“I should be taking pictures,” Liv said through the fingers clamped over her mouth. “Josie and Hallie will never believe this.”
“With all those reporters out there, I don’t think you’ll have any trouble getting your hands on a visual or two for them.”
“This is so surreal,” she said and looked up at him with wide, curious eyes. “I’ve never seen anything like this before. One time, a deer got locked in someone's screened-in porch up in Ohio, but all they had to do was open the door and let it out.”
Jared chuckled. “You’ll want to make sure you keep that screen door shut, going forward.”
“I was sure it was shut,” Liv replied. “Clayton tore the screen to unlock it the other morning. Maybe the latch needs to be fixed.”
Jared turned serious and pressed her around to face him. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, Josie lets the old guy across the street use her pool to do laps a couple of times a week. I asked him not to come while I was here because he was setting Boofer off and it would wake me up. So I locked the screen door, but he just tore a little piece of the screen so he could unlock it and let himself in.”
“Are you joking?”
“I wish.”
Jared put his arm around Liv's shoulder, turning their attention back to the gator and its captors out on the patio.
“I’ll speak to Clayton.”
“Yeah? Good luck with that.”
She hadn’t really meant to accept Jared's invitation to attend church with him, but there she was anyway, sitting beside him in the fourth pew on the right side of the crowded little chapel.
The last time Liv had set foot inside a church was the day of Robert's funeral. All of the events and sensations of that day were still so intermingled, in fact, that even now she could almost taste the permeating scent of the roses cascading over the top of his casket.
She hadn’t realized when she left the church that morning that she was leaving more behind than her life with Robert, or that she was embarking on such a lonely and isolated journey as she staggered through the large mahogany doors. She’d left her faith behind her on that pew along with the hymnal and the folded bulletin with Rob's picture on the front. She’d meandered outside into a crisp November morning, leaving behind her unwavering belief in God's good intentions toward her. Her trust in Him evolved that day into just an unnoticed, stagnant entity hanging heavy in the air with the fragrance of those flowers on Robert's casket. From that very day to this one, she still avoided both God and roses.
Eluding thoughts of God was no easy task either, especially during eighteen solid months of battling cancer. She’d closed her eyes before each of her surgeries, and opened them again afterward, with the Lord's name perched right on the tip of her tongue. His song could almost be heard behind the clanking metal of the MRIs and the click-click-click of the radiation therapy equipment. And yet it was a song never quite sung, a Name never uttered, a healing presence never acknowledged. Liv knew she would be ashamed of herself if she had good sense or the ability to overlook her own pride, but she had neither.
So there she sat, Jared beside her, looking so handsome in a crisp charcoal suit with tone-on-tone navy shirt and tie, smiling Sanibel Islanders all around them, and the middle-aged Pastor Phillips standing at the pulpit, assuring them that there was no offense their Lord could not forgive.
No, Olivia. Keep it together.
Despite Liv's best efforts, a spout of emotion welled up inside of her, and tears sprang to her eyes. In her attempt to blink them back, they got the better of her and plunked out, cascading down both cheeks in fat droplets.
Oh, come on. Not now.
But if there was any one thing that Olivia Wallace remembered about the God she used to serve, it was that His timing was all His own. And He had apparently chosen this particular moment, as she sat next to Jared Hunt in his tiny island church, to draw her heart back toward Him.
“In the gospel of Luke, chapter fifteen,” the pastor explained, “the Lord shows us a picture-type of His love as the prodigal son returns home. ‘But when he was still a great way off, his father saw him and had compassion, and ran and fell on his neck and kissed him. And the son said to him, Father, I have sinned against heaven and in your sight, and am no longer worthy to be called your son. But the father said to his servants, Bring out the best robe and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand and sandals on his feet. And bring the fatted calf here and kill it, and let us eat and be merry; for this my son was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’”
Oh, good grief. Not now!
That was all Liv needed. She lowered her head as the tears began to flow in uncontrollable waves. After a moment, she felt Jared's arm around her shoulder, and he offered her a white cotton handkerchief. She didn’t even know men still carried them.
“Are you all right?” he asked in a whisper.
“Fine,” she managed, taking the handkerchief and wiping her face.
Jared's arm remained around her until the service concluded, and he placed his hand on the small of her back as he led her out of the church afterward.
“It was lovely,” she told Pastor Phillips as she filed past him.
“Thank you. Come see us again any time,” he returned. “Morning, Jared.”
“Morning, Ed.”
Liv slid into the passenger seat and flipped down the mirror to wipe her eyes before Jared joined her.
“Want to tell me?” he asked once he’d yanked the door shut behind him.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, keeping her head angled away from him and concentrating on the line of traffic leaving the small parking lot.
“No worries,” Jared commented, and he turned over the key in the ignition. “I was thinking we could go home and change, and then maybe pick up a picnic lunch at the marina and head out on the water for a couple of hours. What do you think?”
“That sounds so great.”
An hour later, after changing into black, knee-length cotton shorts and a bright-white tank top, Liv used a sponge and some foundation to patch the orange streaks still showing on her legs. Piling her curls into some semblance of an upward sweep, she fastened them into place with a tortoise-shell clip and headed out the door.
