Just Past Oysterville: Shoalwater Book One

by Perry P. Perkins

  Bill looked first to his sister, his eyes growing even wider, then, as she nodded in affirmation, he tentatively took Cassie's hand in his own and gave it a brief, slightly limp shake.

  "Hullo," he said shyly, his eyes returning immediately to his study of the contents of the mug before him. Silence filled the room once more.

  Finally, Beth took pity on her niece and, turning from the stove, sat herself at the third and final chair at the table.

  "I was just telling Billy that you're an old friend of Jack's," she said, "and that you'd be staying with us for a while."

  Beth nodded to Cassie, making sure the girl caught the relevance of her statement. Cassie did. There would be no great revelations around the kitchen table this morning, at least not in front of Bill.

  Bill nodded, a shy smile at the corner of his lips, as his slightly bulging eye drifted around the room aimlessly.

  "Sorry that I scared ya," he murmured.

  Cassie smiled. "That's all right, Billy," she said, "I was the stranger in your dining room, I probably scared you just as bad.” Bill Beckman grinned back at her, a small drip of maple syrup clinging to his chin, and suddenly everything was all right.

  “Boy howdy, didja!” he exclaimed. “I thought you was a burgalist!”

  "A burglar," his sister corrected gently.

  "Yeah!" Bill agreed.

  All three at the table laughed, and just that quickly Cassie realized, Bill had accepted her presence and forgotten his concern.

  Soon the older man was babbling merrily to her about his new disc-man, visiting Jack in the hospital today, and the book that Bill had bought to take to him. Cassie smiled and nodded, losing the occasional word beneath a mouthful of waffle, but maintaining the gist of Bill's wandering monolog. A happy hour passed before Elizabeth stood and, gathering the breakfast dishes, shook her finger at her older brother.

  “Okay Billy," she said, "that’s enough; you've already talked one of her ears off, how about you leave her the other?" She shook her head. "I swear mister, your tongue--"

  "--is hinged in the middle an' loose on both ends!" Bill shouted, grinning hugely as he completed the sentence. This said, he threw back his head and howled in red-faced laughter, stomping his feet and slapping the tabletop until neither Cassie nor her aunt could hold back any longer and joined him.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  An hour later Cassie and Bill sat on the bottom steps of the staircase, waiting for Elizabeth to emerge so the three of them could make the short drive to the hospital.

  Cassie wore her freshly laundered jeans and a PSU sweatshirt (a gift from Grace). Her hair, washed and damp, was pulled back into a ponytail and her feet felt strange inside a pair of borrowed white tennis shoes, after wearing her clunky hiking boots for so long.

  Bill was dressed up for the occasion as well, in dark slacks and a pressed white dress shirt. Her father could have passed for any other businessman on the street, save for the outlandish, multicolored Christmas tie he wore.

  The black background of the tie was splashed with neon red and green Christmas trees surmounted by a golden sleigh piloted by a snarling Tasmanian devil in a Santa suit and hat. Bill seemed fascinated by the tie and was careful to straighten and smooth it whenever he moved. Cassie found herself grinning at the older man's obvious pride in his riotous neckwear.

  "That's some tie, Billy," she smiled.

  Bill grinned, smoothing the tie carefully with one wide hand. "It was a Christmas present from Kim at school. I go to school two days a week."

  "Really?" she replied, "I'm hoping to start school in September, myself."

  "Neat!" Bill said. "'Course it's not really from Kim, I don't think she can buy stuff on her own, so her Mom musta picked it out, but it's still my fav’rite."

  "That’s a pretty great tie, all right," Cassie agreed, and Bill's grin grew even wider, then faded a little, as he leaned closer, glancing around as though he were about to impart a secret for Cassie's ears only.

  "My Momma's gone to Heaven with Jesus," he said. "She caught a cancer. Jack told me so." Bill's smile slipped away, "sometimes we look at her picture in the family book, but I don't really remember her good."

  Cassie's throat tightened as Bill lowered his head, his eyes going to his shoes as though ashamed.

  "Jack says it's cause of the ax'cident, that I don't ‘member anyone in the pictures, 'cept Sissy of course," he sighed, "my Momma looked a lot like Sissy though, so that helps me ‘member a little."

  Bill Beckman's voice trailed off, and Cassie watched him watching his shoes.

  "So," Bill asked, brightening, "do you look like your Momma?"

  Cassie stiffened in spite of herself, looking away down the street where cotton-ball clouds, all that remained of yesterday’s storm, scuttled over the roofs of the main street shops, following the Pacific breeze. Her voice was little more than a tight whisper. "People tell me I look a lot like my mother."

  Another pause and then Bill whispered back sadly, "Your momma’s with Jesus too, isn’t she?"

  Cassie bit her lip until she was afraid it would bleed, her hands forming white-knuckled fists in her lap as she continued to watch the clouds.

  "Yes, she is."

  Bill nodded sadly. "Did she… catch a cancer?

  He said this in a hushed, fearful tone, as though cancer might be a fanged monster waiting in the shadows to leap on you, and you didn't dare speak its name too loud, lest you draw its attention.

