“A natural, huh?”
“Well, I had some instruction. My mother loved the arts and wanted me to succeed so she scraped together the money for lessons.
“Your mother is a singer too?”
“Dancer. She danced as the principal ballerina in the Corpus Christi ballet, a long time ago. Now she has Parkinson’s and has lost the use of her legs.” Billie brushed the hair from her face.
“That’s really sad. Someone like that without her legs.”
“She has a good attitude. She says she’s lucky. Most people never danced on a stage, and she has her memories to sustain her. I know it hurts her though.”
“I’m sure it would.” Neil stared at the woman in front of him. “What were you doing anyway?” He nodded to the rolled-up mat in her hand.
“Yoga and meditation every morning. The sea helps me concentrate so I do it on the beach. I could do it at home, but it is not as relaxing as it is with the sound of the waves coming and going.”
“Meditation, huh? Is that a Buddhist thing? I’ve got to admit I know nothing about it, and what do the rocks have to do with it?” He placed the tackle box in the chair.
“Meditation has been around for thousands of years in several cultures, but the rocks are more a Zen thing. You stack the stones, carefully controlling your breathing with each placement. My therapist suggested it, and to tell you the truth, I thought it silly at first, but it seems to help.” Billie thought she saw him flinch at the word therapist. People didn’t always know how to react to therapy.
“I am sorry to hear about your family. Paul Smith told me about the accident. I asked about you when I first heard you sing.”
“Paul is a wonderful man. He is my friend’s uncle.” She shifted her weight to the other foot, fixing the crooked sandal. “And he never met a stranger. If you want to know what’s happening on the island, he is the man to talk to.” She laughed again.
“He’s a talker, all right. By the way, do you fish? Do you want to? I’ve got more equipment on the boat and could fix you up with a line sometime.”
“Maybe some other time. Thanks. I need to get back and check on Mom. She has a nurse, but the poor woman needs to go home now and then. But it was nice talking to you.” She meant that. She liked talking to him. Billie shifted the bag on her shoulder and walked away.
“Don’t forget your rocks,” he shouted over the sound of the waves.
Billie turned back to the man with the fishing rod. “You can keep them. The ocean always has more.” She waved and left.
Neil watched her hips sway as she walked away, turned back to the stones stacked on the sea shore, and reached down. He pocketed the stones she had touched, and they still felt warm from her hand.
Chapter 12
The old Chevy groaned as it maneuvered onto the ferry next to minivans full of excited kids. School out, families took vacations. Joe Franks was not a fan of kids—or families for that matter. He could not wait to leave the family he grew up in as soon as possible. Dad drove a truck, and Mom was never home, leaving him at the mercy of an older brother. Kids could look cute, but looks could be deceiving.
Franks was also not a big fan of water and the waves that rolled to and fro. He could not imagine being out on the ocean unable to see land. Man should not live without his feet on dry land. He knew it to be a fact. He could see land behind him and in front, and the land in front got closer—thank goodness.
He rolled the creaky old car, and equally bald tires, off the ferry and turned left toward what appeared to be the tiny town of Sandhill Island. The rows of beach houses were peeling and in need of paint. Some looked like a tiny gust would blow them over. He moved through town and toward the shore on the outside of the island and saw a magnificent home in the distance. It had the look of an Italian villa. He wondered who would build a house so close to the water to be battered by the sea and hit by a hurricane at any time and destroyed. They must have more money than he did. Behind it sat a lush garden lined with stones that wove intricate patterns among the plants.
Passing the villa, he took the road that led to a harbor where boat slips were lined up in a row, and yachts and smaller boats floated peacefully. The island, a long thin strip of sand once part of the mainland, could be eroded away again if they weren’t careful. The road turned back right toward the ferry, and there sat the restaurant. Le Chez. The only restaurant he had seen that wasn’t a burger or fish-n-chips joint. It had a deck built on one side and windows that faced the water. It looked like a place a singer would hang out, not like the places he ate back in Corpus Christi. He would be back for the evening meal and entertainment. But for now, he’d visit the downtown area. As he drove past the restaurant, he noticed a small garden outback tended by a man in an open white jacket. He stood and wiped the sweat from his brow.