She waved at Clayton Clydesdale when she reached the bottom of the driveway, but he simply grunted and darted his attention to the fat, bright orange cat hiding in the underbrush of a shrub in need of pruning.
“Come on now, Morey,” she heard him snap. “Get out of there right now and c’mon home.”
Finally, the cat dashed past him and over the stairs in one giant leap, straight through the open door and into Clayton's house. Without casting a look back in her direction, the owner of the enormous cat followed suit, slamming the door behind him.
“I take it you spoke to Clayton,” Liv said when Jared joined her at the bottom of the drive.
“No, not yet. Why?”
“Oh,” she replied on a sigh. “I guess he's just rude today for good measure.”
“Have you met Clayton?” Jared asked with a laugh. “He's rude every day of the week and twice on Tuesdays. The only creature on the planet who's seen his softer side is that cat of his.”
“Morey.” Liv nodded.
“The thing weighs about two hundred pounds, has lived as long as Clayton, and has his owner wrapped right around his giant orange paw.”
Liv laughed and touched Jared on the arm. “It's good to know he actually has a softer side.”
“Who? Clayton? Or the cat?”
Half an hour later, Liv and Jared headed out into the open Gulf off the shores of Sanibel Island.
“I thought we’d head toward Captiva,” he told her as they left the marina.
“O-kay!” she called, producing a pair of sunglasses from her purse and setting them into place.
“Are you wearing sunscreen?”
“Aye-aye, Captain,” she replied. “You?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“We’re all set then.”
Liv bit her lip. She would need the courage to talk to him about what happened in church, and she didn’t know where to start.
She looked out over the Gulf and watched the dark green ripples on the surface of the water dance beneath foamy caps. Sunlight reflections ricocheted, leaving golden glitter in their path. Dolphins rolled like smooth hoops along the boat's course, and Liv extended her hand over the side into the soft spray of water. After a few minutes she took a deep breath and swallowed hard before turning back and curling sideways in the leather seat, her legs folded beneath her as she faced Jared.
“You know,” she began, and he glanced over at her. “Before today, I hadn’t been inside a church for a very long time.”
“No? Why not?” he asked with casual curiosity.
“I’m not sure I can explain it, really. After my husband died, I went into a bit of a funk or something. I know it sounds crazy since he didn’t just pack up and move out, but I felt rather abandoned.”
“I can understand that.”
“You can?” She was hopeful.
“Of course. You plan your life with this one other person, and then, without warning, all of your plans fall to the ground.”
“That's exactly how it felt,” she told him. “And I suppose it seemed a bit like God had abandoned me too.”
Jared nodded.
“Anyway, I was really touched by what the pastor preached about this morning. How the prodigal son's return was received by his father, how all was forgiven.”
“I’m guessing you needed to hear that.”
“I suppose I did.”
“Were you a believer?” he asked. “I mean, before your husband passed away.”
“Yes.”
Time ticked by in perfect cadence with the thump of the boat coasting over wave after wave after wave. It felt as if several minutes had passed since she’d confessed her former Christian faith, but Jared punctuated it by reaching across the seat and squeezing Liv's hand.
“Welcome back,” he said.
Liv's eyes filled up once again, and she smiled at Jared through salty emotion. Then, once he’d returned his attention to the open sea ahead, she closed her eyes and laid back her head.
I’m so sorry, she prayed in silence. I didn’t even know I was turning away until I was already gone. Thank You for forgiving me … and for welcoming me home.
When she opened her eyes again, Jared smiled at her. He extended one arm toward her, and she scooted across the seat and leaned into his embrace.
“I’m really happy you’re here,” he told her, and she nuzzled her head against his shoulder.
Liv couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so content and happy, and she determined that she would call Hallie as soon as she got home and thank her for insisting she make this trip. Perhaps she had succeeded in breaking the long line of birthday-cursed years by coming to Florida and getting a new perspective.
She smiled as she pictured them, all the mangled and battered birthdays, flying and bumping into the surf behind her.
9
“Pru! Pru! Calm down!” Horatio implored, but Prudence continued to wail.
“Oh, braaaaay. Braaaaaaaay.”
“What is it? What's wrong with her?” the stallion asked Horatio in a cautious whisper.
“Prudence has a very low threshold for change,” the owl replied.
Hurricane season doesn’t start until June, Gayle. But the way those winds kicked up this morning, I could have easily forgotten that. These pictures are live from the Fort Myers airport. This storm cell came right out of nowhere with winds at 20 miles per hour and golf ball-sized hail.”
“Welcome to Central Florida, ladies and gentlemen.”
Liv tucked her feet beneath her and turned up the volume. Boofer, freshly liberated for the first day from her lampshade-shaped ball and chain, snuggled up against Liv's knee as she watched local newscasters belabor the details of the storm that had summoned her from bed at six-thirty that morning.
Liv wondered if she was going to have even one morning while on vacation in Florida where she would keep that promise to herself and sleep until ten. At this point, an eight o’clock wake-up call seemed like an extravagance.
“It's 7:18 a.m., and this storm warning will remain in effect until 9:30—unfortunately, right through drive time, so be careful out there.”
