Worth the Risk

by Shannon Davis

“It was bad.” I sighed. “He tried his best, but ended up failing the test two times. After that, he seemed to just give up. He started going to bars and drinking and fighting. Then one morning, Big Al came and got him and took him out on the boat. He fussed and cussed at Jackson and talked to him about his future. Told him everything he did from that day forward would make a difference in his life, and that it was up to him what kind of difference he wanted to make. Well, Jackson took those words to heart and tried the test again. That time, he passed.”

  Rebecca’s face lit up. “See what encouragement does, Mrs. Ruby. Just imagine if Jackson would’ve had somebody to motivate him like that his whole life.”

  I lowered my chin and smiled. “He did, shug. You.”

  She bit her bottom lip and her eyes dropped in regret as she pondered my words. That was good. She needed to remember how important she was to Jackson, what she had meant to him, and what he had meant to her. She sat quietly for a good bit before asking me to continue.

  “What happened after he got his license, Mrs. Ruby?”

  “He built houses left and right. Worked hard and saved a bunch of money, then bought that big fishing boat, and started taking Andrew fishing. They went every chance they got, up until Andrew started working all the time. That’s when Jackson’s life started to spiral outta control again. He started drinking and going back to the bars and fighting with anyone who looked at him wrong. Then he got mixed up with that good-for-nothing floozy.”

  Rebecca’s brow creased. “What do you mean?”

  I took a long drink of water. “Well, he started seeing this woman he met at the bar. Even brought her over here once. And I’ll tell ya right now, she was far from being a lady. Had on some shorty shorts that were cut so high, you could pure see her butt cheeks. And a rinky-dink halter top that was so tiny, it barely covered her bosom.”

  Rebecca grunted. “Sounds real classy.”

  “She was something else, shug. Walked in here just like she owned the place. Threw herself down in that chair and kicked her boots up on the corner of my kitchen table. I about had a stroke. Then she asked me if I had any liquor in this joint. I told her right then that my house wasn’t a joint and there wasn’t any liquor in it, and there never would be as long as I was alive.”

  “Good for you,” Rebecca said through clenched teeth.

  “Well, she didn’t like that none. She shot up from that chair and told Jackson to take her back to Vickie’s, cause she needed a drink and didn’t have no time to waste talking to old folks.”

  Rebecca’s mouth fell open. “What in the world? And you didn’t slap her upside her face?”

  “Didn’t have to, shug. Jackson took her by the wrist and slung her out the door so fast it made her head swim. She was cussing up a storm the whole time he was dragging her sorry butt to the truck.”

  Rebecca growled and rolled her neck around till it popped, then straightened in her chair.

  “In about an hour, Jackson came back and was apologizing all over the place. He tried to play the pity card. Said she’d had a run of bad luck and didn’t have her head on straight, and all she needed was a chance. She had no job and no car, and was living with Vickie, the lady who owned the bar. But I know the difference between somebody with a run of bad luck and somebody who’s just plain sorry. Honey, she was so sorry, it pure dripped off of her.”

  “I don’t even know what to say, Mrs. Ruby. Congratulations, Jackson?” Rebecca shook her head and let out a resentful huff. “Why on earth would he get involved with someone like that?”

  “Truthfully?” I crossed my arms and sent her a soft smile. “Cause she reminded him of you.”

  Rebecca’s eyes widened, and the color started to drain from her face again. I knew I’d just shocked her. Bless her heart. Too bad there ain’t no liquor in this house. She certainly could’ve used a swig. Maybe I could’ve too.

  “Don’t take that as an insult, shug. I only said she was good-for-nothing. I didn’t say she was ugly. She reminded Jackson of you cause she was so beautiful. She was tall, like you, and had long, brown hair and bright-green eyes. The only bad thing, besides her worthlessness, was her teeth. They were gray and chipped. And some were worn down to nothing.”

  Rebecca grimaced. “A drug addict, more than likely.”

  “You’re right.” I nodded. “She was.”

  “Then why—” She paused. Her gaze was pleading. “Don’t tell me Jackson was on drugs.”

