Unconditional

by Connie Keenan

That day had begun as just another ordinary day, although interestingly enough, it had been right before the family’s vacation to Wildwood. Most of the time they’d gone to another of the shore points, Ocean Grove, staying at their favorite Victorian bed and breakfast. That year, for a change of pace, it was supposed to have been Wildwood. That was the year vacation had been cancelled. No beach that year. And more than the beach had been missing.

  The last time Josh had seen his mother, she had been wearing a pair of dark blue pants and one of those blue-and-white sailor tops that she liked to wear. People had always remarked about what a pretty woman she was, this smiling, happy-go-lucky brunette who readily talked to people about “my two favorite boys”—her husband and her son, her only child. His mom and dad had been trying to have another child, ever since he was about four and his mother had lost the baby. She had been eight months pregnant; the baby was another boy.

  But that day, everyone in the Coleman household had been happy. The suitcases were packed, the cooler waited on the kitchen island to be filled with ice, juice, sandwiches and bottled water, and room had been made in the SUV’s cargo area for the beach umbrella and chairs. Sharon Coleman had stepped out for a quick errand, right after dinner, to the store for some last-minute items.

  It was a “quick run” that should have had her back within the hour, but over two hours had passed. It wasn’t like Mom to disappear, though she could have met a friend at the store and chatted with them. The world fell apart when the doorbell rang, and on their doorstep stood a police officer, bearing news that no family ever wanted to hear.

  Died on impact…

  Josh stood staring at the sailor top and navy blue pants ensemble in the women’s clothing shop window. Some things never seemed to go out of style, and that was one of them, he supposed. He hadn’t expected clothes to stop him in his tracks, and he’d been passing the store quickly, having only seen the outfit out of the corner of his eye. Those three words, spoken by the somber cop to his father at the door, had made no sense when he’d heard them that first time.

  His father had broken down. Physically broken down, as if all of his strength had been snatched out of him by some invisible force. Josh, seven years old and standing in the foyer a couple feet away, watched as the cop caught his father in his arms as he collapsed. The officer must have been around his dad’s age, and when his gaze met Josh’s, the uniformed cop’s eyes grew instantly misty.

  And from then on, life in the Coleman household had changed. It was never the same again. No more the three of us. Now it was the two of us, with one of the two—his father—falling into a depression for a while. Despite the support from Josh’s grandparents, because his mother’s parents had always loved and kept in contact with his father, despite the encouragement and help from family friends and friends from church. It had taken Dad a couple of years to return to some semblance of normalcy after suffering the loss of his beloved wife.

  For Josh, it had taken a different kind of toll.

  Some years later, during the turbulence of his teen years, when he’d begun to hang out with a bad crowd, other words had been engraved into his memory.

  I lost my wife. And now I’m losing my son.

  Josh shuffled away from the shop window and continued down Hathaway’s Main Street. Past the old pharmacy that had been newly renovated as an ice cream parlor that also sold fountain sodas and New York-style egg creams. Past the pet store, which always prominently displayed playful puppies or kittens in its big picture window, alternating between the two. Past the Christian bookstore and the hair salon. He crossed the street at the corner and stepped into Sally’s Seashore Bakery.

  Sally sells seashells by the seashore! read the sign over a glass display, behind which were beautifully stacked sugar cookies in the shape of seashells. Evidently, Sally also sold creamy Napoleons, luscious tiramisu sold in dainty cups, and assorted cookies, cakes, and breads. Sold there, too, were marzipan candies and chocolates, though those were brought in from a confectionary based in Nutley.

  A slightly overweight, middle-aged blonde dressed in an apron appeared through a door behind the counter. That, Josh guessed, was Sally by the Seashore.

  “Good afternoon, sweetie,” she greeted him with a smile. “Looking for anything special?”

  He returned her smile. “Looking for something sweet. I was assigned to bring home something sweet for dinner tonight.”

  “Well, you’ve come to the right place to complete your assignment.” She chuckled, and with a flourish, she waved an arm over the counter. “We’ve got quite the selection. For you and a young lady, or for you two and a whole crowd?”

  “Uh—me and a whole crowd. Not a real big crowd, but there’ll be about six of us, I think.”

  He would have liked to have given her that first answer. You and a young lady. After having Valerie to himself all morning, and oddly enough, missing her already, he wouldn’t have minded a quiet, intimate dinner for two. Over candlelight, even better.

  Admittedly, this would be interesting, with her best friend and possibly her mother there, too. He’d called and left Elliot a message inviting him, but so far, no call back yet.

  “A box of Italian cookies are always a good bet,” she suggested. “You just cut off the string, open the box, pull them out of the box and set them on your prettiest plate. Set that next to a carafe of coffee and everybody’s in Heaven. What’s for dinner?”

  “Fish and steak.”

  “Ah, surf and turf! Very nice. The lemon meringue pie is fresh. Just made it this morning. You want something sweet, then that’s your baby. It’s light and crisp, goes nice after the fish, especially.”

  Must be nice to really like what you do, he thought, impressed with the woman’s enthusiasm.

  “I wish I liked my job as much,” he mused out loud. “I mean, I like it, but it’s probably not as much fun.”

  “Oh? What is it you do?”

  “Well, I work in construction. Seems to be the job I keep coming back to. Been doing it for some years now.”

  “Oh. You do that on the side, too?”

  Josh was bent at the waist and peering into the glass display, admiring the cookies.

  “Never thought of doing that, but I guess I could. Got a friend who’d probably work with me.”

