by Chase, Diane
“This is none of my business. Ack! Evan would flip if he knew I brought this up.” Amanda covered her face and leaned her head back.
“You can’t stop now. What is it? He doesn’t have to know we’ve talked.” She’d never conspired with Amanda, never needed to regarding Harry.
“He’s got a permanent position at Graham, Hamilton & Smith, conditionally.”
“Conditionally?”
“Juliette, promise me you’ll let him break the news. But I…”
“What is it, Amanda?” Nothing about her friend’s slumped shoulders or twisted expression suggested this was good news.
Amanda held her hands out. “Okay, I’d want to be prepared if it were me. Most of the conversation was with Evan, and maybe it’s his enthusiasm that irked me. Anyway, Keith Graham more or less blackmailed Harry, told him he had to represent Ameropolix, this adult entertainment outfit near Los Angeles or disappear in December when the contract ends.”
“So he needs to say ‘adios,’” Juliette said, her stomach turning at the prospect of Harry having anything to do with that.
“My suggestion exactly! It’s Tri-ple X, of all things. Evan says to me, ‘not so fast, honey.’ I couldn’t believe he’d support Keith Graham.”
Juliette began to suspect Amanda wanted to talk more about Evan than Harry. Why hadn’t he said something and when did he plan to? Keith had been so foul their weekend in Surfside Beach. She’d even asked Harry if it bothered him, but he’d dismissed it as if their entire future depended on the guy.
“So, Harry wasn’t exactly defending Ameropolix’s productions,” Amanda said. “His point was they don’t matter to the firm. Evan agreed that Harry would have more options as an associate, that this is his big break. Yada, yada, yada. I’m sorry, Juliette. I feel like I’m just unloading. Great start to the weekend, right? Should we bring it up together when they get back, two against two?”
Juliette shook her head. “And what, talk Harry out of what he thinks is such a great opportunity? He’ll have his argument all ironed out, his reasons eloquent as a courtroom drama. I need to think first.”
She half-listened while Amanda yapped about Brad Barrington, Ameropolix’s founder, and how Harry considered him a family man and a nice guy about their age. Juliette was glad her friend was the buffer to break the news.
Before long, Harry and Evan returned and their voices rang out from the kitchen. Amanda stretched out of her chair. “I’m going to need some mosquito repellent.”
“There’s a selection in the pantry,” Juliette said.
“I’ve got some in my bag upstairs. By the way, are you sure you and Harry don’t want the master bedroom? We’re fine in your room.”
“Harry’s going to be in the library.” Juliette stopped halfway up the brick path leading to the back porch.
Amanda folded her arms across her stomach. “Juliette, I don’t want you guys getting into a fight over this, especially not because of me. Maybe Harry can explain his reasons better.”
“It’s not that.”
Her friend looked perplexed, but Juliette circled Amanda’s waist and continued toward the backdoor. Maybe she had some fires to put out tonight, but one of these days her dearest friend needed to hear what happened at Christmas Bay.
****
Dinner that night was in the dining room and uneventful as it turned out. Amanda did most of the talking, and in the end, both men acquiesced to the rottenness of the adult entertainment industry, but neither budged on Evan’s declaration that “A man’s gotta do what he’s gotta do.”
Harry didn’t object to the sofa, and when Juliette tried to explain her changing views of intimacy he stopped her. “I’m good with the library. You need your space.”
He didn’t get it, even seem to expect some chastisement for his choices. The next morning, the four of them shared a quieter than usual breakfast. Afterward, they strolled to the Strand down the street. They shopped for hours, stopped for lunch, and headed to a little place on the seawall where Harry and their friends drank like sailors.
They arrived home about three o’clock, and all but Juliette went straight to bed for a nap. After Juliette put in a load of laundry, she made a spinach salad with cucumbers and orange bell peppers and sliced summer squash to grill with the chicken. She was rinsing strawberries for the strawberry shortcake dessert when the house phone rang on the kitchen counter.
“Hello,” she said, expecting a telemarketer.
