Summer Breeze
Page 1
Visit Tyndale’s exciting Web site at www.tyndale.com
Check out the latest about Catherine Palmer at www.catherinepalmer.com and about Gary Chapman at www.garychapman.org
TYNDALE and Tyndale’s quill logo are registered trademarks of Tyndale
House Publishers, Inc.
Summer Breeze
Copyright © 2007 by Catherine Palmer and Gary Chapman. All rights reserved.
Cover illustration copyright © 2007 by Doug Martin. All rights reserved.
Authors’ photograph by John Capelli/Capelli Photography. All rights reserved.
Designed by Jennifer Ghionzoli
Edited by Kathryn S. Olson
Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.
Some Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, King James Version.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the authors or publisher.
* * *
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Palmer, Catherine, date.
Summer breeze / Catherine Palmer and Gary Chapman.
p. cm.
ISBN-13: 978-1-4143-1166-1 (pbk. : alk. paper)
ISBN-10: 1-4143-1166-4 (pbk. : alk. paper)
1. Marriage—Fiction. 2. Ozarks, Lake of the (Mo.)—Fiction. I. Chapman, Gary D., date. II. Title.
PS3566.A495S857 2007
813’.54—dc22
2007004158
* * *
Printed in the United States of America
13 12 11 10 09 08 07
7 6 5 4 3 2 1
FOR SHANNON & FRANCES BLEDSOE.
My deepest gratitude for your assistance,
your encouragement,
and most of all your faithful prayers.
C.P.
When two people are under the influence
of the most violent, most insane, most delusive, and most transient of passions,
they are required to swear that they will remain in that excited,
abnormal, and exhausting condition continuously until death do them part.
GEORGE BERNARD SHAW
Getting Married
Contents
Note to Readers
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Discussion Questions
Aabout the Authors
Four Seasons Falling for You Again
NOTE TO READERS
There’s nothing like a good story! I’m excited to be working with Catherine Palmer on a fiction series based on the concepts in my book The Four Seasons of Marriage. You hold in your hands the second book in this series.
My experience, both in my own marriage and in counseling couples for more than thirty years, suggests that marriages are always moving from one season to another. Sometimes we find ourselves in winter—discouraged, detached, and dissatisfied; other times we experience springtime, with its openness, hope, and anticipation. On still other occasions we bask in the warmth of summer—comfortable, relaxed, enjoying life. And then comes fall with its uncertainty, negligence, and apprehension. The cycle repeats itself many times throughout the life of a marriage, just as the seasons repeat themselves in nature. These concepts are described in The Four Seasons of Marriage, along with seven proven strategies to help couples move away from the unsettledness of fall or the alienation and coldness of winter toward the hopefulness of spring or the warmth and closeness of summer.
Combining what I’ve learned in my counseling practice with Catherine’s excellent writing skills has led to this series of four novels. In the lives of the characters you’ll meet in these pages, you will see the choices I have observed people making over and over again through the years, the value of caring friends and neighbors, and the hope of marriages moving to a new and more pleasant season.
In Summer Breeze and the other stories in the Four Seasons fiction series, you will meet newlyweds, blended families, couples who are deep in the throes of empty-nest adjustment, and senior couples. Our hope is that you will see yourself or someone you know in these characters. If you are hurting, this book can give you hope—and some ideas for making things better. Be sure to check out the discussion questions at the end of the book for further ideas.
And whatever season you’re in, I know you’ll enjoy the people and the stories in Deepwater Cove.
Gary D. Chapman, PhD
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
So many people affect the writing and publication of a novel. For his valuable information about the Missouri Water Patrol, Officer Shannon Bledsoe has earned my admiration and gratitude. Any errors in the manuscript are my own. For inspiration as well as prayer support, the young wives and mothers in Michael Vitelli’s Bible study class have my deepest thanks. Frances, Carolynn, Tammara, Liz, and many others, may God bless and reward you for your faithful service. For sharing both laughter and tears, my longtime friends are treasures I cherish. Janice, Mary, Roxie, Kristie, BB, Lucia—I love you. My prayer support team holds me up before God, and I can’t thank you enough—Mary, Andrew, Nina, and Marilyn.
I also thank my Tyndale family for all you have meant to me during these past ten years. Ron Beers and Karen Watson, bless you for making this series not only a reality but a pleasure. Kathy Olson, I can’t imagine having the courage to write a single word without you. Your careful editing and precious friendship are truly gifts from the Lord. Travis and Keri, Andrea, Babette, Mavis, Victor, the amazing sales team, the wonderful design department—thank you all from the bottom of my heart.
Though I often leave them for last, first on my list of supporters, encouragers, and loved ones are my family. Tim, Geoffrey, and Andrei, I love you so much.
CHAPTER ONE
The crackle of the two-way radio mounted in his boat alerted Officer Derek Finley to a call from Water Patrol headquarters in Jefferson City.
“Boater in distress,” the dispatcher said. “Boater in distress at the twenty-mile mark in front of Green Oaks Condominiums. Dan Becker is reporting the incident. Repeat, Dan Becker. He says he’s in the path of other boats, and he believes he is creating a possible hazard in navigation.”
