Sandcastles Under the Christmas Moon

by Vickie McKeehan

  “You don’t know because it isn’t true. Start acting like a guy who has a future instead of one looking for an excuse to fail.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Beckham muttered.

  When the two rounded the corner an unmistakable fragrant aroma came from the rows and rows of beautiful flowers and ornamentals. The Plant Habitat took up an entire block, a ten-acre plot of land that consisted of a greenhouse and several outdoor growing areas.

  “Once your shoulder gets better, you’ll be working with Caleb.” Quentin spotted a tall guy, mid-twenties, working on building a display for at least a hundred poinsettias, certainly more than he’d ever seen in one place. “Hey, Caleb, this is Beckham. We’re here to fill out his paperwork.”

  Caleb rubbed a grubby hand on his already filthy jeans and stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Beckham. I hear you’re as banged up as Landon is. Sorry about your situation.”

  “I just don’t want you giving this job to anyone else. I’ll be good at it.”

  Caleb exchanged a look with Quentin. “With that kind of enthusiasm I wouldn’t dream of it. Quentin here tells me you’ll get better long before Landon will. Anyway, I’m glad you stopped by. We can go over what the job entails. Then I’ll send you in to see Shelby to fill out all the forms. It’s a fairly simple process. After Cooper and I get the truck unloaded this weekend, I’ll need someone to untie the trees, fluff them out, and attach them to a temporary wooden stand. That requires a little hammering, a little carpentry work.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Good. After you get the trees on the stand, you’ll write out a tag that says what kind it is, how tall it is, and how much it costs.”

  “But I don’t know much about trees.”

  “We’ll help you with that. But trust me, by the time Christmas rolls around, you’ll be able to tell a Norway spruce from a Douglas fir just by looking at it. And then when sales start, usually on the Friday right after Thanksgiving, I’ll really need you to help carry the trees to the cars for the customers and then tie the tree onto the roof or stuff it into whatever vehicle they bring. Do you think you can handle that for me?”

  “Sure.”

  “Payday is every Friday. Oh, and this year, someone on our staff will get to pick out the tree that goes up on Main Street, the one that goes in the park.”

  “The one where the carolers meet and sing around the tree? Cool. Who does that?”

  “I did it last year. Shelby the year before that. This year it might as well be you.”

  “Me? Really? Cool.”

  “That’s it for me. You go inside now and find Shelby. She’ll help you with those forms.”

  Shelby was professional and treated Beckham like any other worker. Quentin helped him sort through the paperwork until his cell phone buzzed with a call. It was the office. His first thought was Charlotte. “What’s wrong?”

  “Dottie Whitcomb called to say her husband is suffering from chest pains.”

  “What’s the address?”

  “Just go to the Community Church on Main. You can’t miss it. They live in the bungalow around back.”

  “Tell Dottie to call 911. While she’s waiting, give him two baby aspirin. I’m on my way.”

  Quentin turned to Beckham. “I have to leave, someone’s in distress.”

  “Can I come with you?” the boy asked hopefully.

  Quentin looked at Shelby. “Does he need to stay for anything else?”

  “Nope. Go on and do what you need to do. I have everything I need. See you on Monday, Beckham.”

  It didn’t take long to reach the Whitcomb house. Quentin found the reverend sweating profusely, short of breath, and suffering from pain that spread from his chest down his neck and into both shoulders and arms. This wasn’t like Jack’s episode but a real cardiac event.

  “Call Eastlyn Parker. Have her stand by with her chopper. I think we’re looking at a run to the hospital in Santa Cruz.”

  Once the paramedics arrived they hooked up the portable EKG. Quentin studied the spikes and dips, a pattern that indicated a lack of blood getting to the man’s heart. He angled toward Dottie, took her hand in his. “John David’s suffering from a blockage, most likely a blood clot. His heart isn’t getting enough blood. He’ll have to be transported to the hospital in Santa Cruz where the doctors there will be able to assess and treat.”

  “But we want you…”

  Quentin shook his head. “You want a cardiologist who can perform angioplasty or bypass surgery within an hour of admitting him. I’ll phone ahead to the hospital and let them know you’re coming, let them know my diagnosis.”