“Is my mom there?” Lexi asked. “She was suppose to pick us up a half hour ago.”
“Let me check.”
Juliette scurried to the living room window and wasn’t surprised to see Connie’s car in the driveway. It’d been there this afternoon when they returned home. As far as she knew, Connie left just once today and that was to drop the girls off at the Schlitterbahn this morning.
She lit up the stairs and knocked on her roommate’s door. When no one answered, she cracked it enough to see Connie bundled under the floral comforter, snoring.
Her thoughts flashed to Gwyneth. This had been her sister’s room, one almost as large as her parents.
“Connie.” She tapped the woman’s shoulder and finally shook it.
She moaned and pulled the comforter around her neck. “What?”
“Lexi’s on the phone. She and Lauren are waiting for you.”
“Juliette, do me a favor, will you?” Connie’s voice sounded weak and muffled. “I’ve got a splitting headache. Can you go get them?”
“Sure.” Juliette stepped back from the bed.
She hadn’t been in the room since Connie and her daughter moved in. She didn’t particularly mean to pry now. The garden room was in shambles—clothes on the floor, papers splayed on the desk, and dishes scattered on tables and the dresser.
The other bedroom doors were still closed and no one stirred. She tiptoed to the stairs and ran back to the phone.
“What!” Lexi said rudely when Juliette explained. “She was fine when she dropped us off.”
“Lexi,” Juliette said. The kid could really cop an attitude. “There’s a parking lot across from the entrance. I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes. Don’t talk to anyone. Do you understand?”
“Do you think I’m an imbecile, Juliette?” She huffed and hung up.
What a brat. She sounded like an angry thirty-year-old. Juliette snatched her purse in the foyer and headed out the door. If Harry woke up before she got back, he could call her cell phone.
The traffic on Broadway was thick, so Juliette drove on backstreets to the waterpark. At the Schlitterbahn entrance, she spotted the girls on the side of the narrow road. Wearing one-piece swimsuits with beach towels around their waists, they looked so vulnerable just standing there. With an SUV right on her tail, Juliette stopped, and they jumped in.
“Hey, guys.” She waved to the waiting car and returned to the flow of park traffic.
“Thanks for picking us up,” Lauren said. Soaked with baby oil, she slid into the passenger seat. “What’s wrong with Lexi’s mom?”
“I told you. She has a headache,” Lexi spit out.
Juliette eyed her in the rearview mirror, but the girl had her nose pressed to the window. “Should we get her something, Lexi? Tylenol?”
“I don’t know.”
Lauren rolled her eyes and peered between the seats. “You don’t have to be so mean.”
Exiting the waterpark, traffic quickly came to a halt. During the delay, Lauren chattered about the scary ride down a tall slide and other daring adventures. Thirty minutes later and almost to the next traffic light, she went on to describe her aunt’s beach house where she was staying for several weeks. Lexi reclined in the backseat, silent.
“Well, that sounds like a nice house,” Juliette said. Her phone rang. Harry was calling. “Hold on a minute, Lauren.”
“Babe.” He sounded drowsy. “Where are you?”
Her throat closed, and she coughed to clear it. “I’m just heading home
from Schlitterbahn. Probably another twenty minutes or so.”
“We’re leaving for Houston shortly. Amanda’s mother called.” He sighed. “Don’t freak out, but her niece had a bicycle accident—”
“Oh my gosh! Which one, she has several?” Juliette kept an eye out for a sudden stop in the slow-moving traffic.
“Sarah, I think. A nine-year-old. She’s not hurt badly, but Amanda wants to get to the hospital. Anyway, I knew I should have brought my car down. Sorry.”
“Be sure and tell Amanda I’ll be praying for her.” The words hung in the air a few seconds.
“Yeah, okay.”
They said goodbye briefly, and Juliette returned the phone to the cup holder.
“My parents don’t let my older sister talk on the phone while she’s driving,” said Lauren.
Juliette pulled up to the traffic light—the first car in the line-up for when it turned green. “Well, girl, that’s what’s nice about being a grown up. You don’t have Mommy and Daddy telling you what to do.” She glanced in the rearview mirror.