When evening came, Franks pulled into the almost empty restaurant parking lot. Either everyone on the island walked to Le Chez, or it was not full tonight. It smelled fishy inside. Not that he ate out that often, but when he did, the menu didn’t include garlic and herbs from a garden out back. The garlic in the pizza joint came from a package. And they could keep that fishy smell, for all he cared.
“I want to sit on the patio,” he said to the maître d’ when approached. The man led him out the door. Here the fish and garlic smell didn’t make him want to puke, blown away by the sea breeze. He sat at a table near the back. Though it was nearly dark, Franks kept on the hat and sunglasses he wore that evening. The waiter arrived with a tray containing a basket of bread and glass of ice water with a wedge of lemon perched on top. He assumed they were free. The waiter handed him a menu. Franks grumbled under his breath. This would take everything he made in tips that evening and then some.
And then she appeared; belting out a song Franks didn’t know. Her voice like thick honey oozing out of a bottle—warm and never ending. And he began to feel a little sorry for the woman with the golden voice. But he quickly squelched such feelings.
“Do you have a burger?” The waiter pointed to the menu and Franks snorted. “Highway robbery. I guess that’s what I’ll have.” He handed back the menu.
“Would you like to substitute sweet potato fries, sir?”
“Is it extra?” The waiter nodded. “Then no, just plain.” Franks had never eaten fried sweet potatoes. His grandmother made pies of them sometimes, but he wasn’t paying extra for anything.
The restaurant began to clear out and the busboys cleaned up quickly, hoping to go home early. Billie finished the song she performed and then thanked everyone for coming. Franks looked around, one rowdy table up front still drinking. The waiter came by refusing another round. One man sat alone off to the side.
Franks had long since quit on the huge burger and asked for a carry out box. The food was good after all; he didn’t want it to go to waste. A big change from the left-over pizza people failed to pick up that often made his evening meal.
The tall black man with the bass fiddle put up the cords and stowed the equipment as Billie put down the mic and closed the piano. They were done for the evening. She spoke quietly to the man on the stage with her, gave a small wave at the man who sat off to the side, then left the tiny stage.
Franks stood as she walked toward the door to the restaurant. He laid some bills on the table and followed her—food box in hand. She stopped at the kitchen as he left through the front door to wait for her.
Standing in the dark by his car he watched as she stepped from the restaurant, kicked off her shoes and stepped into flip flops. She pushed the hair from her face as she looked up into the night sky. She probably never thought about security on Sandhill Island. Franks doubted that the police ever came around.
He stepped out of the shadows and walked toward her. “Ms. Stone?” She turned with a jerk. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He took another step toward her. “I just wanted to say how much I enjoyed the performance tonight.” He smiled a greasy smile. She stepped back.
> “Um, thank you.” She started to turn and walk away. He stepped closer.
“I wanted to talk with you, if I may.” He reached for her arm.
“Don’t touch me!” She flinched and backed up. Then she stopped. “Do I know you?”
“Yes, we’ve met.” He took off the hat and rubbed his hand through his hair. Then slid the sunglasses down his nose and looked at her over the rim. “Joe Franks.”
She took another step back. “What do you want? And how did you find me?”
“It’s not hard to find someone as famous as you.”
She reached for the door handle. “Go away before I call the police.”
“What police? On this little dump of an island?”
“We have constables. We’re not without protection.” She opened the door and called, “String! Sam!”
“Now don’t get excited. I only wanted to talk.”
“I have nothing to say to you.” Billie hugged the door facing.
“Look, I just thought, I’ve paid my debt to society, and maybe you could help me find a job. Besides, I’m broke because of you.” Franks tried to keep the pleading out of his voice.
