“He’s been such a big help. I don’t know what I would have done without him.”
“I think you would have done all right. Though you would have spent a lot more money.”
We both laughed, and Pastor Dawson rose to his feet, giving me a nod before reaching for my hand and giving it a squeeze. “It’s so good to have both of you home. It’s just working out how it was supposed to.”
Before I could utter a word, he left, weaving through the crowd and shaking hands with a few people who stopped him.
I watched the crowd of people around me for a moment, soaking in all the faces and conversation. Another wake at the inn and it felt like I’d just been here and just done this.
Probably because I had.
Burying one parent is hard, but two in the span of months, I didn’t know how I was even supposed to feel. Alone, lost, guilty, sad—all the emotions seemed to blend together, never allowing just one to take a hold of me, because they all wanted to consume me, weighing me down as though they wanted to drown me.
While I wanted to visit with the people who attended today, I couldn’t, and I found myself retreating to the kitchen more often than not to get away from everyone. Finding solace in tending to the pile of dishes on the counter and reorganizing the trays of food as certain side dishes went eaten and others didn’t.
“Are you hiding on purpose or is it just a coincidence because you’re cleaning?”
I spun as Charlie entered the kitchen with an empty cup in his hand. I hadn’t spoken to him much in the last few days and had barely looked at him for that matter. While I didn’t wish to be rude, I didn’t know how I felt about him. Surely, he was still the same kind man I’d grown rather fond of as a guest. But that’s what I’d thought of him—a guest. Nothing more than a simple stranger, who would, one day, go back home, leaving us forever. Perhaps he would visit again, but he didn’t live here, and he certainly didn’t have any connections here—or at least I thought he didn’t.
“Do you need more coffee?” I asked, motioning toward the cup.
“Nah, if I have any more, I won’t be able to get to sleep tonight.” He set the cup by the sink, pausing for a moment. “Do you need any help?”
I shook my head. “Most of the dishes are plastic and can be tossed. This shouldn’t take me but twenty minutes.” I pointed to a stack of ceramic mugs, an array of silverware, and a few serving plates and bowls Nancy needed—or felt as though she did because she thought they would ‘look better than plastic on the table’.
“Have you gotten a chance to read your mom’s journals?” He folded his arms across his chest.
“No, I haven’t.” While I wanted to say it was because I hadn’t had the time it would have been a lie. “But I think I will tonight. I think I’m ready.”
“Good. Good. I think they would be good for you.” He clicked his tongue while his eyes danced around the kitchen.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
“No. No. I just . . . well, I’m thinking of heading back to San Francisco. I might leave tomorrow or the next day.”
“Oh.” I froze with a dish under the running water. “All right.”
“I just don’t want to be in the way. You still have a couple of final renovations to do, and I just think it would be better if I leave. The sooner I’m gone the sooner you can open.”
“I do have some things to finish, but being done enough to open? That’s probably still a couple of weeks away.”
“I guess I was just thinking it might go faster if I wasn’t here.”
I inhaled a sharp breath, letting it out slowly while I ran the soapy sponge over a dish front and back, scrubbing on a few places that probably didn’t need it as much as I thought.
“Well, I’ll let you get back to it.” He pushed off the counter and made his way toward the door. “I just wanted to let you know.”
“Wait,” I called after him.
He paused with his hand on the knob and faced me.
“You don’t have to leave. You aren’t in the way.” I set the dish in the drying rack, ignoring the water dripping on the floor from my hands. “Not to mention, we haven’t had a chance to talk yet about all of this.”
“I didn’t know if you wanted to.”
“Of course I do. I just . . . I just needed time.”
“I understand. I really don’t want to bother you.”
“You aren’t.”
His eyes moved from me to the countertop near me. “You say that, but I still think I am. You just buried your mother and your father. And here I am, a stranger who was supposed to be just renting a room, and instead I blew your whole world apart.”
“But it wasn’t your fault.”
“I still feel like it is.”
The look on his face was like a knife to the gut. Perhaps the only innocent one in this whole mess, the only thing he’d done wrong was . . . well, was nothing.
“Just please stay a little longer,” I finally said.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I’m sure.”
TWENTY-NINE
The rest of the funeral went as all funerals go. The hugs, the prayers, the sorry for your loss whispers—comments I was grateful to hear, don’t get me wrong, but comments that did little to comfort the pit in my stomach or the heartbreak and sadness. It wasn’t until I was back in Luke’s cabin and snuggled down in the comforter with a cup of hot tea in my hand, I let out a deep breath of relief.
“Can I get you anything?” Luke asked.
“No. I’m good.”
“I know Charlie said he’d take care of himself tonight, but I might go back to the inn to make sure he’s all right and stay with him for a while.”’
“I think it would be good.”
Luke leaned over and kissed my forehead. “Do you want me to bring you back some of the pie Betty left at the reception?”
I puckered my lips, fighting a smile. “Maybe.”
He chuckled. “How about I just do it and if you want some, you can eat it. If not, I’ll just save it for tomorrow?” He gave me another kiss then turned to leave, shutting the door behind him without looking back.