Lexi was sitting up, and her lips curled almost into a smile.
She continued. “Not that they always know best.”
Lauren huffed in disbelief. “Yes, they do.”
Juliette fought the urge to mess further with the twelve-year-old’s head. Proceeding through the signal and toward the house, she relaxed more than she had in days.
The close call with Amanda’s niece meant, for now, she could wait to explain to Harry why he’d spend a second night on the library couch.
****
In church the next morning, Juliette sat next to Peggy Golightly, and Asher had the aisle. Pastor Jason Taylor seemed to be winding up the sermon, a good thing since the Kleenex package was empty. She felt like she’d come home and couldn’t stop crying about it.
Pastor Jason descended the steps from the altar. “If you’d like to make this awesome God Lord of your life, please come forward as the music plays.”
Another tear rolled down her cheek when the congregation sang out a lively tune. It was time.
She leaned to Peggy. “Excuse me. I’m going down.”
“We’ll go, too.” Dressed in a silky, indigo blouse and white linen slacks, Peggy elbowed Asher.
“I mean I’m going down to the altar,” Juliette said.
Peggy smiled and with her husband moved to the aisle. She took Juliette’s hand. “I know, honey. We’re walking there with you.”
The pastor beamed ahead as they made their way with Asher in tow and the chorus of angels all around. Maybe a seat up front made the difference. Or the company of the Golightlys. Or the story about the shepherd who cared about one little sheep. Whatever the case, her gut said life was about to change more than it had.
Big time.
Chapter Seven
Monday morning, Juliette managed to dress in shorts and a cotton top by 9:30, early for summer and enough time for a leisurely but lonely breakfast.
In one hand, she balanced a small tray with a coffee cup, a butter-soaked biscuit, and a sliced banana, and, in the other, a file folder that ought to spark enough panic to work through the day.
She headed to the backyard. The porch captured the morning sun so she settled at the umbrella table. A favored spot with Harry, it also had a grill and two chaise lounges.
The folder contained a few old papers she wrote on Renaissance textiles. Atop these sat The List of Questions, a ragged sheet torn from a spiral years ago, even before being accepted into the PhD program. Over the years as the list grew, she stashed it in her purse days on end, discussed it over lunch with friends, studied it late nights in bed, and typed variations on the computer. It spawned other lists, lesser ones, that ended up in the trashcan. With a few deletions and edits, this original represented her best ideas, and hopefully, the one question to inspire the hypothesis for her dissertation.
Juliette skimmed the list and closed the folder. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. Tuck some seeds in the soil and spectacular fruit or flowers will sprout. File away a few lackluster ideas scribbled on nasty spiral paper, and they’re just as bad later, even worse for the waiting. The sick feeling she wasted a decade of her life and her grandmother’s inherited bounty churned anew in her gut.
Not the least bit hungry, she forked a banana slice. At once, gratitude surprised the darkness in her heart. She thanked God for the meal and opened her eyes. The backyard her mother designed looked brighter, more peaceful.
Barn swallows swooped between a pygmy date palm and the fence, chirping and squabbling. Bees swarmed around a hibiscus and the pink mandevilla her parents planted in the spring, now spiraling up the lattice on the garage wall. Juliette picked at the biscuit and took in God’s majesty.
Her thoughts wandered away from the fledging dissertation to yesterday’s church service. The pastor received her so warmly at the altar, and the love from the Golightlys overflowed at the lunch they shared afterward. It still seemed surreal to think that she, Juliette Prescott, confirmed academic, was now daughter to God, as Mrs. Golightly said.
That evening she told Harry who made all sorts of noise effects as he puttered around his townhouse having just returned from playing softball.
Didn’t he get it? What if he’d stayed in town and accompanied her to church? Would they have walked the aisle together?
Already, their future was destined to be redefined. This would impact how they lived, raised their children, even celebrated their wedding. A real minister like Jason Taylor at Lighthouse Community Church should perform the ceremony, not an officiate as they planned.
