An August Harvest

by Ben Marney

  “If she’s not asleep, how long will she be out?” I asked.

  Brenda sipped her wine and shrugged. “No way of knowing. No one really knows what’s going on during this process, but I think the brain is organizing all this new and shocking information she learned tonight and putting it in the proper places so she can process it better. That’s just my theory from dealing with other patients who have gone through this. Most of them, when they wake are no longer in a rage and can think more logical. They are still angry, but not raging. That’s what I’m hoping will happen with Melissa.”

  “Me too,” I said.

  “And Grant,” she grabbed my hand and looked at me, “I doubt she will remember what she said to any of us. So just let it go. We all love your dear old Dad stories.”

  “Really?” Marshall said. “You like ‘em? I’m sick of them!”

  We all burst out laughing. It felt good to smile and relax for the first time that night.

  16

  An August Harvest

  I didn’t want to disturb Melissa, so I slept on the couch in the living room that night and woke early with the morning sunrise. Its golden beams streamed brightly through the windows and lit up my face like a stage spotlight.

  I was at least two days behind on the Beverly Beach foundation plans, but I wanted to see how Melissa was, and it was Saturday, so I decided to cook breakfast instead of heading to the office.

  The second my feet hit the floor, Charley and Donna ran into the living room, so I opened the deck door and they both shot down the back deck stairs like a couple of rockets. I hit the button on the coffee maker and got my first cup going, then filled Donna and Charley’s bowls with food and water. With my coffee in my hand, I walked out on the back deck and watched Charley and Donna playing in the surf.

  “You’re up awful early,” I felt Melissa’s arm slip around my waist. “Sip?”

  I smiled and handed her my coffee. “Mmmm,” she said with delight as she savored it. She took another sip and pointed her finger. “Is that Donna and Charley?”

  “Yeah. It looks like they’re having fun.” I took her hand holding the coffee cup, pulled it up to my mouth and took a sip. “Are you hungry?”

  “Are you cooking?”

  “Yep.”

  “Then yes,” she chuckled, “I’m starving.”

  It’s truly amazing what the smell of sizzling bacon can do to even the deepest sleepers. I hadn’t even flipped over the first batch of bacon before Molly, Brenda, and Marshall were crowding around me in the kitchen.

  “I like my bacon crisp, my eggs over medium and be sure and not lace the edges.” Marshall shouted his order. “I hate it when cooks lace the edges.”

  I rolled my eyes at him. “Got it, Doc. Bacon rare, two scrambled hard, coming right up.” Actually, I went all out and even made them my world famous pancakes, and I did not lace any edges.

  After we cleaned up the dishes, we all took a long slow walk and talk on the beach, but what had taken place the night before never came up. It was as if it never happened. The main subject during our stroll was my new job, my new office and the Beverly Beach Project.

  When we got back from our walk and Molly’s babysitter arrived, we all crammed into Marshall’s tiny rental car, drove to my new office and I showed them around the space. After the tour, we walked down the alley to Harry’s Seafood Bar and Grille and had lunch.

  During our meal, we all agreed that we’d never survive the long drive to Beverly Beach in that tiny Smart car, so while Marshall paid our tab, I called Hertz and rented a human size car. With all of us sitting upright with actual room for our legs and feet, we drove the twenty-nine miles south to the construction site.

  “Are the barges out there in the ocean part of this project?” Marshall asked.

  “Not officially, but the work they are doing is being funded by the generous donations to the government from the developers of this project.”

  Marshall raised his eyebrows and looked over the top of his glasses. “What kind of bullshit answer is that? What the hell are they building out there, some kind of secret underwater government lab?”

  I glanced at Melissa and we both started laughing. “No, it’s nothing like that. Have you ever noticed that the beach behind our housing complex is much larger than it is just a few hundred yards away in either direction? And have you noticed that the water is calmer and the waves are smaller?”

  Brenda looked at Marshall. “I don’t think I’ve ever paid any attention to that before. Have you?”

  Marshall lowered his forehead, thinking. “No, I’ve never noticed that.”

  “Check it out when we get back tonight, it’s very obvious. In Melissa’s father’s original plans for the houses on that property, he had also designed an artificial reef to be built a few hundred yards out from the coastline. He was way ahead of his time; no one had ever done anything like that before or even thought of it. It was truly a revolutionary concept that unfortunately, he never got to see work.”

  Brenda looked at Melissa. “Your father died before the project was completed?”

  “Actually, he never tried to develop the project when he was alive,” she said. “He hid the plans away and never showed them to anyone. After he died and I was going through his office, I found them. At first, I thought they were just another set of his many unfinished designs, but when the lawyer read his will and I realized I had inherited that beachfront property, I remembered the name of the property written on the top of the plans. When I showed them to a few of my friends in the construction business, they all told me that they were way overdesigned and would cost too much to build. They said that no developer would be willing to take the financial risk, because it wouldn’t make enough profit, so I built them myself...exactly to Dad’s plans and specifications.”