  “He wasn’t. He didn’t put up with her doing ‘em, either. She claimed she quit years ago, but that front didn’t last long. When Jackson saw she was back using, he told her he didn’t want anything else to do with her. But then she told him she was pregnant.”

  Rebecca’s lip trembled. She dropped her head and squeezed her eyes shut.

  “Jackson tried to get her off the drugs for good then. He even asked your Uncle Max to lock her up to keep her from using.”

  Rebecca swallowed hard and looked up. “What did Uncle Max say?”

  “That he couldn’t lock her up unless he caught her in possession or trying to buy or sell. But he did give Jackson the names of some people who could help her.”

  “Did he get her help?”

  “He tried, shug. Didn’t do no good though. She didn’t want no help. Jackson did all he could to keep her clean. Even got Vickie to help, but couldn’t nobody watch her every second. Then one afternoon, he got a call from Vickie saying she had to call the ambulance.”

  “Oh, no, Mrs. Ruby! Did she—”

  “Yeah, shug. She’d OD’d. They rushed her to the hospital, but it was too late.”

  “That’s awful.” Rebecca wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I’m so sorry for Jackson.”

  I reached across the table and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “He took it pretty hard.”

  “What was the woman’s name?” she asked, sniffing back emotions.

  “Nicole,” I said.

  Rebecca drew in a shaky breath. “How far along was she?”

  “A little over six months.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut again and started to cry. “That’s so unfair, Mrs. Ruby. That poor baby didn’t even have a chance.”

  Before I could say anything, in walked my little angel, rubbing her eyes and dragging her woobie.

  “Granny?” she called out.

  Rebecca’s eyes flew open as she searched for the small voice.

  “Right here, doll.” I lifted my great-granddaughter to my lap. “There’s my baby! Did you have a good nap?”

  She leaned her head against me and stared at Rebecca. Pushing her golden curls away from her face, I kissed the top of her head and rubbed her tiny back while I rocked.

  Rebecca’s lips parted, and her brow creased in confusion and disbelief. Her eyes were locked on the child. The tears she’d cried were washed away by new ones. She licked her lips, then looked at me as a relieved smile spread across her face. I nodded, confirming what I knew she was thinking.

  “Savannah, can you say hello?” I pointed to Rebecca.

  Savannah raised her teeny hand and waved. “Hello,” she whispered.

  The distress on Rebecca’s face melted away. Her glassy eyes were filled with compassion and delight. “Hi, Savannah.” She sniffed. “My name is Rebecca.”

  Savannah rubbed her eyes again and smiled. Then she raised her head. “Granny? I’m thusty.”

  “Why don’t you go sit with Rebecca? And Granny will fix you some chocolate milk.”

  She grinned and quickly slid from my arms. Dragging her woobie behind her, she bounced over to Rebecca on her tippy toes and climbed onto her lap. Rebecca eagerly reached down to lift her, and before I knew it, Savannah had thrown her arms around her neck.

  Rebecca’s face glowed as she pulled Savannah in closer. She nuzzled her cheek against the top of Savannah’s head and started rocking as she rubbed her on the back. A tear escaped the corner of her eye, landing in Savannah’s hair. As if she sensed it, Rebecca softly kissed her on
the head, then began humming softly. When she looked up at me, her smile grew, and a warmth filled my soul. Her eyes were brimming with maternal affection, which was exactly what I’d hoped for. Savannah had stolen her heart.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Rebecca

  Friday, June 2, 2000 ~ Suits Are Optional

  Despite the nearly triple-digit temperature, the evening was nice and pleasant. I carried my sandals as I made my way across the dunes, down an old familiar path toward the shoreline. The beach was nearly empty except for an older couple walking down the water’s edge holding hands and two surfers trying to catch a wave about thirty yards out. Otherwise, I had the beach to myself. Perfect, I thought. I had a lot on my mind and didn’t want any distractions. I needed to put my feet in the water and find that perfect spot in the powdery sand where I could sit and think my thoughts and reevaluate my life. I wanted the ocean to speak to me like it always did, help me clear my head with its mysterious, soothing forces.