  Eastlyn appeared in the doorway. “What have we got?”

  “Heart attack,” Quentin replied. “The EMTs will stabilize him for the ride to Santa Cruz.”

  “You’re coming with me, right?” Eastlyn asked.

  “No need. The EMTs will decide which one takes the flight with you to the hospital.”

  Eastlyn tugged on Quentin’s sleeve and pulled him into the hallway so no one else could hear. “I’d prefer you do the run with me, Doc. I don’t want to lose Whitcomb on the way. You’re my best bet not to.”

  “Okay. Sure.” Quentin turned back to Beckham. “Head back to the clinic without me. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

  Beckham stood back and watched as the paramedics loaded the preacher into the helicopter’s basket contraption. He continued to gape as Quentin settled himself onto the aircraft in such a way that would let the doctor tend to the patient while in transport.

  The teen stared at the chopper as it lifted off and disappeared into the skies heading into the horizon and over the ocean.

  Watching Quentin in action with Reverend Whitcomb seemed different somehow than seeing him taking care of his gram. Both patients were old. But it didn’t escape Beckham that Quentin’s know-how had been critical in keeping both patients alive. This morning, his gram could sit up and talk to him. Just yesterday she’d been in bad shape. And now today, the old preacher had been given a chance at life because Quentin had known exactly what to do.

  To Beckham, that meant Quentin Blackwood was like a superhero, able to take sick people and make them better in real-life scenarios, not made-up stuff like in the movies. The man had made his head feel better, even his ear.

  At that moment, Beckham Dowling decided he wanted to be just like Quentin Blackwood.

  “You should’ve seen him jump on that chopper,” Beckham said between bites of his PB&J sandwich. “Quentin was awesome.”

  Sydney found the boy’s hero worship amusing. Maybe because she’d predicted it. “Did it scare you seeing Reverend Whitcomb like that?”

  “At first, a little. But then he kind of perked up as they were loading him in, even though Quentin said he was on pain medication. I was worried if he’d make it until I saw Quentin wink at me and give me a thumbs-up sign. I knew then he’d be okay.”

  Sydney ruffled the boy’s mop of hair. “You’re a good kid.”

  “What does it take to be a doctor?”

  Sydney didn’t hesitate. “Good grades. Which I understand isn’t as much of a problem as I’d once thought. It seems most of your teachers are on the Beckham Dowling bandwagon. Who knew?”

  Beckham gave her a sheepish look. “Most people just think I’m dumb so I let them.”

  “You might want to rethink that strategy down the road.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re smart, act like it. Don’t be afraid to be who and what you are. By the way, when’s your birthday?”

  “Next month.”

  “Could you be a little more specific?”

  The teen rolled his eyes. “December twenty-fifth.”

  She slapped him playfully on the arm. “You’re a Christmas baby? How cool.”

  “What’s so cool about it?” In his mind if you didn’t get Christmas presents you sure didn’t get anything for your birthday. He decided to change the subject. “Quentin’s grandm
other will be here in two days. Does she even have a place to stay yet?”

  “I made the reservations at Promise Cove myself.”

  “But she said she wanted to cook Thanksgiving dinner. Where will she do that?”

  “I have an oven. I have a kitchen.”

  “But he wanted to use that huge table he bought, the one where ten people can sit around it and look out the window at the bay,” Beckham pointed out. “He can’t do that at your house.”

  “Fine. Then we’ll cook at my house and bring the food over there.”

  “That might work.”

  “But you should know Quentin’s thinking of turning the cannery into a hospital facility.”

  Beckham’s eyes bugged out. “He’s not planning to live there? Bummer. That’s a cool place.” He went silent, finishing up the rest of his sandwich. But after thinking it over, he came back with a different mindset. “I guess if it turns into a hospital more people like Gram could stay there where they’ll get better.”

  Quentin appeared in the doorway, catching the last of the conversation. “Got anything to eat around here?”

  “PB&J,” Beckham boasted.

  “Now we’re talking.”

