Saving Sailor: A Novel

by Renée Riva

  Jack says, “I must have drowned when I was gettin’ baptized, and this must be heaven.”

  Mrs. Morgan looks at my mama and smiles. “Who but you, Sophia?”

  The only one lookin’ a little uncomfortable is Adriana, but she is doin’ her best not to let it show. She hasn’t spoken to Jason since the Christopher disaster.

  Danny is still takin’ in this whole restaurant scene. Finally he turns and looks at me. “Wow.”

  I just smile and nod.

  The sun is just settin’ when we all sit down together. Jack offers to say the blessing. I have never heard a man sound so thankful for everything in all my life. This is not “Bless us, O Lord, with these, Thy gifts.” No one even cares that the food’s gettin’ cold. We are in the middle of somethin’ good here.

  Leftovers sure taste great when they’re cooked by the Baptists. They have it down when it comes to fried chicken and Jell-O. I never knew there were so many varieties of Jell-O salad in this world, and somehow they all ended up on our table. Sailor reminds me that he’s lyin’ under the table at my feet and hasn’t gotten anything yet. Sorry, boy, fat chance with this kind of cookin’.

  Everyone seems to be havin’ a good time, includin’ Adriana. Apart from avoiding eye contact with Jason, she’s bein’ unusually friendly to everyone. In between the fried chicken feast and dessert, Daddy surprises us all with an old Magnavox record player that he found at the cabin. He cranks up the handle, and an old scratchy song starts playin’ away. It’s great to have real dinner music at our outdoor restaurant.

  For dessert, Mama’s servin’ up hot coffee from a thermos to the grown-ups, and devil’s food cake with fluffy white frostin’. Why on earth they call something that good “devil’s food” I will never understand. Does that mean I have to confess it if I eat it?

  While the grown-ups are all sippin’ away and listenin’ to music at one end of the table, us kids pull out a deck of cards and play Baloney at the other end. After the first round, Jason, who’s been fidgety the whole game, looks at me and says, “Can I talk to you for a minute, A. J?”

  “Umm, I guess so.” What would he want to talk to me for?

  “How about over by the campfire?” he says.

  “Okay …” I get up and head toward the fire. Sailor follows at my heels. I shoot Adriana a what’s this about? look. She just shrugs her shoulders like she doesn’t have a clue. Danny urges me on with his eyes like it’s gonna be okay. Maybe he knows what’s up.

  As soon as we’re out of earshot from everyone, Jason turns to me and says, “Look, A. J., I just need you to know that what happened to you …” Then he looks down and can’t finish what he’s tryin’ to say. He looks away for a minute, then whispers, “I’m really sorry.”

  Now my eyes start to water up, and I’m not sure why. All I can do is nod my head. I look back at the table. “I’m okay,” I say. “I’m not so sure about Adriana.”

  Jason glances over there too. “Yeah, I know. She may not feel like talkin’ to a jerk right now, but would you ask her if she’ll come talk to me anyway?”

  I walk back over to Adriana and tell her that Jason wants to talk to her. She looks at me like she’s not so sure she wants to go, but she gets up and goes over there anyway. I just stand here starin’ at the lake and feel like ten pounds just lifted from my head. I don’t hate Jason anymore. I look back and see him talkin’ to Adriana. Maybe there’s hope for Island Boy after all. Maybe there’s hope for all of us.

  When I got hurt, it looked like it only happened to me, but it happened to everyone. And when Jack hurt Mrs. Morgan, it hurt everyone. My sins hurt a lot of people too, including a hamster. It’s just like Sister Abigail says, “There’s no such thing as secret sins.”

  The sun has just gone down on Juniper Beach. The grown-ups are still chattin’ away over coffee, with sweet scratchy music playin’ in the background. Jason and Adriana are still talkin’ by the fire. Danny points out the Bear constellation to me and laughs when I tell him my head might fall off if I tip it back too far to look up. He sounds just like Little Joe Cartwright when he laughs.

  Bright paper lanterns and tiki torches flicker around our card game, as a burst of sparks explode overhead and shower down around us. This is just the way I want to remember our last night with the Morgans.