  For some folks, the heavy, humid heat in Florida was stifling. Even at the beach. But there was no other place I’d rather be. I loved the beach. Any time, any season. Even hurricane season. And my favorite beach was this one right here, the Emerald Coast. Just a short walk on its glistening shore did more for me than an hour’s worth of yoga. The beach had always had that effect on me. It soothed me like nothing else in the world ever could—the sound of the waves rolling in and crashing against the shore, the smell of the salty air, the coolness of the gulf breeze against my skin, and the soft, sugar-white sand beneath my feet. It was more intoxicating than Tennessee whiskey. This was paradise, indeed. And, for me, this was home.

  I took my time walking down to the ocean. The cool velvety sand squished between my toes, and I immediately felt its effect. With each step, the tension in my shoulders loosened, and as soon as my feet touched the water, my stress was alleviated. I closed my eyes, raised my hands in the air, leaned my head back, and breathed in as deeply as I could.

  “Ahh,” I exhaled. The sound of the sea settled my soul. As I surrendered to the ocean’s hypnotic power, the waves tickled my toes, welcoming me back, then quickly ran away so the next set could roll in to greet me. “God, how I’ve missed this.”

  The sun had started its descent and the sky was showcasing all its glorious hues. From the east to the west, for as far as I could see, colors so fierce, so mesmerizing, emblazoned the atmosphere. Serene swirls of indigo and amethyst faded into a chalky mauve, which flared into pomegranate pink. Captivating tinges of saffron, tangerine, vermillion, and scarlet surrounded the fiery golden orb. With an unwavering gaze, I watched the sun sink lower and lower into the moving ocean as it reflected off every wave. The emerald-green water had turned to dark shades of turquoise and teal and glistened with shards of fire. The beauty of the sunset only intensified the longing I had burning inside me. It was hard to believe the magnificent view, the flaming ball of gas, was the same sun I watched fade into the horizon in New York. It was a completely different world there. It was a world I’d come to appreciate, and a world I’d come to respect, but it wasn’t a world I truly loved. It could never compare to home.

  I stepped farther into the ocean and let the water curl around my ankles. It was as cool and soothing as I remembered. The gentle waves softly splashed refreshing droplets on my legs. The beckoning sea lured me deeper, and I succumbed to the ocean’s spell. When the water hit just above my knees, I stood still for several minutes while it washed away my troubles. As I watched the sun disappear, a slight breeze played with my ponytail and made the loose hairs around my face dance. I breathed in the air and let it refresh my soul. So many thoughts were traveling through my mind. Thoughts of my past, thoughts of seeing Jackson again, thoughts of his fierce kiss. It was just my luck after nearly a decade of pushing men away and avoiding any erotic thought like the plague, I finally let my guard down and actually surrendered to the idea of intimacy, only to be rejected by the one man, the only man I’ve ever loved.

  My eyes began to burn from the salty wind kissing my face and the frustration and heaviness in my heart. The truth was, I feared intimacy. Any emotionally or physically intimate setting caused me to panic. I hated being that way, but I couldn’t help it. I didn’t want to get close to anyone because I knew my heart would always belong to Jackson. Maybe he was the only one who could heal me.

  Suddenly, I noticed movement in the distance—something fluttering. My eyes focused on the lone seagull flying toward me. He squawked with great enthusiasm as he glided by, then he circled around and flew back in my direction, singing hysterically.

  “Go away, bird. I don’t have anything to feed you.” My eyes followed him as he flew by and circled back. This time he dipped down closer, chattering up a storm. “Why are you harassing me?” The seagull squawked three more times. It was an angry, dreadful sound. “Are you scolding me?” I waved my hand in the air to shoo the bird away. “Go on. Leave me alone.” But he kept circling and dipping toward me. “Why are you so fussy?”

  As I watched him fly around, I realized there wasn’t another bird in sight, which was uncommon. I began to wonder why he’d taken an interest in me when I remembered reading about seagulls and what they symbolize—perspective, changing your attitude to find your solution. Make the most of what you have right now and let everything else go. Soar above the drama and find ways to move forward. I pressed my lips together, taken aback I’d remembered it all so clearly.