  “But her friends were wrong,” I said. “Because of his revolutionary ideas, the houses sold quickly and have survived three major storms, including one hurricane with minimal beach erosion and zero structural damage. Her father’s ‘overdesigned’ plans were genius. And that’s why I borrowed his exact reef design that they’re building out there.”

  Marshall looked back at the barges. “An artificial reef to protect the beach. Great idea, so why the mystery on who’s funding it? What difference does it make where the money comes from?”

  “It shouldn’t make any difference at all,” Melissa said, “because you’re correct, it will protect the beach from erosion. Personally, I think every beach project should be required to do it, but unfortunately, getting a permit to build a reef has become political.”

  “The permits come from the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers in federal waters,” I added, “or the Florida Department of Environmental Protection in state waters. Due to the liability connected to placing materials on the sea floor these permits are not issued to private individuals. So basically, they are owned and maintained by the government, either state or federal, depending on the location of the reef.”

  Marshall frowned. “And to get the government permits...”

  “That’s where all the politics come into play,” I interrupted, finishing his sentence. “And unfortunately, the politicians use these permits like poker chips in the big game they’re all playing.

  “The real questions should be will it help the environment? Will it actually help save the beach and what materials will be used? What is its stability and its storm impacts? Will there be long-term studies of reef community succession, residency of benthic species, juvenile fish recruitment, and will there be comparisons of artificial reef fish communities with those on adjacent natural reefs? But instead, it all comes down to who is in power, the Democrats or Republicans, and who the people asking for the permits supported in the last election.”

  We spent a little over an hour walking the site as I showed them the plans, explaining where each structure would be located. They all seemed impressed, nodding their approval.

  It was a beautiful day, so we stop
ped at a convenience store, bought something cold to drink, rolled down the windows and took our time driving back to my house, admiring the ocean view and the beautiful beach houses along the way.

  When we got home, the girls decided to take a nap while Marshall and I returned the rental car. On the way back, we stopped by a seafood market to pick up some fresh fish to grill for dinner. As usual, Marshall and I argued our way through the seasoning and grilling process of the grouper, but the end result was fantastic.

  A slight cold front had moved in and as a result, the temperature had dropped into the low 70’s, but with the ocean breeze, it felt much colder. Just cold enough to fire up my new round brick fire pit I had installed.

  Once everyone was settled around the fire pit I said, “I’ll be right back, don’t go anywhere.” I ran up the deck stairs and returned with four long metal prongs with wooden handles, a bag of marshmallows, a box of graham crackers and a sack full of Hershey’s chocolate bars.

  “S’mores?” Brenda yelled. “I haven’t done this since I was a kid!”

  Although the grouper was amazing, I’m pretty sure everyone liked the S’mores best of all.

  “What time is your plane tomorrow?” I asked.

  “It’s tomorrow afternoon,” Brenda said, “2:30 or 3:00, I think.”

  Marshall lifted the wine out of the ice bucket and filled his glass. “This has been such a terrific day, I hate to bring this up, but Brenda and I came here for two specific reasons, and we’ve only got to one of those. And that first one is something we’re all doing a good job of ignoring, but we can’t do that. I’m sorry, Melissa, I know you don’t want to, but we really need to talk more about it.”

  Melissa’s body stiffened. “I’m fine, Marshall, really I am.”

  “No, you’re not,” Brenda said. “No one would be and none of us believe you. So stop this now. If you weren’t furious at him, if you weren’t incredibly angry, something would be wrong with you. It’s okay. Don’t deny it and let it out, but use that anger constructively.”

  Melissa lifted her head. “How do I do that?”

  “By being very careful about what you do next. If it was just you to consider, I would strongly suggest you file attempted murder charges against him and put him in jail. But it’s not just you. You have Molly to consider, too. What will all that do to her?”

  None of us had any answers to that question, so we just sat in silence, listening to the crackling fire and the ocean crashing on the beach on the other side of the tall berm behind us.

  “So if I file charges, Molly will hate me for putting her father in prison,” Melissa whimpered, “but if I don’t...the bastard gets away with it. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Molly is what, six, almost seven?” Brenda said. “She’s too young to comprehend any of this. And speaking as a psychologist, this kind of trauma to a child her age could have a severe effect on her development.”

  “So I just try to forget what he’s done, smile and act nice when he comes to visit Molly? How can I do that?”

  “I don’t know what else to tell you, Melissa, but I personally believe there are worse things you can do to Jerry than to send him to prison. But you do need to know that the statute of limitations for attempted murder in the state of Florida is four years. If you are going to file charges against him, you need to do it soon, but first, please consider what that might do to Molly. I would hope you would allow her to grow up and develop a few years before you tell her the truth about her father. She needs to know the truth about him, but she’s too young now. Soon she won’t be and you can explain it to her then.”

  Melissa wiped her eyes and stared at Brenda. “What could I do to him that’s worse than going to prison?”

  Brenda looked over her shoulder at Marshall, then back at Melissa. “Do you have any idea where Jerry is now? Have you heard from him?”

  “No. He hasn’t even called to talk to Molly,” she said softly.