I glanced around the room. While I wanted to be alone, the notion of it also terrified me. Death is such an isolating event. It leaves you lost and confused, wishing you could go back in time and yet knowing you can’t. You feel helpless. You feel useless. Like nothing in the world will ever matter anymore even if you know that’s not true. I didn’t want to sit in the bed anymore, thinking about all the things I could have or should have done.
It was all a moot point anyway.
My eyes fell upon the box from the attic. I didn’t know if I was ready to read my mother’s journals, but at the same time I knew I needed to. I needed the truth. I needed to know what happened.
Maggie
August 28, 1966
Dear Journal,
We have arrived! After days and days of drivin’—and havin’ a blast doin’ it, let me tell ya (I’ll fill ya in more on that another time), Sherry and I made it to San Francisco! I can’t believe we are here. I can’t believe I’m finally out of my parents’ house and on my own. The freedom is so delicious, and I know I’m gonna love every minute of it—heck, I’ll love every second of it.
In our first few days of school, we’ve already made a couple of friends. Blanche is another photography student like me, and Ava is in art, paintin’s and sculptures, I think. They are so nice and since they’ve lived in San Francisco their whole lives, they know all the best restaurants and places to go. They even scored tickets to the Beatles concert at Candlestick Park, which was last night! Can you believe it? My first concert, and it was the Beatles. I was so excited to go. Of course, when I got there, however, the excitement for the concert took a little detour . . .
“Excuse me, Miss? I think you dropped this.”
As I spun around to meet the voice behind me, a young man bent down and fetched my scarf from the ground. He stood, meetin�
� my gaze. Tall, handsome, his eyes were the deepest of blue, like the sea durin’ a storm.
“Oh. Thank ya.”
He smiled and cocked his head. “That’s quite the accent I detect. North Carolina?”
“South.”
“I knew it was one of them.”
“Well, ya had a fifty-fifty chance.”
“I suppose I did.” He stuck his hand out to shake mine. “I’m Charlie, by the way. Charlie Wilson.”
“Maggie Halverson.”
His hand was warm and soft against mine, and yet, held a roughness to it. Strong, proud, his shake overpowered mine.
“Are you going to the concert?” He motioned toward the stadium.
“Uh, that’s kind of why we are standin’ in line.” I chuckled.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. That probably was a dumb question.”
“Nah, it wasn’t.”
He stuck his hands in his pockets and shrugged as though not fully buyin’ my casualness at his foolish attempt at small talk. Although, yes, the question was a bit odd, there was a sweetness to it. I found it more endearin’ than anythin’.
“Have you seen the Beatles in concert before?”
“No, I haven’t. I haven’t seen anyone in concert before. This is my first one.”
“Wow. You’re really knocking it out of the park, aren’t you?”
I laughed. “I suppose so.”
“Maggie? Come on.” Sherry grabbed my arm, tuggin’ on it. “The line is . . . oh, and who is this?” She nodded toward him.
“This is Charlie. I dropped my scarf and he was kind enough to pick it up for me.”
“Well, isn’t that nice.” She shook his hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“You too.” He pointed thumb over his shoulder. “My friends went to go get some beers, they should be back soon.”
“Friends, huh?” Sherry elbowed me in the arm as she clicked her tongue. “Well, Maggie is here with some friends, too.” She gave me a wink.
It wasn’t long before his friends returned, and while the two of them chatted with Sherry, Ava, and Blanch, Charlie stuck close to me.
“Want some?” he asked, holdin’ his beer out for me to take it.
“Um, I’m not old enough.”
He shrugged. “I don’t care.” Before I could grab it, he yanked it away. “Wait. How old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
“Oh, hell, that’s old enough.” He laughed, finally givin’ it to me.
“Technically accordin’ to the law it’s not.”
He waved his hand and rolled his eyes. “Are you here with your parents or can they tell you what you can do or not?”
“No. They are in South Carolina.”
“Are you here as an adult, by yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Then you are old enough.”
I took the plastic cup to my lips and the earthy flavor of the carbonated, pale yellow liquid hit my tongue.
“Good?”
“I guess so.”
“Wait, so is this your first concert ever and your first sip of beer?”
My cheeks flushed with heat. I didn’t want to lie, but his question suddenly made me feel like I’d spent my whole life as some goody two shoes who never did anythin’ wrong. Of course, that was the best way to describe me, but I didn’t want to admit it. I suppose growin’ up in a small town—and with my mama and daddy—had left me with nothin’ more than an empty book when it came to life experiences.
“What can I say?” I shrugged. “I was never one for rebellion.”
He laughed. “So, you’re saying I just corrupted you? I guess I should feel honored.”
“Ya should.”
His smile vanished and he stared at me for a moment. “Hey, do you think we can talk these guys into switching seats?” He pointed to our friends still huddled together in conversation. Two of which, Blanche and one of the guys seemed to have paired off, focusin’ on each other instead of the others.