  Monday mornin’ the Morgan family is busy packin’ up to head back to Oklahoma. I am so sad that they are leavin’ I can hardly stand the thought of this island without them. They finally get put back together, and then they leave us. What kind of deal is that?

  Mama says we could probably fill the entire lake twice over with all the tears she has seen here this summer. Says she has never seen so many different kinds of tears in all her life. Tears of heartache, tears of remorse, tears of fear, tears of gratefulness, tears of forgiveness, and tears of joy. She also says it may take awhile for all of those hearts to heal up, but the Morgans are returnin’ home as a family, and that’s what matters most.

  They promise us they’ll try and come back next summer to see us. Whether they come back or not, one thing I know, I will never forget this summer for as long as I live.

  I’m headin’ over to Big Chief with some banana muffins that I made the Morgans for their trip home. I put in a little too much bakin’ powder, so Daddy calls them “sky-high” muffins. He told me to duck when I went through the door so I wouldn’t scrape the tops off of them.

  I look a little silly still walkin’ around with this big turban on my head, but that’s the price you have to pay for holdin’ your brain in your head, I guess. I feel like Little Red Riding Hood going through the woods with my basket of sky-highs and this big cone on my head. Sailor’s here to protect me from the big bad wolves, if any are lurking out here.

  When I get to Big Chief, I can’t bring myself to knock on the door. These are the kind of people that you just can’t say good-bye to. I leave my basket on the front porch and head back toward Papoose. I’ll just have to wait for them to come say good-bye to us.

  I make my way down to the dock and dangle my feet over the end. I’m lookin’ at my reflection next to Sailor’s in the water. I remember back to the day I saved Sailor. Then I remember the night Sailor saved me. This much I know for sure, a big God has watched over us.

  Daddy comes down to the dock sayin’ that Grandma Juliana just called from Italy. She says one of her relatives has just passed away and left a hilltop villa to her. She insists we all go live in Tuscany with her so we’ll be there to bury her when she dies in her homeland.

  Daddy says she’s too stubborn to ever die, but if we don’t go, we’ll have to listen to her whine about it, long-distance-collect, for the rest of our lives.

  Mama, of course, who is always up for somethin’ new, thinks this is the opportunity of a lifetime and is certain it will be a great adventure for us all.

  Me, I’m willin’ to go wherever the wind wants to take me. That might sound kind of funny after seein’ where the winds have taken me this summer. But it’s not the wind I’ve come to trust. I trust in the One who sends the wind.

  Epilogue

  (For all you hopeless

  romantics out there)

  In the fall of 1968, my family moved to Tuscany. My one regret was having to leave Sailor behind. My sole comfort was that Danny agreed to keep him for me until I could return one day.

  We wrote letters frequently on behalf of Sailor. Every once in a while we would remember to mention his name.

  My family loved Italy, especially my mother, who opened a posh little guest hotel, Sophia’s Villa di Ritz, which has kept her in her element, catering to rich American tourists. No surprise to anyone, Grandma Juliana is still alive and … well, let’s just say she’s still alive. She resides with all of her statues at her Villa di Dolce Far Niente, translated, “Palace of Sweet Inactivity,” where a loving staff is paid a fortune to care for her—and her … eccentric behavior.

  Adriana was swept up as a runway model and bought a small flat
in Milan. She quickly became savvy to European men and refers to most of them as arrogant nudniks, Yiddish for “talkative bores.” She says the two most useful words in the Italian language have been, “Ciao, bambino.” The only guy in her life right now is Pip, her toy poodle.

  In the winter of 1975, Danny’s grandfather passed away and left the island to his favorite grandson. Danny became the youth pastor at the Squawkomish Baptist Church.

  On my eighteenth birthday, I left Italy and flew back to the States to begin my college courses in veterinary medicine. First stop, Indian Island—to see Sailor, of course …

  Drifting Again

  Indian Lake, Idaho

  July 1976

  Stepping onto the dock is like stepping back in time. Nestled among the overgrowth is little Papoose, a lost cabin waiting for its family to return. Voices and laughter still echo from its walls: Mama, Daddy, Adriana, J. R., Dino, and Benji.