“String!” she shouted again, and the tall dark man stuck his head out the door, followed by the chef Franks saw earlier—and the man from the other table.
“Why would I help you? You killed my family.”
“It was an accident and besides, I served my time.” He took the sunglasses off, and this time he backed up as the big bass player walked out the door.
“One year! One year! Is that all that two lives are worth? One year for two lives. My baby is dead, he’ll never grow up and have a life of his own. And my husband—a good family man—cut down in the prime of his life and you want my help?” Billie’s voice screamed louder.
“What’s going on here?” the tall man in the Hawaiian shirt stepped closer. He looked at Franks. “I don’t know who you are or what you want, but you better be leaving Ms. Stone alone. We’re pretty fond of her around here and don’t like strangers messing with her.” Then he stopped as the reality sank in. “Joe Franks? Joe Franks? What the fuck are you doing here?”
How did he know his name? “I’m talking to Billie. It’s really none of your concern.” Franks used his bravest voice sounding more confident than he felt. He had seen this man before. Maybe in the court room during the trial.
“Anything having to do with Ms. Stone is my concern.” The tall man stepped toward Franks.
The door opened more widely, and the chef walked out along with Neil Towers.
“You’re the cheapskate griping about the prices, aren’t you?” The man in the white chef jacket that he had seen earlier in the day gestured to Franks. “Well go on and get out. We don’t allow arguments in the parking lot of this establishment. Now you go on and get home.” He nodded at Franks.
“I don’t have to leave a public parking place.” Franks stood his ground.
Sam punched the numbers into the cell phone. “I’m calling the police.”
String rushed forward, grabbing Franks by his arm making him drop the expensive burger, and pushed him roughly toward the only car left in the parking lot. “Get out of here and don’t come back. ’Cause if you do, the cops will be waiting. I’d like nothing more than to make you disappear off a pier somewhere, but I’ll settle for putting you back in prison for a while. Now don’t let me find you back on Sandhill Island again. Ever. Do you hear?”
The door handle of Franks’ car dug into his back. He looked at Billie. “All I wanted was a letter of recommendation from you. I did my time and paid your bills. It seemed the least you could do for ruining my life. I can’t find a decent job…”
“She ruined your life? What do you think you did? Now get out of here and don’t come back!” String yanked opened the door, pushed him in, and slammed it shut behind him. Franks started the engine of his jalopy and gunned it once then backed out, slinging sand as he spun tires and drove away.
Billie stood sobbing, Sam patting her shoulder.
“Who was that?” Neil Towers stepped to the other side of Billie.
“Never mind.” Sam and String said in unison. “I’ll take her home.” String put his big arm around her and they walked off together. “When the cops get here, send them to the house,” he called over his shoulder
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. I just hated seeing Billie so upset,” Neil said to Sam as they walked back in the restaurant.
“It’s okay.” Sam sighed. “That’s the guy who caused the accident that killed her family. What he is doing here and how he found her is the question.”
“Well, I didn’t mean to get in the way. She’s a great lady, and I don’t want to see her hurt. I also need to pay someone for my meal.”
Sam gestured to the waiter. “Thanks for your concern, Neil. But we’ll take care of Billie.”
****
Outside the dog sniffed the take-out container with the burger and trotted off behind the restaurant with the foam box in her teeth.
Once home, Billie guided String to the porch swing.
“Let me get my wits about me before I go in.” Billie once again wiped her eyes with her hands as the door to the house opened and Raven walked out.
“Is everything okay?” She walked toward Billie as the constable’s car drove up.
“Joe Franks came to the restaurant tonight to talk to me.”
“Oh, good Lord! Honey, are you okay? Can I get you something?” Raven patted Billie’s hands as they lay in her lap. “How about some tea?”
Billie nodded.
The constable took the report and then stated he could do little, but he would look the guy up in the probation records.