  “You do everything, or…? Because it just so happens that I’m looking for somebody, a contractor, to tear up those old rugs in my living room and on the stairs and lay down new hardwood floors.”

  Interested, he straightened up. “Done that. Lots of times.”

  “Yeah, I’m tired of the rugs. They’re a pain to clean. Gotta have professionals in there every few months to steam-clean them. My dogs and grandkids, they’re rough on rugs, too.” Shaking her head, she went on, “Anyway, the pies are right behind you in that case, next to the one with the cakes.”

  “Oh—yeah, thanks.”

  Was she looking to hire him for freelance work? Josh entertained the thought for a moment before turning to view the pies.

  Elliot had worked for people on the side, painting, building backyard decks, repairing porches, other odd jobs. He’d earned extra money that way. It was more than that, though. It was being his own boss that had appealed to him, Elliot had said. Josh had never considered it much until that conversation with the baker.

  “I think I’ll take this one,” he said, referring to a scrumptious-looking lemon meringue pie. “Can I get it out myself?”

  “Yes, that’s fine, honey, or I can get it for you. I’ll wrap it up for you. It’s nine dollars and fifty cents. That’s okay?”

  “That’s fine. It’s a big pie. Good deal.” Reaching for his wallet, he nodded at the right side of the counter. “And how about a box of those chocolates, too?”

  The woman smiled knowingly. “That’s not for the guests.”

  “Noooo. She can share them if she wants. But those are especially for her.”

  “Ahh. Well, very romantic. That’ll be seventeen forty-n
ine, plus tax.”

  As soon as he handed over his money, she passed a business card across the counter.

  “I’m not in a hurry right now to do those floors,” she said. “If you and your friend do decide you want the job, give me a call. You can come over and give me an estimate.”

  He was still thinking about the box of candy, about giving it to Valerie later that evening, sometime before dinner. He realized Sally was offering him a possible business proposition, the chance to make some money on the side.

  “I’ll do that. Hopefully, I’ll see him tonight and let you know,” he promised.

  “That’s good. Like I said, I’m not in a hurry, but if I can get them done for a good price, that’s good.” She wrapped up his pie in a box with a string tied in a bow and rang up his order, then gave him his change. “Enjoy! Have a nice dinner with your friends, uh…?”

  “Josh Coleman.”

  “Josh. And I guess you already know I’m Sally. Come back again.”

  “I will. Thanks.”

  On his way out the door, he thought about that day. Specifically, he dwelled on that kiss. She had kissed him. It just sort of happened, an unexpected pleasure, because he hadn’t shared a kiss in so long. That one, especially coming from Valerie, had come as a pleasurable surprise.

  He had a chance. If he hadn’t thought so before, he knew it now, that he had a chance with Valerie Welch. She hadn’t wanted to talk about Zed, and he understood that. Wouldn’t it have been worse, and more awkward, if while on a date with Josh she’d gone on and on about some dusty, old boyfriend?

  Carefully, he placed the pie on the passenger seat, reaching over the console. Right under it was the box of assorted chocolates. First, he’d go home and take a shower, washing off a half day of fishing. After he changed into fresh clothes, he’d head over to her place for dinner.

  Rejoicing in hope, patient in tribulation; continuing instant in prayer—Romans 12:12

  The small sign, affixed to a yellow ribbon placed around the rearview mirror, was a gift from the pastor of the evangelical church he’d attended back in Parsippany. It had cheered him back then and it filled him with new hope now as he considered the feelings and emotions awakened in him ever since he’d met Valerie.

  Lord, I want to rejoice in hope, but I don’t want to get ahead of myself—or ahead of You, he prayed silently. But I spent the whole morning with her and now it’s like I can’t wait to be with her again. That never happened with any other girl.

  And naturally, she must feel something for you or she wouldn’t have kissed you. She feels something now. Wait until you tell her about the old Joshua Coleman.

  Swallowing hard, he started the car’s engine. The past wasn’t something he had to deal with that day. The past always seemed like a ghost lurking in the shadows, rearing its head. Whether that was the voice of the Enemy coming to accuse and discourage him, or his own thoughts dredging up an old injury and guilt, Josh didn’t have time to listen to that voice.

  His cell phone rang and he waited until he reached a red light at the intersection to take the call.

  “Hey, so your little fisherwoman is requesting my presence tonight at dinner?” Elliot piped up on the other line, barely giving Josh a chance to say hello.

  “Yeah, you’re invited for shrimp, steak, and fresh fish just caught today,” Josh replied jovially. “And lemon meringue pie. It’s kind of a party.”

  “Oh, cool. And that’s definitely the kind of a menu I can’t resist. And you know me and parties. I never say no to them. Sure I won’t be crowding you two, though?”

  “No, there’s going to be a crowd. Whole idea of the party. How about I text you the address and time when I get home?”

  “Great! I’ll check with my secretary and let you know if I can make it,” he teased. “That should take all of two seconds.”

  On the other end, Elliot Bauer laughed. There was no secretary, obviously, and no busy schedule. Elliot’s life consisted of work, hanging out and fishing. Josh moved the phone to his other ear. Through the windshield, he observed the sky overheard. After an exceptionally hot summer day, the sky was darkening and preparing to cool the evening off with a thunderstorm. He wondered, fleetingly, how the storms were down there at the shore, never having been present for anything stronger than a gentle shower.

  “Hey, Elliot, before you go, can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.”

  “You’ve put down hardwood floors before, right?”

  ****