  “Okay, bird. So, are you here to tell me to stop letting my past continue to haunt me, to stop feeling sorry for myself, to suck it up and go talk to Jackson?” The seagull swooped past me and laughed. “Thanks a lot, bird!” I yelled and shook my shoes at him. “I know you think I’m ridiculous. Out here fully clothed, knee-deep in the ocean, talking to you like you’re some kind of therapist.”

  The bird cackled and floated in front of my face. He was so beautiful and looked so sweet and harmless. My heart melted, and I felt like a monster for yelling at him.

  “Maybe I am being ridiculous. But sometimes it’s hard to soar above the drama and move forward. Okay, bird? I can’t soar.”

  The seagull’s dark, tender eyes pierced my soul. Soar above the drama, let things go, enjoy life, be happy. He was hovering so close I could reach out and grab him. Instead, I gazed into his eyes another moment before wading back toward the shore. I watched my feet in the dark, clear water as I drudged through the current in the soft, fine sand. The seagull flew over my head but was silent now.

  “You’re right, bird. People are complicated. Why can’t we just be happy and enjoy life? Deal with our pasts and free ourselves from the prison of constant fear? Stop fighting our feelings and go for what we want? It sounds so easy, doesn’t it?”

  I studied the gentle crests as they rolled past me, racing me to the shore. They moved quickly, in quiet ripples, with rhythm and grace. I was blundering about, trying to walk in a straight line as the current gently pulled the sand from under my feet. Night was falling, and the beach grew darker. The waves continued to guide me to the shore, returning to the deep as I stepped out of the ocean.

  “We try to soar. But sometimes our hearts break, and we want to run away and hide from the world. That doesn’t mean we stop feeling. We never stop feeling. We never stop caring or loving. Maybe that’s why the pain never goes away. Maybe pain is a good thing. It shows us we’re still capable of feeling, capable of loving. Maybe I need to stop feeling sorry for myself and allow myself to just feel. Allow myself to care. And love. I’m already pretty miserable as it is. I don’t think my life can get any worse.” I looked up at the dark sky. “By the way, if you’re listening, that’s not a challenge, God. I realize life is a gift. I realize there are many things I need to reevaluate and appreciate.”

  I walked slowly, putting one foot in front of the other on the wet, hard-packed sand. “No one’s gonna step in, like some fairy godmother, and make everything perfect for me. If I want my life to change, then I’m the one
who has to change it, and my solution lies in changing my attitude. Right, bird? I know this. So, why does that scare me? Am I afraid of taking a risk? And what do I think I’m risking anyway? My heart? Pfft! It’s already a mess. So, what have I got to lose? If anything’s worth having, it’s worth the effort, worth the risk. That’s why love is a miracle. And Lord knows, I need a miracle.”

  “Who are you talking to?”

  I gasped, startled from the sudden unexpected presence of another person. When I looked in the direction of the wind and surf muffled voice, I found a male figure standing about ten feet up the bank directly in front of me. I dropped my sandals. “Wh—what?”

  The man took four strides toward me and stopped. Thanks to the bright moonlight, I could see him more clearly now. He wore swim shorts, a tank top, and a ball cap, and he was holding a pair of flip flops. His well-defined shoulders tapered down to narrow hips. His thighs, like his biceps, were large and defined. My heart skipped a beat as I marveled at his body. He was exceptionally fit. Clearly, he wasn’t a stranger to the gym. Of course he wasn’t. Jackson had always been athletic. And I’d always admired his body. But now… Dear God... He was even more striking.

  “I asked who you were talking to.” His voice was relaxed, not harsh like last night, and I could tell by his tone he was smiling.

  “I wasn’t talking to anyone,” I said nervously, then bent down to grab my shoes before the waves washed them away.

  “So, you were talking to yourself?” Jackson chuckled. “That’s not good.”

  My heart was running like a racehorse. “No, I wasn’t talking to myself. I was actually talking to that… that… seagull.” I turned my head, searching the sky, but the bird was nowhere to be found.

  “Oh,” Jackson laughed, “well, that’s even worse. Especially since there are no seagulls around.”

  He was right. The seagull had flown away. He probably went to tell all his seagull buddies about his encounter with the crazy lady on the beach. I wondered how long Jackson had been watching me. Surely, he’d seen the seagull flying around my head. Or at least heard him. Had he also heard me?