“Ten-four, Jeff City.” Derek began to turn the twenty-nine-foot Donzi the Patrol had assigned him. With its twin outboard motors—each at 250 horsepower—the boat could go sixty-five miles an hour. But he wouldn’t push it to that speed on a routine call like this one.
“Okay, Jeff,” he told the dispatcher. “I will be en route from the twenty-five-mile mark.”
As he increased speed, Derek scanned for other boats in his path. On such a warm, beautiful day, the first day of the long Memorial Day weekend, the water would be busy. Without doubt, several folks would be boating while intoxicated. Though Missouri had many lakes, rivers, and streams, Lake of the Ozarks had the highest number of BWI arrests in the state. Working the night shift, which began at three in the
afternoon and wouldn’t end until three the next morning, he had already stopped a boat after spotting a woman who had decided to sunbathe on a bow gunwale lacking adequate rails. Later, he had taken a call about a personal watercraft operating in a no-wake zone near someone’s dock. Many PWC operators had no idea they were supposed to obey the same rules as a full-size craft.
The Donzi cut through the sparkling water, and as he often did, Derek reflected on how much he enjoyed his job. Though he had graduated from college with a degree in business and had worked behind a desk for almost a year, he’d quit the minute he heard the state was recruiting. Not long after, he’d passed the background check and the physical fitness test. His work with the Water Patrol provided the perfect blend of excitement, enjoyment of nature, public service, and—during the rare criminal investigation—intellectual challenge.
Now approaching the twenty-mile mark, Derek spotted the stranded boat—a twenty-five-foot Challenger bobbing midchannel as other vessels zipped around it. Two middle-aged couples, sunburned and hatless, began waving the moment they saw him.
“Jeff, I am 1 0-23 with the boater in distress,” Derek told the dispatcher. He slowed the Donzi as he approached the stranded vessel.
“How’re you folks doing today? Is there a Dan Becker on board?”
“That’s me,” one of the men answered. “It’s my boat. I’m the one who called.”
“I understand you broke down.”
“Yeah, looks that way. We were out all morning fishing. Then we headed home and got this close to our dock, and suddenly the motor died.”
“We’ve tried everything,” the other man said. “The boat won’t start.”
“You got gas?”
“We had a full tank when we left the dock.” Dan Becker scratched the rosy bald spot on his head. “We can’t have used all that up. Lemme check.” In a moment, he groaned. “Empty. Oh, brother. I never even thought of that.”
Derek smiled. Though the common boating mishaps that took most of his time could feel a little routine, he enjoyed helping people—whether it was seeing an intoxicated person out of danger to himself or others, guiding someone who’d gotten lost on the lake, or assisting a couple of stalled fishermen. Derek felt a sense of purpose and accomplishment at the end of each day. “Happens all the time,” he told Dan. “How about a tow? I can take you to your slip. Or there’s a gas dock about a half mile down. Mermaid Marina. You can fill up there.”
Fanning themselves, the women begged to be taken to their personal slip near the condominium. But Dan and his buddy prevailed. “Let’s get some gas. Might as well take care of it, since we’ve got you here, Officer.”
Expecting that answer, Derek was already gathering the tow rope. “I’m going to throw this across. Hook it to the bow eye.”
As the two men worked to clip the rope to their boat, Derek checked the black tow post mounted on his Donzi. When they signaled him, Derek stepped into the shade of the canopy to the operator’s position and took the wheel. As his Donzi moved forward, the tow rope tightened, and the Challenger began floating safely behind.
Out of gas, he thought with a chuckle and a shake of his head. How many times had he heard that one? His Donzi and the nineteen other Water Patrol boats that constantly roamed Lake of the Ozarks carried officers to answer complaint calls and emergencies. Success depended on control, wits, courage, and skill. Most of the time, the calls were run-of-the-mill, but he had to stay always alert in case of a real problem.
He mentally recounted the list of reasons people gave for their boats stalling in the water. “Officer, our motor broke.” “My boat won’t start.”“Our outdrive is busted.” “We were pullin’ a skier and our motor fell off!” But by far the most common was “We ran out of gas.”
Towing the Challenger alongside the Mermaid Marina dock, Derek noted the college-aged young women who worked the gas pumps and encouraged people to visit the lake-view restaurant just uphill from the dock. He tipped his cap as a pleasant reminder that he’d be patrolling the area for boaters who might have had too much to drink.
Then he turned to Dan Becker and his companions. “Well, you’re here safe and sound,” he said as they unhooked the tow rope and tossed it back to him. “You folks have a great day now.”
“Say, Officer,” Dan called, “what do we owe you for the tow?”
“Part of the job.” Derek waved as he pulled away and reported to the dispatcher. “Jeff, I’m 10-24 and 10-8.”