  Sydney let out a sigh. “Sit down and I’ll make it. But get real. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a grown man eat PB&J.” She pulled out a loaf of bread from a drawer and went to work. “How’s Reverend Whitcomb?”

  “They were prepping him for angioplasty when I left. I had to wait for a group of Dottie’s friends to show up before I could take off.” Quentin cocked his head to one side, studied the bruise on Beckham’s forehead. “How’s the head?”

  “Fine.”

  “Not too self-conscious about the bruises?”

  “I’ve had them before.”

  Quentin winced. “A sad commentary on our school system. You could use a haircut.”

  “So could you,” Beckham shot back.

  Quentin grinned. “I suppose I could. Nonnie would probably agree with you. Tell you what. I’ll get a trim if you will.”

  “Deal.”

  “There’s something I need to talk to you guys about. Logan called me while I was at the hospital. He owns my uncle’s former house, something he refers to as Bradford House. It’s been sitting vacant since Douglas died, but still has furniture in it and other household goods. He’s okay renting it to me while Zach’s crew turns the cannery into the medical facility. The remodeling could take up to eight months to complete. That leaves me without a bedroll.”

  “You could move in to Gram’s house,” Beckham offered. “Then you’d be right there to take care of her.”

  “And I will if it comes to that. But for now, with my grandmother’s visit getting closer and the fact that she’s bringing a guest with her, that’s two additional people under one roof. That’s why I told Logan to go ahead and draw up a lease. This way, Winona and Stone have a place to stay indefinitely instead of the week I booked out at Promise Cove.”

  “What happens to the reservation?” Sydney wanted to know.

  “I’ll get to that in a minute. Nick offered to cancel it but I have a better solution.”

  Sydney chewed her lip. “This Bradford House. I’m not familiar with it. Where is it exactly?”

  “That wooded area next to the Fanning Marine Rescue Center. You can’t see it from the road. It’s a secluded house on a rather large plot of ground.”

  “That place that sits up on a rise with a fantastic view of the ocean? It’s impressive just because of its location.”

  “That’s the one. Anyway, Zach and Troy will be moving what little stuff I bought from the cannery and into the Bradford house this afternoon. They need to clear out everything in the old packing house so they can get to work on Monday putting up walls.”

  “But I don’t want you to lose your deposit at the B&B,” Sydney stressed.

  “Like I said, Nick offered to cancel but I told him that since you’ve worked so hard this week, I’d offer the room to you. No strings attached. You probably have vacation coming. You should take advantage of the short week and check into the room yourself. Go out there and indulge yourself a little bit, make a holiday out of it.”

  Sydney’s heart warmed at the prospect. “But I wouldn’t feel right doing that with so much going on here. That would mean you and Beckham would have to sit with Charlotte around the clock without anyone to relieve you. With the holiday and your grandmother coming, I couldn’t let you do that.”

  “We appreciate the devotion. Don’t we Beck?”

  “Sure. You should do it though, because it’s a freebie. And women love that kind of stuff.”

  That wisdom brought a chuckle out of Quentin. “He’s not wrong. At least consider it. If you won’t go for a week then think about how great it would feel having one day off or even two, to do nothing but veg, read a book, take a long indulgent soak in the tub if you want.”

  That sounded like a dream to Sydney. “I’m beginning to long for that day off already.”

  “Good. Then you’ll take some time off and have Thanksgiving dinner with me and Beckham.”

  “What about Charlotte?”

  “I’m hoping by next Thursday she’ll be able to come, too.”

  Beckham pumped a fist in the air. “That’d be awesome.”

  “If you’re finished eating, you could take the dog for a walk,” Sydney suggested to the boy.

  “You’re just trying to get rid of me so you guys can be alone,” Beckham claimed with a big grin on his face.

  “He’s on to us,” Quentin fired back in a mocking tone. “Our cover’s blown.”

  “Come on, Buckley,” Beckham said. “Let’s leave the lovebirds alone so they can make out.”

  With that, boy and dog scurried out the back door making enough noise that three counties over probably heard the clatter.

  Sydney let out an amused sigh. “Jeez, why is it teenage boys are so clunky and silly?”