Well, if she wasn’t going to have the opportunity to sleep in, at least she didn’t have to suffer through a morning commute. That was something, anyway.
She sipped from her coffee cup and hadn’t had time to set it down on the table beside her when—
Snap—crackle—POP! The entire house went dark and silent.
Boofer's head darted up, questions burning in her big brown eyes.
“Don’t worry,” Liv reassured her, fluffing the fur at the back of her neck with soft, easy strokes. “It's just a power outage from the storm.”
The eager whistle of the high winds filled the silence and, out of the corner of her eye, Liv noticed something large fly past the sliders. She jumped up from the sofa and hurried to the glass doors as one of the large wicker chairs rolled across the length of the patio like a tumbleweed.
Slipping into the rubber sandals she’d left by the door, Liv pulled open the glass sliders and scurried outside. The large wooden table next to the hot tub seemed like a good bet, so she scuffed the lightweight rattan chairs toward it and tucked them between the table and the stucco wall. As she looked around to see what else might need to be weighted down, Boofer scuttled past her and pushed open the unlatched screen door, making her escape before Liv could even turn around.
“Boofer! Come back here!” she called, holding the door handle with tight frustration. “Boooooofer!”
She’d taken only one solid step past the doorway before she was stopped right in her tracks by the instant illumination of a lightning bolt that cracked straight through the trunk of a small palm tree less than ten yards in front of her, splitting it down the center like a sharp knife through a loaf of bread.
A raspy scream broke out of her throat, and Liv stood there trembling, her eyes wide, rain pouring over her from the turbulent, greenish sky as she stared at the smoking carcass of the palm tree. It looked like a sliced pineapple on a barbecue, with one side of it toppled over on the lawn. A clap of thunder made her jump backward, and she stepped back into the patio. Remembering Josie's warning about the dog being “a runner,” she propped open the screen door and hurried back into the house for a safer pair of shoes and an umbrella.
As she sprinted down the hall and into the bedroom, Liv couldn’t help but wonder if this was her birthday-cursed fate. While rushing out into a thunderstorm to retrieve Boofer, would she be struck by lightning and split down the middle like that palm tree?
She was taken from us too young, the reverend would surely say at her underpopulated funeral. After miraculously surviving the ravages of cancer, she was taken just a few days before her 50th birthday by a lightning bolt with the perfect, improved aim of a God intent on catching His prey at last.
The moment she set foot outside the front door and popped open the flower-trimmed umbrella, a gust of wind assailed her, whipping away just as fast, and turned the umbrella inside out.
“Well, of course,” she groaned, tossing the skeleton toward the door. Still, she persisted in her search for the dog in the pelting rain that stung as it pinged against the bare skin of her face.
“Boofer!” she screamed into the wind as she made her way down the driveway. And then in a low rumble, she added, “You annoying little ball of matted fur. Get your gaseous little fanny back here!”
Just about the time that she realized how fruitless it would be to continue searching the inclement neighborhood, Liv heard two quick telltale bark-growls from behind her, and she took off running toward the house.
“Boofer!” she called again, and Liv caught a glimpse of Boofer's hind quarters as the d
og disappeared through the flapping screen door.
Liv followed Boofer and then latched the door behind them. But as she jogged across the patio, she noticed that the dog was dragging something along with her.
“Boofer, what is that?” she asked, approaching with caution.
At first, it looked like a stuffed toy that had been dragged through the mud. But as Liv caught sight of a patch of bright orange fur, her heart dropped with a grievous thud.
“What have you done?” she cried, slipping open the slider and shooing the dog inside.
She slammed the glass door behind Boofer, and crouched over the muddy heap on the tiled patio floor. Emotion crept over her, and tears sprung to life as the realization inched its way from her heart to her head.
Morey.
Clayton Clydesdale's beloved, ancient cat lolled before her in a mound of mud and fur, lifeless.
Boofer sat in silence on the other side of the glass, watching.
“What did you do? Why did you kill Morey?” Liv cried, and the dog slinked away. “Oh, Lord, what do I do now?”
She recalled Jared's account of Clayton's love for the cat, and she cringed, dropping her drenched face into her hands, sobbing. A conglomerate of fragmented thoughts and ideas skipped across her mind. She should go across the street and knock on Clayton's door, repentant and sorrowful, and confess to him that Boofer had taken the life of his best friend.
Oh, God, no. Please. I can’t do that. I can’t bear to do that.
Perhaps she could just wrap the cat in something soft and bury it in Josie's yard and never speak of it again. But then she pictured Clayton, for months on end, walking the neighborhood and calling the cat's name. He’d never find closure.
And then an idea tiptoed across her mind: part compassion, part cluck-cluck-chicken.
She would sneak across the street and lay the furry little thing on Clayton's screened porch where he could find it, but without a total confession of the horrible dog across the street and the overzealous capture of Clayton's longtime friend. But as she looked at the muddy thing at her feet, Liv knew there was more that needed to be done. With all the care and caution she could muster, Liv picked up the limp cat corpse and set it to rest across her arm, and then carried it into the house.
The Big 5-OH! Page 8