  I sneak inside feeling very smug that I still have the key, and no one else on earth knows that I’m here. The number to Big Chief is taped to the wall by the phone. I pick up the receiver and begin to dial. My hands begin to shake. I pray I can pull this off.…

  Three rings …

  “Hello?”

  That same Southern voice that made my heart pound the first time I heard it is making it pound again now.

  “Well, howdy on ya,” I bellow, in the best darn Southern drawl I can muster. My Southern language has slowly been replaced with Italian over the past eight years.

  There’s a long pause. “May I ask who’s callin’?” the voice says.

  “Well … you can ask all ya want to, but I ain’t gonna tell ya.”

  “Who is this?”

  “Don’t you recognize a true Southern belle when you hear one, Danny Boy?”

  That definitely gets the wheels turning.

  “A. J.? … Is that you?”

  “Bingo. Race you to Juniper Beach,” I yell. “And bring my dog.” Then I slam down the phone and dart out the screen door so fast it nearly flies off its hinges.

  The first thing I see when I reach Juniper Beach is my big old dog. “Sailor,” I cry. Tears start streaming down my face. He comes barreling down the beach and pounces on me so hard I nearly fall over. I bury my face in his fur and sob like I did the day I found him on death row. Then I see Danny—but this is not the Danny I remember.

  When we’re within about five feet of each other, we come to a complete standstill. Eight years is a long time when you’ve gone from saying good-bye as children to saying hello as adults.

  “Hey, A. J.,” he says, real tender.

  No one has ever said my name the way Danny says my name. I’m staring at a man with the build of The Duke and the cutes of Little Joe Cartwright, and I find myself wanting to ask if he can ride a horse.

  The sky is full of stars, and the moon is so bright it reflects off the water like a river. It’s a perfect night for a moonlit row. We climb into the old dinghy and shove out to sea.

  “Which way, A. J.?” Danny asks me.

  “Let’s just drift.”

  So we lay the oars on the floorboards, and we’re on our way.…

  Two drifters, off to see the world, there’s such a lot of world to see. We’re after the same rainbow’s end, waitin’ round the bend, my huckleberry friend, Sailor, and me.…

  Not necessarily the end …

  Author’s Epilogue

  Sometimes I will read a story that is so sad, I’m relieved to be able to tell myself it’s not true. On the other hand, there have been stories that have touched me in such a way that I wish with all my heart they were true.

  Although Saving Sailor is considered to be a work of fiction, you may find it fascinating to know that in 1968 there really was an Italian-American family of seven who spent their summers on a small island in the Northwest. They rented a pink boat they named the African Queen, dove for old bottles on a white sandy beach, hand-cranked fresh peach ice cream, and were blessed with an incredible sense of humor. Their magnum opus in life was finding joy and humor in whatever life dished up.

  Coincidentally, there was a quirky young girl who loved animals to a fault, had an albino hamster hidden in her closet, released caught fish, rescued strays, buried the dead in hand-dug graves with stick crosses, and held little funerals. She also feared getting stuck in confessionals, drove her parents half crazy, and had a big hairy dog that meant the world to her. And when he went rowing with her, he really did wear a life jacket.

  The promise I made to God out on the water that summer of 1968, I’ve kept to this day. I have not had a year since I would trade for that year. Life seemed simpler and sweeter then.

  … And it really doesn’t get any better than driftin’ with your dog on a sunny afternoon, when you are young and your heart is full of dreams.…

  Author Interview

  1. How did you start writing? What was your first piece of writing like?

  I won a writing contest in second grade with my story “The Enchanted Princess.” I remember getting to design the bulletin board with my story and characters, but I can’t remember why the princess was enchanted.

  When I finished college, I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do, but I remembered I once loved to write so I joined a local writing group. I entered another writing contest and submitted a story about a dog that got hit by a car and was taken to the emergency animal hospital in the middle of the night by a cute young lady. The veterinarian saved the dog’s life and also happened to be incredibly handsome. He and the cute lady fell in love. I titled it “Puppy Love.” Needless to say, I didn’t win that contest, but I did keep writing!

