pronto,” Cameron says.
“Are you going to refer to yourself in third person the whole ride?”
“Yes, sir,” Cameron says.
I shake my head and chuckle to myself as I climb into the two-seat cart connected to Cameron’s motorcycle. I didn’t even get into the cart all the way when Cameron presses on his accelerator and takes off. I fall back into my seat, and I can hear Donny laughing his butt off in the distance. With nothing more than my pride damaged, I adjust in my seat. I resolve that I will need a back brace before this ride is over because these seats are far from comfortable.
“Hang on, fam. Cameron has everything under control.”
I suspect Cameron didn’t have anything under control. This island’s roads are more developed on this island than on the island that I was on. This road has three lanes, and Cameron uses all three lanes. The motorcycle weaves in and out of the lanes, and the cart follows close behind.
I thank God that Cameron has good enough sense to have the hitch so tight together that I didn’t swerve when the cart switches lanes. I will say this, Cameron does not mess around. He is fast and knows the island and the routes well. I can also tell that this island has more corral reef viewpoints and oceans, hence, the name Green Cove, and that makes it more appealing than its less-than-fifty-miles neighbor.