by Hayes, Gayle
Frank asked what I'd been up to since he saw me last. I told him I'd started plotting the novel I hoped to write. He said he didn't read fiction, because he was never sure which part was true. He preferred to read magazines and to keep up on current events in the world. Then he laughed at himself. "For all we know, most of what they print in magazines is fiction, too."
He asked what my novel would be about. I said my theme was that love is so powerful, it destroys everything in its path and is, ultimately, self-destructive. He thought that sounded pretty negative coming from someone as young as I was. Then he said I should read Corinthians. It says love is long suffering and kind; is not easily provoked; rejoices in the truth; and does not fail to endure, hope, and believe. He agreed love is powerful, but not that love destroys. He asked me if I was talking about love or passion. I suppose I'd unconsciously concluded Frank was old and feeble and in need of my help. I'd not have guessed that we would have a conversation about love and passion. While there were many things he could no longer do, I realized he was still intelligent. When I didn't answer his question, he continued.
"You wouldn't know it to look at me now, but I once had my pick of the best-looking girls in Seattle. Except for Donna's mother. She wouldn't give me the time of day." Frank laughed. "I hope this doesn't embarrass you."
"No. Please go ahead."
"I had a lot of dark hair then. And I was in real good shape. A guy's got to be in good shape to be a longshoreman. When I wasn't working on the docks, I was a groundskeeper at the country club. I'll never forget the first time I saw Roxanne. She was a stunner. The gals were starting to wear slacks then. Boy, could she fill out a pair of those. Before I started going with Roxanne, my friend Edgar used to say she was built like a brick outhouse." Frank laughed. "That sounds pretty odd now, but it was his way of saying she had a nice figure. Or, he'd say, 'Roxy's built to last,' and we'd both whistle. It's kind of embarrassing when I say it out loud." Frank's hand shook as he picked up his cup and took a sip of the coffee.
"Go ahead, Frank. I'm not laughing. You're very interesting."
"Well, as you might have guessed, we finally got married. We didn't know each other very well, but we knew we liked the way we felt together. If I couldn't see Roxy for some reason, I was miserable as hell. We didn't have a shotgun wedding, but we had to get married. We felt too strong for each other to wait. That's what I'm calling passion. I don't think I loved Roxy yet, but I needed her.
"Bob was the first to come along, and then we had Donna. By that time, I could be in the same room with Roxy and still concentrate on something else." Frank laughed. "We didn't disagree too often, but one night we had a big row about something. I can't even remember what it was. I left the house in a temper and went to a neighborhood bar with Edgar to shoot off steam. When I got home, it was after midnight. I knew I was in trouble, because the porch light was on. Roxy was sitting in the living room knitting when I walked in with my tail between my legs. She put down her knitting, wrapped her arms around my neck, and kissed me. She told me she was afraid I wouldn't come back and she'd be lost without me. That's when I knew I loved Roxy. She could've said, 'to hell with him,' and gone to bed. Or she could've given me hell for making her worry. But she didn't pout or make me feel bad. That's what I'm calling love. She was kind, not easily provoked, and never failed to endure, hope, and believe in me." Frank wiped his eyes with his napkin.
"That's beautiful, Frank. Have you been alone a long time?" I asked.
"Roxy passed within the year after we left Seattle. It was the low point in my life. I felt claustrophobic in eastern Montana after a lifetime on the coast. I had to learn a new way of making a living. Donna refused to see me. And I lost Roxy. A guy can take one or even two hits, but those were major blows all at once. I hope I never have to go through a time like that again. The cancer will probably see to that."
"I don't want to pry, but I'm wondering if you are in any pain or need any help because of it."
"It's not so bad. Some days are worse than others. I'm fortunate they can control my pain. I don't need much, but I sure appreciate knowing you offered. I'll let you know if I need help. It's nice to have someone to talk to besides Dennis." He laughed. "I'll tell you about Dennis sometime. Right now, I'm tired."