  2. Why do you write fiction?

  I am a born daydreamer and hopeless romantic. I also suffered from insomnia throughout my childhood. It’s the perfect combination for becoming a fiction writer. I had a little soap opera going on in my head every night while waiting to fall asleep. Some nights I could hardly wait to go to bed to see what would happen next. I added to the story each night. Some of them went on for months, even years. By the time I grew up, I had volumes of stories to draw from.

  I enjoy the freedom I find in writing fiction, the ability to go anywhere in the world, be any character, make anything happen, when I’m really just sitting in front of my computer. I’m very thankful for the gift of a good imagination. Nonfiction tends to be too limiting for me, whereas with fiction, the sky is the limit. I also love happy endings, which life can’t always give us but fiction can.

  3. Why do people remember a story more easily than a sermon?

  I would say we remember a story better than a sermon because we can relate easier to a story. A sermon often suggests an ideal we should try and live up to. A story is the telling of an event in someone’s life, and I for one love a story. Oftentimes in church I tend to drift in and out during a sermon, but the minute the pastor starts to use a personal story to make an application, I instantly tune back in. I still remember a story our pastor told about how he and his wife got in an argument on a trip to Victoria. When it came time for the boat to return to Seattle, neither one knew where the other was. One of them got on board; one didn’t. I loved knowing that they were as idiotic as the rest of us. I don’t have a clue what the sermon was, but I remember that story!

  4. What do you hope readers will take away from your book?

  I hope my readers will take many things away. First, I hope they will either remember or be drawn to a slower, simpler way of life. We seem to have lost the era of lazy summer days and replaced it with technology and hectic lifestyles. Drifting with a dog on a sunny afternoon has been replaced by hi-tech toys and hi-speed Internet. People and relationships are replaced with work and busyness. I hope Saving Sailor will help readers to recapture what’s important in life.

  I hope young people will be more cautious and prayerful about whom they entrust their hearts to. I hope they will seek for those people who will be trustworthy and true, and just as important, I hope they will be t
rustworthy and true themselves.

  And I hope readers will come to know a big God who loves them, no matter what. Like A. J., if they seek Him, they will find Him.

  5. Which character in the book is most like you?

  A. J. reminds me of who I was as a child, curious, seeking, intense, quirky. A. J. has a heart for adventure, romance, and a desire to figure out the mysteries of life. Like A. J., I drove my family crazy with my intensity in trying to figure it all out. I drove my mom crazy by intentionally talking with a lisp and walking pigeon toed. The neighbor girl did both, and I thought it was cute.

  When I went to summer camp, like A. J., I laid awake all night waiting for the Hatchet Man or Zodiac Killer to find me, depending on what spooky stories my cabinmates told after lights out. I remember waking up my camp counselors in the middle of the night and saying, “I can’t sleep and feel like I’m losing my mind.” Then I got to watch them try not to crack up laughing.

  And, like A. J., I really did have a huge crush on Little Joe Cartwright.

  6. What actor would you picture playing (your main character) in a movie?

  Because I’m more of a reader than a moviegoer, I only know kid actors from the 1960s—when I was a kid. My favorite picks for playing A. J. would be a toss-up between Jodie Foster when she was ten years old, and Mary Badham who played Scout in To Kill a Mockingbird. They both had that zip and drive it would take to play A. J.

  7. Which writers have influenced you most?

  I loved Beverly Cleary and E. B. White. They wrote good, funny, wholesome stories with everything that makes a story good. As an adult I am still more drawn to children’s books than adult books. I enjoy Kate DiCamillo for her ability to write stories that appeal to all ages and maintain wholesomeness and integrity. As far as adult novels, I think restrained and subtle affection is so much more romantic than explicit sex, and I appreciate writers who reflect those values in their writing. Some of the writers who have influenced me most as an adult did so because they wrote really well but their stories took a very dark turn halfway through. That’s what spurred me on to write Saving Sailor. I was frustrated that such great stories had to turn so dark, so I decided to write my own story and conclude it the way I wished the other books had ended. I guess you could say I’ve been influenced by both good and bad writers.