“Why do ya want to switch seats?”
“So we can sit together.”
Before I could answer, a man ran up to us and grabbed me, knockin’ the beer out of my hand. The cup flew into the air, sendin’ the few sips left sprayin’ all over me. “How dare you come to watch such filth!” he shouted in my face.
Charlie shoved him off me and moved between us. “Get away from her.”
“How dare you give money to this band and support them.”
“What are ya talkin’ about?” I shouted.
The man pointed to a group who were fast approachin’ the line of ticket holders. They shouted in chants and held picket signs with phrases like: Look up Not Down, Jesus loves you but do the Beatles and Thou shall have no other Gods before me.
The man who grabbed me lunged forward at us again, and Charlie crouched down, drawin’ his arm back as he clenched his hand into a fist, ready to punch.
“Back off,” he growled.
“I will pray for you,” the man said, raisin’ his hands in the air as he raised his voice, shoutin’ as he ran past the rest the line. “I will pray for all of you.”
“What on earth was that about?”
“I don’t know. But I think I read in the paper about protestors being here tonight.”
“Protestors? What for?”
“For the statements the Beatles—especially John—made about him, them, and God. I don’t really know the details about it. My parents mentioned it to me before I left the house, but I wasn’t paying attention.” He clutched my shoulders. “Are you all right? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Let’s get back in line.”
By the time we’d made it up to the entrance, everyone’s beer cups were empty and the tickets were switched. While Blanche and I kept ours, Ava and Sherry switched with Charlie and Liam—who was as equally enamored with Blanche as she was with him. Sherry didn’t care much for the trades, and she pouted for a moment before Craig—Charlie’s other friend—bought her another beer inside and she happily sucked it down as they trotted off to find their seats. Charlie bought each of us another beer, too, and as we made our own way into the stadium, he grabbed my hand, lacin’ his fingers with mine. His touch sent heat rushin’ up the back of my neck, and my cheeks burned.
The band had been just as good—if not better—than I imagined, and we not only sang along to all the songs but danced in the aisle. Our voices, along with thousands of others, drowned out John, Paul, Ringo, and George as the screams, at times, deafened me. Women went crazy, wavin’ their hands in the air. Some even so excited they were shakin’. I think one even passed out, however, I never saw her. I only heard it happened through the gossip of the crowds as we made our way back out to the streets after the concert had ended.
“That was crazy!” Sherry gushed.
“But so much fun,” Ava added.
“What are you all doing now?” Craig asked, lookin’ around at everyone.
Sherry and Ava glanced at each other and then at Blanche and me. “Well,” Sherry said, bitin’ her lip. “We were going to head down to the beach for a bonfire.”
The men exchanged looks and gave each other nods as if to silently agree.
“Do you mind if we join you?” Liam asked.
“Not at all,” Blanche answered.
We arrived down at the beach to find a few other parties of people enjoyin’ themselves. Whether they had attended the concert like us or not, I didn’t know, but by the Beatles songs blastin’ on their radios, it was a good guess they had. While everyone in our group made their way down to another part of the beach, Charlie and I stayed behind; our steps slow in the sand.
“So do you live in San Francisco or are you just visiting for the concert?” he asked. With his hands shoved into his pockets, he stared down at the ground as we walked.
“I live in the city. I’m over in the student housin’ at the Academy of Art University.”
“Wow. Impres
sive. What kind of art are you studying?”
“Photography.”
“What kind of a photographer would you like to be?”
I bit my lip, wigglin’ my nose. “Um, is it bad to say I don’t know yet?” I laughed. “Sometimes I think I want to travel and take pictures of all sorts of things—people and animals from other countries. But then I think that might be scary to do, so maybe a weddin’ photographer or still work for a magazine or newspaper, but coverin’ local stuff.”
“Any one of those sounds interesting.”
“So what do you do? Are you goin’ to school?”
He shook his head. “I work down at the fishing docks.”
Okay, the hint of fish smell on him is finally explained.
“I’d like to go to school, but my parents can’t afford it so I have to pay for it myself. I am saving up, though.”
“And what do you want to go to school for?”
“Business management.”
“For what type of business?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. But with that type of degree, I could really dive into any business.”
A gust of wind hit my face and I shivered.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
“A little.”
“We can go sit by the fire?” He pointed to the growin’ pit of flames our friends were settlin’ around. Blanche and Liam were already sittin’ off to the side, but by the way they both would glance at the others in annoyance I could tell they were being interrupted. I didn’t want that.
“Why don’t we go back and sit in your car?”
Charlie blinked at me a couple of times then smiled. “Okay.”
Skirtin’ away from our friends, we made our way back up to the parkin’ lot and into the front seats of his Honda sedan. With the sun finally gone beneath the waves, tucked away for its nightly slumber, the car was dark and like a whole other world where no one else existed.
We were finally alone.
“So if you work at the docks, does that mean ya live in the city too?” I asked.
“I live with my parents still, in their basement. They have a house across the bridge in Sausalito.”
Another Yesterday Page 30