She swiped her perspiring face with the front of the t-shirt. She couldn’t make all these major changes single-handedly. At the right time, they needed to talk.
The backdoor flung open, and Lexi and her friend Lauren, who extended her visit a few days, poured through. They wore identical outfits—hot-pink bikini tops and skimpy denim shorts. They stopped at the table.
“Can we use the bikes today?” With a frown, Lexi pushed up her glasses.
“Sure, just be careful,” Juliette said. Taken aback when the two girls traded sneers, she shook her head. “No really, remember my friend’s niece who just had the bike wreck?”
“She was only nine.” Lauren wore brassy-pink lipstick on her lips and front teeth.
Lexi bobbed her head in agreement and snickered. “Kids that age don’t pay attention. So, can we borrow the bikes?”
“Of course, I just want you to be safe.”
The girls took off for the garage. Had Connie seen their R-rated shorts? She was scarce the last few days and usually slept in.
“Hey, hold up, guys,” Juliette yelled. She stood and wondered if they’d be as stubborn as the dog. With some hesitation, they retraced their steps to the patio. “On one condition.”
“Are you talking about the bikes?” Lexi squinted and shielded her eyes.
“Yes, I’d like you girls to change clothes first. Or maybe put t-shirts over the bathing suit tops.”
Lexi smacked her lips and rolled her eyes. “We’re going to the beach. Everybody’s dressed like this.”
“Yeah, we’ll look like freaks.” Lauren tugged on the legs of her shorts.
“Then, I guess you’ll have to walk.” Juliette sat back down and hoped they didn’t take her up on it. They couldn’t stroll close to a mile dressed like that. She sipped the lukewarm coffee while they whispered.
“Come on.” Lexi turned toward the porch steps. “You’re not my mom,” she muttered. Her friend Lauren did some kind of wet-dog shake and let the screen door slam shut.
Yeah, so where’s your mom by the way? Juliette bit back the words.
No matter. The girls needed guidance and Harry should…what? Likewise do as she said? She didn’t want to run his life; he didn’t run hers. More so, they were parallel lines or had been until she repositioned herself.
The girls burst through the door giggling and glued at the sides stood at att
ention.
“That’s much better,” Juliette said, pleased they put on t-shirts and changed shorts both.
Skipper tagged them to the garage and disappeared down the driveway. Juliette’s cell phone rang from atop the spiral with an unfamiliar number. She answered it as she headed to the kitchen for a coffee refill.
“Juliette Prescott?” a woman asked.
“Yes.”
“This is Deb Yeager, the Lighthouse Community welcome wagon more or less. Am I disturbing you?”
“No, no.” Juliette’s heart leapt. After just one visit, she loved the place, but her defenses flared up. Maybe they wanted money or a commitment to join. “I’m just here for the summer.”
Deb chuckled. “Oh, we get lots of seasonal folks. Some like to get involved in our programs while they’re visiting Galveston. The website has all the details, but I can answer questions if you have any.”
“What kind of programs?” More relaxed, Juliette returned to the umbrella shade with Skipper jumping at her legs.
Deb recited the line up of children’s activities, singles outings, Sunday school classes, and Bible studies. She mentioned one study group met tomorrow night.
“What time?” asked Juliette. A Bible study? How wonderful. She didn’t think about going to church on a weekday.
“Seven o’clock. The teacher is Kathy Dawson, a friend of mine. They’d love to have you, even if it’s just temporary.”
Juliette hung up and gazed at the garden. Most of the backyard plants were just a few years old, except for a Mexican fan palm that towered by the garage, one of the few landscape survivors after a hurricane. Next to the trio of pygmy date palms, the esperanza had filled out nicely with its wispy branches and yellow blossoms, and the crepe myrtle had potential and plenty of showy, pink flowers.
New and budding. That’s how she felt, too.
Chapter Eight
Tuesday evening, Juliette arrived at the crowded parking lot of Lighthouse Community Church ten minutes early for the Bible study. Her cell phone rang as she pulled into the closest space to the side door. It was Harry.