“I’ll check to see if there is still a restraining order. If not, you might have to have one set up again.” The man in the navy-blue uniform wrote notes on the pad from his pocket.
“I think it lapsed after he went to prison,” Billie lifted the tea cup to her lips with shaking hands as she sat on the swing, the constable stood by making notes. String had moved to a nearby chair, and Raven took his place.
“And I think you need to call the doctor in the morning. This was a big shock.” String looked at her like a big brother. Again, Billie nodded.
After everyone left, Raven helped her to bed, and Billie lay staring out the window at the moon. Why did she keep reliving the nightmare of her family’s death, she wondered as she dozed off?
The next morning Billie found a long lanky man curled up uncomfortably on her porch swing snoring. String had spent the night watching over her as usual.
Chapter 13
Barefoot, with the yoga mat and flip flops in hand, Billie eased open the screen door and slipped out quietly. She might need extra meditation this morning after a fitful and almost sleepless night.
Seagulls soared overhead, and the sea breeze blew back the hair from her face. No matter what life threw at her, Billie could count on the ocean to sooth her nerves. She walked to the rocky shore at the other end of the island without thinking—and there he sat.
Neil Towers sat on the rocks, fishing pole in hand. He looked out to sea oblivious of her arrival. She almost turned back. But this was where she practiced meditation, and he could leave. She was staying.
“Good morning,” he said without turning when her shadow peeked over his shoulder. She placed the yoga mat on the ground beside the rocks. “Am I bothering you? Because if I am, I can move.”
“No, of course not. Stay. It’s a big ocean.” Billie took the sunglasses off her face.
“I knew you would be here, and I wanted to make sure you were okay after last night.” He spoke with his back to her.
“Really, I’m fine.” She walked to the water’s edge beside the boulders and looked for small stones to stack later.
“You have a great support group here on the island with String and Sam. But I wanted to throw my hat in the ring too. If you need anything—ever—I wanted you to know th
at I’m here for you.”
“That’s very kind, but unnecessary.” Billie walked back to the yoga mat.
“Well, I’m not going to ask any questions. Just know, if Sam or String are not around, I will be. My boat is in the harbor and going nowhere soon. I have nothing to do but fish all day and I’m around if you need me.” He turned and looked into her eyes still swollen from the crying fit last night. “I brought you coffee.” He handed her the Styrofoam cup that sat beside him as he drank the other. “I didn’t know how you took it, so it’s black.”
Her hands trembled as she took the cup. “Thank you. You’re very kind.” She walked down the beach a few feet and spread the yoga mat, laid the stones beside it, and picked up the ear buds. “I couldn’t believe he found me. And then I really couldn’t believe he blamed me for his problems in life. He said he wanted me to write him a letter of recommendation! I’ll recommend he get life in prison if he likes.” She started to shake, took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“He obviously has no remorse.” Neil put his pole into a crack between the rocks and stood. “Paul and Sam told me a little about the accident; they also said you were fragile, and I should keep my distance from you. They thought I might make matters worse for you. But I want you to know, that’s not my intention. I’m here to start a new life too. Here to heal. My wife divorced me, and I went a little crazy, hit the bottle too much, and even attempted suicide.” He pulled down the neckline of his T-shirt showing her the scar that ran around his neck. “A friend found me. I know a little about therapy and coming back from the brink. Not like you do, but I wanted you to know, you are not alone. There are a lot of us out there trying to put our lives back together, and it seems to me that helping each other is why we were put on this earth. So, if you need anything, or just need to talk, or just need me to shut up and go away, say so.”
Billie sniffed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, took a sip of the coffee, and looked out to sea. “Thank you. I had no idea. I know I’m not alone in the world. I have my mom and friends, but it has been very hard. I came home to heal, and then Mom got sick, and I got another kick in the gut. My therapist said yoga and meditation would help. And they do.” She turned and looked at Neil. “I could teach you if you want.” She smiled through tear-stained eyes.
Stones of Sandhill Island Page 6