Frank sank into his chair as soon as he was home again. I went into his bedroom to get his pills and a glass of water. I was startled by the photo of Frank and Roxy on the nightstand. It was their wedding day. He did have wavy, dark hair and deep blue eyes. He probably could have had any girl he wanted. He reminded me of Michael.
I was walking toward the beach house when I saw Twyla on the landing above the stairs to the beach. I waved at her, and she waved back, signaling me to join her on the landing. She was going for a walk and wondered if I had time to go along. We commented on the lovely day and how fortunate we were to live at the beach. I told her I was surprised to see the tsunami warnings and that I'd been afraid of the ocean my first night in the house. I hadn't realized I'd strike a nerve with the comment. Twyla asked if I'd have been nervous without the warnings. I told her I was afraid of the ocean in the dark because it sounded so close. I did think the warnings prompted me to have an evacuation plan, but it was ultimately the tsunamis in Indonesia and Japan that stirred my imagination the most.
Twyla told me she'd lost a buyer for the vacant lot next to her restaurant because of the tsunami warnings. The buyer planned to build a small inn. She said although Sunset looked like it was not very well planned, there was a restriction on the height of buildings on Main Street. Her tea room was allowed because it was over a century old. The proposed inn would have to be no higher than her tea room. The buyer backed out after a trip to Sunset that April. The tsunami in Japan was still in the news and the country had recorded another earthquake. That was the first time the buyer had actually visited the area, and he was turned off by the warning signs everywhere. To make matters worse, he was eating lunch when the siren sounded to test the emergency warning system. He believed people would be uneasy about staying so near to the water in a building without higher floors. On top of that, a few outsiders were carrying placards announcing the end of the world in May. Twyla blamed the combination of events for putting a damper on investment. The inn would have been a boon to Twyla's restaurant and to Sunset. Twyla said Sunset was evacuated after the earthquake in Japan, and the residents spent a few hours in Hoquarten before the warning was downgraded to a watch.
Twyla asked me not to mention it to anyone else, but she was having a hard time making ends meet and might lose the restaurant. In the past, customers stood on line to get in and Twyla stayed open on Sunday. Now, people were not spending money as freely. She couldn't stay open to serve the locals. A motel or hotel to bring in tourists would have made all the difference. She promised to keep me on as long as possible, but she thought I should know my job might be in jeopardy before I set down roots in Sunset.
While I was reassured about staying in the beach house, I was sorry for Twyla. She worked hard to make the restaurant something special. She was a good employer. She seemed very strong and independent, but I wondered if she'd always been alone. She was attractive and ambitious. Possibly, she'd not found anyone who meant as much to her as the restaurant.
I wished my writing satisfied all my needs. I actually believed it did until I met Michael. My attraction to him was so strong. I thought Twyla might ask if everything in my life was still all right. Perhaps, she'd not noticed my eyes, or she was waiting for me to ask for help if I needed it.
Joel was back at the restaurant Thursday evening. He said Breanna was doing well, and he did not have to be there all the time. He asked how I got along on my own at Twyla's. I told him I was sure everyone would be glad to see him. I thought I did all right considering my lack of experience, but I felt reassured having him there. I told Joel I wanted him to have half of my tips from Monday night because I thought the customers sympathized with Joel and knew I was on my own. He insisted
it wasn't necessary. I could tell it'd not crossed his mind. I took $150 from my purse, folded the bills, and tucked them into his shirt pocket. He kissed my cheek and thanked me. Until then, I never had a male friend who was not part of a couple. I felt as if Joel's kiss sealed our friendship. It was a nice sensation, without the tension I felt around Michael. I wanted to ask Joel about him, but I got busy with preparations in the kitchen and never found the right time again.