With the assignment completed, he was back in service. As Derek steered into open water again, a fellow officer radioed him, and they agreed to meet at the fifteen-mile mark to touch base. With overlapping shifts, the men often met on the water to discuss ongoing investigations and recent incidents. In the past ten years, Derek figured he had seen just about everything. But the recent unusual drowning had him and the other officers puzzled. Five days earlier, Derek had found a body floating in a tangle of fishing line near Deepwater Cove. So far there were no clues as to the victim’s identity. And no one had reported a missing person.
Surveying the many boats on the lake as he passed them, Derek knew the unresolved incident was nagging at him. But without more information, there was nothing he could do.
Dark hair flying, the ten-year-old pressed back hard on the pedals of her bicycle. Girl and bike skidded to a stop in the driveway of the gray, wood-framed house with its window boxes full of draping, hot pink petunias. As the bike’s front wheel rammed into the post that supported the mailbox, the child’s mother gasped aloud.
“Lydia, where is your helmet?” Kim called from the front porch of the lakefront house. “I told you never to ride your bike without a helmet. Go to your room and put it on this instant!”
“I’m done riding for the day,” Lydia announced, dropping her bicycle in the driveway and flouncing toward the house. She wore a midriff-revealing, spaghetti-strapped T-shirt; a pair of tight aqua shorts; and sparkly flip-flops. “I called Dad while you and Luke were at the doctor. He wants to talk to you.”
A chill of dread swirled through Kim’s stomach. “Lydia, you’re not supposed to talk to your father unless I’m in the room. That’s a court order.”
“Court order, court order! I’m sick to death of court orders. Who cares, anyhow?”
Lydia tried to step past her mother, but Kim blocked her way with an outstretched arm.
“What?” the girl snapped. “Let me by! I need to call Tiffany.”
“Sit down here on the porch with me a minute,” Kim ordered. Seeing the stubborn tilt to her daughter’s chin, she added more softly, “Please.”
“Mom, I need to find out what Tiffany’s wearing to church tomorrow.” Lydia, all skinny brown legs and lanky arms, dropped onto a wicker chair. “Her mom’s going to let her wear shorts to church, because it’s already a week past Memorial Day, and everybody knows Memorial Day is the start of summer.”
“You’re not wearing shorts to church,” Kim declared. Two years older and a grade ahead of Lydia in school, Tiffany had little parental supervision. Lydia’s best friend, she often accompanied the Finley family to church and on other outings, but her mother never joined them. In fact, Kim had never met the woman, who seemed to allow her daughter to do whatever she wanted any time of the day or night.
Kim shook her head. “I don’t think shorts are appropriate for church, and—”
“They’re appropriate if everyone else is wearing them!” Lydia glared at her mother with narrowed eyes. “You don’t know anything.”
Taking a deep breath, Kim settled onto a wicker love seat beside her daughter. As she studied Lydia, she attempted to pray away her ire while focusing on the lovely young woman emerging from childhood before her eyes.
“Lydia,” she began, stifling the urge to scold, “you know all the rules are for your own safety. The helmet is to protect your head, and the court order is to regulate your father’s contact with you. He hasn’t been abiding by our agreements, and I’m this close to calling my
attorney about it. The last thing I need is for you to be calling him.”
“How long is this lecture going to take?” Lydia cut in. “Tiffany wants me to call her right after she gets home from the mall.”
“Interrupting me is rude and unacceptable,” Kim retorted. “I’d better not see you riding that bike without your helmet again, or I’ll ground you from it. And you can forget about wearing shorts to church. The ones you have on are too short. Don’t you realize what you look like these days? You’re almost a teenager, Lydia. You have to start behaving more maturely, and that includes being aware of the way you dress. And if I hear that you’ve called your father again, young lady, you’re going to have serious consequences. Now go move that bicycle out of the driveway before Derek comes home and runs over it.”
“Would you relax?” Lydia asked, her voice just at the edge of a sneer. She pushed up from the chair and started across the porch, headed for her bicycle. “You’re so grouchy. You yell at everyone and preach at us all the time. We used to have fun when you were home, but now I can’t wait until you go back to work. You’re making Luke and me miserable. I’m surprised Derek even bothers to come home. All you do is bite his head off.”
“You’re exaggerating, Lydia. I don’t yell at you and Luke, and I never …” Kim’s voice faltered as her daughter defiantly swung a leg over the bike, settled onto the saddle, and pedaled off up the road. As Lydia’s glossy brown hair vanished around a curve, Kim knotted her fists and battled down a cry of rage. This was not supposed to happen!
The focus of the family ought to be on Luke, not Lydia. Luke was the twin with diabetes. In order to stay alive, Luke needed the right diet, enough exercise, and regular monitoring of his blood glucose level. In the past few weeks, Kim had reexamined everything she knew about nutrition and basic general health. And then she’d had to absorb an enormous amount of new information. Things like syringes, glucose monitors, and lancet needles were part of everyday life now. She easily used new terms such as beta cells, HLA markers, hypoglycemia, ketones, and triglycerides. Day and night for the month since Luke’s first symptoms and then the diagnosis, she had watched over her son. She spent hours praying for his health, worrying over any sign of a possible problem, and phoning to discuss each development with his endocrinologist.