  Marshall leaned forward. “When I discovered all this in your medical files, I panicked and hired a private detective to track him down. I wanted to make sure he was nowhere around you and Grant. I don’t trust him as far as I could throw him. Anyway, we found out that he’s living in Asheville, North Carolina and spending that million, seven he got from you like water. He paid cash for a $700,000 house and a new Jaguar. He has a fancy new office in the most expensive high rise in downtown Asheville and is somehow practicing psychology again, and he is running with the super elite high society circles there. He’s become a real big shot. However, he’s almost broke. His bank account is showing less than $200,000. At the rate, he’ll go broke in six months.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me; he’s spent that much money in a month,” Melissa said. “But I don’t understand what that has to do with getting him back for what he’s done to me?”

  Brenda smiled. “Being rich and living high is Jerry’s true God. It’s all he’s ever cared about. It’s why he tried to kill you, so he could get your money. If he was ever broke, and I mean completely broke, disgraced, left penniless, homeless, forced to live on the street...that would be much worse for him than to have to go to prison where he would get food, clean clothes and shelter.”

  Melissa tried not to smile. “So what do I do?”

  “I’m confident when he runs out of money, he will call you,” Marshall said. “Who else could he call?”

  We all nodded our heads in agreement. “You are the only one he could call. And when he calls for money, say yes.” Marshal said. “But tell him you’ll only give him the money in the form of a loan. Before he shows up, have your lawyer draw up an iron clad agreement that puts his house, his furniture, his Jaguar, basically all of his possessions, up for collateral. This document will also have a payment plan that states that if he misses a payment, you can foreclose and take possession of his property immediately.”

  “Why would he sign something like that?”

  Brenda laughed. “Because when you say yes to giving him more money, he will believe that he still controls you, and that you would never actually enforce it.

  “Even after all I’ve done to him?”

  “Melissa, think about it from his point of view,” Brenda said. “What have you really done? You took away his custody of Molly, his office, his apartment and his car, but in return, you gave him almost 2 million dollars. And now, you are agreeing to give him more money. He’ll gladly sign the papers, but with absolutely no intentions of ever paying you back a cent. And that will be the worst mistake he will ever make.”

  In the moonlight, Melissa’s eyes twinkled above her wide grin. “I hope you’re right. And if he does this, I think I’ll let him get three months behind before I lower the boom on the sorry bastard.”

  I stood and poked the fire to get it going again. “So, was that the second thing you guys came here to tell us?”

  Marshall lifted his glass and sipped his wine. “No, it’s not. There’s something else I need to tell you, and it concerns both of you.”

  I sat back down in my chair and stared over the fire pit at his face, but I couldn’t read his expression. “Am I going to need more than this Diet Coke for this? Maybe some wine or perhaps a shot of Jack Daniels?”

  He gave me a blank look. “To tell you the truth, buddy, I have no idea how you’re going to react to this.”

  That didn’t sound good to me. “I’ll be right back,” I said. I ran up the steps and poured myself two fingers of Jack Daniels, then slowly walked down the steps and sat in the chair. “Ok, tell us.”

  Marshall nervously ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “When I received Melissa’s medical records, I was actually stunned to discover that her blood type was AB negative. That’s extremely rare. In fact, it’s the rarest blood type of all – only 1 or 2 % of the entire human race has that blood type. That got me thinking about how incredibly lucky she had been to find a healthy liver donor with AB negative blood on that exact day. Her doctor told me that she more tha
n likely would not have survived another twenty-four hours without the transplant…it was that close.”

  He sipped his wine, glanced at Brenda and then back to me. “Grant, do you know what day it was that Melissa received her transplant?”

  I looked at Melissa. “What day was it?”

  Confused, she shrugged and said, “It was two years ago on February 17th.”

  My body froze and my heart began pounding in my chest when I heard the date. I turned and stared at Marshall. “What was Rita’s blood type?”

  He lifted his brow and dipped his head slowly. “AB negative.”

  I gasped. My jaw slacked and I felt light headed. I tried to speak, but couldn’t form words.

  “What does that mean?” Melissa asked, still confused.

  I stared into Marshall’s eyes. “How?” Was all I could get out.

  Marshall leaned forward. “Before we actually unplugged her, we harvested her vital organs. She had checked the donor box on her drivers licensed. Since we didn’t need your permission, I didn’t tell you. You were in no condition to talk about that. Grant, she not only saved Melissa’s life, she saved two other people, with her heart and lungs.”

  The chair tumbled behind me, skidding off the brick patio into the sand when I jumped up and ran away. I have no memory of this, but that’s what they tell me I did. The next thing I actually remember was running barefoot down the beach. I wasn’t sure what had happened to my shoes or how far and how long I had been running, but I was out of breath. When I stopped, I fell to my knees on the sand, gasping for air, crying. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Charley. He was only a few feet away, standing there quietly watching me.

  I held out my hand. “Hey, buddy.” He slowly walked up to me and nudged my hand with his nose. “I’m okay,” I said, petting his head, “don’t worry.”