As I was balancing the cash drawer, I heard someone tapping on the window of the restaurant. There was no street light, and the man's face was shadowed by the small lamp attached to the front of the restaurant over the tea cup sign. The inverted bowl of the fixture was parallel to the walkway. Most of the light fell on top of the man's head. I was startled to see someone looking back at me, and gasped before I realized it was the scruffy-looking man who'd asked me for gas money to get back to Portland. He asked me for more help, and I told him I wasn't authorized to give him money from the restaurant. He asked me to get the owner. I told him she'd retired for the night, and he'd have to leave. He hung around, pacing back and forth for a few minutes. Then I finished tallying the deposit and left the front counter to put it in the safe. When I returned to the counter, he was gone.
Friday, June 10, 2011
The first thing Friday morning I tossed out the roses. They were black and wilted like my relationship with Michael.
I still had not heard from Sarah. She must know I realized she lured me to Sunset under false pretenses. What had she seen? I did an online search for murder in Sunset and found an article about the murder written a few days before. Detective Gannon told the reporter there were no witnesses. She must be trying to shield Sarah. Perhaps, that explained why I'd not been bothered again.
The murder victim, Ryan Nichols, was twenty-five years old and an unemployed computer programmer from Portland. He was seen around Sunset and Hoquarten as he surfed and applied for jobs. He had no known friends in the area. The Agate County Sheriff's Department had not found the weapon and was not releasing details of the murder.
The article was accompanied by a photo of the victim. I was struck by the resemblance. I'd heard everyone has a double, but the likeness was uncanny. Possibly, I saw Nate Russell in Ryan Nichols because I'd been plotting my novel, and his image was easily accessible. Then I realized even their names were similar. The victim was unmarried and was survived by his parents in Bend. His mother said she always worried about her son drowning while he was surfing, but she never dreamed he would be murdered. Everyone he met liked him. The family was offering a $25,000 reward for information leading to the murderer's arrest and conviction.
After closing the article, I pulled up my plot outline. Across the top of the page I'd typed my theme: Love is powerful, destroying everything in its path, and is, ultimately, self-destructive. After my conversation with Frank, I could not proceed with the story until I considered his comments about love and passion.
I found my Bible in the box of books I usually schlepped from one place to another. Then I found Corinthians as Frank had suggested. Chapter thirteen was concerned with charity, or Christian love, which was defined as showing kindness to and having love for one's brethren. Christian was defined as being like Christ, or following in the example of Christ. Charity endures, hopes, and believes. Chapter thirteen ended with the admonition to act with faith, hope, and charity, realizing charity is the most important of the three. The attitudes to which Frank referred had to do with a kind of love that was not the subject of my novel.
Passion was defined as a compelling feeling. It is part of love, desire, hate, anger and fear. If circles labeled with each of those emotions overlapped with each other, the common area of all the circles would be labeled passion.
Love between a man and a woman was defined as tender or passionate affection.
It seemed to me Frank and I were not talking about love versus passion but about two different loving relationships between people. His attraction to Roxy began as passionate love. He was obsessed with her physical attractiveness. Later, as they lived together and became more familiar, he might have had a more charitable, tender love for her.
Frank was right. Love in itself is not destructive. Likewise, passion in itself is not destructive. A passion to end suffering out of love for one's fellow man can lead to a lifetime of good work.
So, if it is not love or passion that is destructive, what is? If we love, hate, or fear and do nothing about it, no good or harm is done. If we are compelled by passion to act, our love can be constructive or destructive. Possibly, what makes any emotion seem destructive is the passion to act opposite of the emotion itself. Acting hatefully destroys love by replacing it with hate. Acting without courage destroys valor by replacing it with fear. Acting displeased replaces pleasure with anger. In each case, it is the action and not the emotion that causes the result. The action requires an actor. What motivates someone to act without courage or to act with hate or displeasure?
Some people forgive the person responsible for their pain while others say they never can forgive. The circumstances might be identical, but one forgives and one does not. If neither person is influenced by any religious conviction, one will still regard the pain to him as the most important consideration while the other will regard his pain as less important than the overall good that results from his forgiveness. One person cannot remove himself from the decision while the other's decision is made without placing any importance on himself. One is selfish while the other is self-less.