  “The brain’s going through a lot of changes,” Quentin began.

  “Oh, I know all that clinical stuff,” Sydney said. “I’m talking about that just now.”

  “Well, we did want to be alone,” Quentin supplied. “The kid’s a lot of things but dumb isn’t one of them.”

  “But how does he pick up on things like that? We’ve been so very careful, not overt at all.”

  “He has a keen sense of observation. Probably due to never being part of a larger group. It wouldn’t surprise me one bit if he puts that to good use and one day becomes a renowned writer.”

  “Oh, yeah? Wanna bet? He wants to be a doctor just like you.”

  Quentin’s mouth dropped open. “He said that?”

  “After seeing you in action with the reverend, he asked about what it took to be a doctor. Told you he had a case of hero worship.”

  “I’ll be damned. No one’s ever wanted to be like me before.”

  They heard the front door open in the reception area. “You finish eating. I’ll go see who it is.”

  Standing in the reception area were Principal Hargraves and a stocky, surly-looking teenage boy, who Sydney presumed was Kyle.

  “What are you doing here?”

  The stylish Mrs. Hargraves looked very uncomfortable. “I stopped by the Dowling home but didn’t get an answer. The neighbor said to try here. Kyle came to apologize to Beckham.”

  Sydney crossed her arms over her chest. “Did you happen to get a phone call from a Kinsey Donnelly on Thursday? That’s the lawyer we retained.”

  “Friday. She called Friday. I’m here trying to avoid litigation of any kind. Kyle has something he wants to say to Beckham.”

  Beckham and the dog chose that moment to charge past the front door and into the room with all the clamor they’d used to leave. Buckley started barking at Kyle with a measure of loyalty that only a dog possesses.

  Quentin went over to soothe Buckley while Sydney grabbed Beckham’s hand. “See this face? This is what your son did to it.”


  To Mrs. Hargraves’s credit she took in the bruises and let out a gasp. She hit Kyle on the shoulder. “I can’t believe you’d do something like that.”

  “It’s not my fault if he’s too skinny to take a punch,” Kyle explained. “He’s always turning purple for some reason or other. And his nose bleeds too easy. He’s sickly just like his old grandma.”

  “That’s enough out of you,” the mother declared. “Say what you came to say.”

  “I’m sorry I beat you up,” Kyle stated without emotion.

  Beckham seemed unmoved. “Which time?”

  Kyle looked nonplussed. “The last time is what got me in trouble.”

  “That’s certainly heartfelt,” Sydney said to Kyle. “Not. How would you like it if someone poked a pencil in your ear? It was a pencil you used, right?” She picked up a pen off the counter for emphasis. “Let’s see how you like it?”

  “How dare you threaten my son?” Mrs. Hargraves shouted. “If you aren’t willing to accept his apology we might as well leave.”

  “Who’s stopping you?” Sydney yelled back.

  Quentin moved and stood between Sydney and Lisa Hargraves. “The fact is Beckham’s health is at stake here. We have yet to determine if there’ll be any long-term hearing loss. The concussion is a serious problem. The point is, you don’t seem to understand that what your son did could cause Beckham to suffer down the road. When Kyle held him down on the ground he inflicted those injuries. You brought your son over here to accept his responsibility, both financially and personally. Correct?”

  “Yes. Yes. Of course. My husband and I are prepared to pay for Beckham’s medical bills, if it turns out to be that they are as you have presented them and not inflated just to get more money out of us.”

  That had Quentin leveling a cold stare at the woman. “Surely you aren’t suggesting I’d pad a patient’s medical bill just for a lawsuit? Because that’s what I’m hearing.”

  “I think we’d better go and let our attorney handle this whole sordid mess.”

  “You do that,” Sydney snarled. “We’ll see you in court.”

  Beckham clung to Buckley. “I didn’t mean to cause all this trouble.”

  “You did no such thing and no one believes this is your fault. At some point, standing up to a bully is inevitable. That boy has a problem and it’ll only get worse like it did for Quentin’s troublemaker. What was his name? Benny.”