I decided to change my theme. Selfish love is powerful, destroys everything in its path, and is, ultimately, self-destructive. So, I had my theme nailed down, and I knew who my characters were. Now, I had to figure out how to tell their story. I'd begin at the beginning.
Ryan Nichols' mother said she feared he might drown while surfing. Her comment sparked a memory from Nate's first summer in the neighborhood in 1994. Sarah, Nate, and I were at my house. Sarah was flirting with Nate on the far side of the pool. They didn't see me close the patio door and walk toward the pool. I waved and called their names, but they were oblivious to me. Mother had tried to get me to take swimming lessons, but I disliked being in the chlorine and never stuck with lessons long enough to be confident in the water.
That day I chose to jump into the deep end and became frantic when I could not touch the bottom. Panicky, I yelled for their help while trying to stay above the water. Somehow, I managed to get to the side of the pool and climbed out. They still had no idea I'd nearly drowned. I wrapped up in a towel and went into the house. I sat on the floor of my bathroom sobbing. Since then, drowning has become synonymous with betrayal. Until that day at the pool, Nate had belonged to me.
After nearly drowning, I have feared being in water over my head. As I watched the rushing water cover the beaches, streets, vehicles, homes, and people in Indonesia and Japan, I relived the summer day at the pool. Instead of being at a safe distance and height like the camera, I was at the level of the rushing water as it surged several stories above my head and crashed over me. That probably explains why I took the tsunami warnings to heart when others laughed at them.
By the time I'd reconsidered my theme and written my recollection of the day by the pool, it was time to shut down my laptop and change for work. Friday night at Twyla's would be busy. I was looking forward to my tips. I planned to drive to Hoquarten on Saturday to shop. Ever since Michael and I'd stopped seeing each other, the mural in the kitchen was even more upsetting. I hoped to find something decorative so I could conceal the passionate couple.
The Robinsons were at Twyla's Friday night, but they were too late to get their usual table in front of the window. Instead, they sat at one of my tables. Another couple who'd been college friends was staying with them for the weekend. First, they ordered appetizers with a bottle of white wine and then ordered the filet mignon with a bottle of Twyla's most expensive red wine. For dessert, they each had a slice of the Decadent Chocolate Cake wi
th espresso. My tip from their meal alone was fifty dollars.
My wages covered my rent at the beach house, my phone, and my car insurance and operating costs. The rent included utilities, internet, and cable television. My tips had to cover everything else. I had plenty of clothes and I'd always done my own manicures. My hair had to be trimmed about once every six weeks. I never spent much on makeup. I mostly ate cereal and salads at home, and I was allowed one meal a day at Twyla's as part of my pay. She thought I could give better recommendations to the guests if I'd partaken of the cuisine myself. I'd always been healthy, so I never needed health insurance. I was a careful driver and didn't like sports, so I'd never been in an accident. My budget was not restrictive.
As I walked home from Twyla's Friday night, I tried to picture what would work best to cover the mural in the kitchen. Once I was home, I realized a piece of furniture like a cabinet would be in my way. There was also the problem of paying to have it delivered from Hoquarten or assembling it myself. Furniture would probably be too expensive. I considered a wall tapestry, but the ones I'd seen were expensive and dark with classical themes. Once I was home, I booted my laptop and searched for ideas. I found a site with step by step instructions on how to mount a piece of fabric to artist canvas and hang it on the wall. That would probably be the least expensive way to cover the mural. I'd go to a sewing shop in Hoquarten for the fabric and, hopefully, find a craft shop for the canvas and decoupage.
I remembered seeing a measuring tape in the kitchen drawer. I measured the mural from top to bottom and side to side so I'd know how much fabric it would take to cover it. I backed up from the wall to get a sense of the type of pattern that would not be overwhelming up close. My gaze fell to the halter top on the girl in the mural. I'd remembered the halter was one piece. Now, it appeared one side of the band at the bottom overlapped and was attached to the other with a button. I found my phone and the gallery app. The photo I'd taken the first time I saw the mural clearly showed the halter to be in one piece. There was no overlapping band or button. Someone had changed the mural.