  Cassie felt her head begin to pound from the strain, her body trembled and she felt tears trying to escape the corners of her eyes, she bit down even harder, crushing her tears with the force of her will.

  I wasn't even going to tell him how she died, I didn't want to give him even that much.

  "No," she said th,rough gritted teeth, "it wasn't cancer, she was in an accident."

  "Oh," Bill exclaimed, "an ax'cident." He nodded knowingly as though that single word explained everything bad that could befall a person. Cassie watched the last of the clouds scuttle from view, her jaw still clenched against impending tears. Bill let out a great deep sigh; his brows knit together in commiseration, and patted her shoulder with one heavy hand.

  "Jack says that sometime ax'cidents just happen and you can't do nothing about 'em. Beth says it’s God's plan.” Bill sighed, “I'm…I'm sorry your momma died.” He gave her a final pat and then rested his hand comfortingly on her shoulder.

  I'm sorry.

  The words seemed to come from very far away as they repeated themselves in Cassie's mind, over and over. The tears that had threatened just seconds before were suddenly gone; the tension in her neck and jaw eased as though some groaning internal spring had been released.

  Apprehension seemed to flood from her, replaced by a warmth and relief that she hadn't felt in all the long days since her mother's death. Hearing the words I'm sorry from the lips of her father allowed the last of her anger to fall away and she felt suddenly light-headed in its absence.

  From across time, came the memory of her mother's voice reading from the Old Testament, "To the Lord our God belongs compassion and forgiveness, for we have rebelled against Him."

  Finally, she leaned across the step and rested her head on Bill's shoulder, feeling him tense slightly in surprise and then relax.

  "My mom was coming home from work," Cassie murmured, "she worked the night shift at the hospital, and she was hit by a drunk driver."

  She closed her eyes at the sound of phantom tires, screeching along imaginary asphalt.

  "It was late and there was no one around, and by the time someone saw her she was already gone."

  She had done it.

  The focus of her burning anger, the hunger for vindication that had carried her across all the miles from Bowie to Long Beach, had been forsaken. Broken and sacrificed. Cassie could feel the pain, that wrenching, emotional agony beginning to fade. Not that she believed it would ever go entirely, but she hoped that time might help it fade until only the scar re
mained, like a jagged tattoo on her heart.

  It was enough for now.

  She had given up on God, but He had remained faithful, waiting for her exactly where she had left Him, forgiving her unforgiveness, accepting when she had not, and now, finally, she could feel His presence once more.

  Bill continued to pat her shoulder, and they sat silently, as Cassie’s lips moved in a silent prayer of repentance and gratitude.

  "It's okay," Bill murmured in his slightly slurred child-voice, "It's okay. Your momma lives with Jesus now, just like mine."

  Cassie smiled, giving the big man one last squeeze before sitting up, "I know Bill, I know." She turned, hearing a slight sound behind her and found Elizabeth standing at the top of the steps. She smiled at Cassie, her face wet with tears.

  "Aunt Beth," Cassie asked, "can you let me into the bookstore for a minute? I have to get something for Jack."

  Bill stood beside her and, reaching into his pocket, pulled out a thick paperback, the latest Tom Clancy thriller.

  "I got him a book already," Bill said, showing the cover to Cassie.

  "I know," she said, "but this is different, this is a surprise."

  Elizabeth gave her a questioning look but unlocked the front door and keyed in the alarm code for her. Cassie disappeared into the unlit twilight of the shop, returning from the stacks a few minutes later with a slight, secret smile on her face. Her aunt reset the alarm and locked the door behind them as they stepped back out onto the sidewalk.

  "What are you up to, young lady?"

  Cassie just smiled and shook her head as she walked around the corner to where the Jeep was parked.

  *

  A slow, steady beeping woke Jack from his drug-induced slumber. Light poured into the tiny hospital room through the huge picture window to his right.

  He lay there for a long moment, as a wave of dizziness passed. He listened to the soft alarm that told him the IV bottle, the one that had been feeding him medication through the night, had finally run dry. Soon, he knew, one of the nurses would knock softly on the door before coming in to change it. He hoped they brought breakfast with them.

  Now that it appeared that he wasn't going to die after all, Jack realized he was famished. He glanced away from his window and towards the door and emitted a shriek on finding Cassie Belanger seated in the chair beside his bed, her eyes intent on the Bible in her lap. She looked up and smiled.

  "You know," he growled, "a poor guy has a heart attack the night before and what do you do? Try to finish him off the next morning!"

  "Oh hush!" Cassie laughed. "Couldn't they give you something to improve your personality?"

  "No medicine for that, kid." Jack smiled, his words still a little mealy from painkillers. "Were you here all night?"

  Cassie looked at him, as the wall clock ticked one long revolution; his eyes watery and his white hair tousled from sleep. "No," she said, "Aunt Beth set me up on your couch.” A long pause descended on the room, and Jack pursed his lips thoughtfully, nodding at Cassie before he spoke.

  "So,” he said, with a slow nod, “she told you the whole story, then?"

  "Yeah," Cassie said, "pretty much."

  "Well, she’s smarter than me," Jack replied, "and that’s no surprise. I didn't realize who you were until the night I saw your mother's obituary.” Jack took a deep, quavering breath, and Cassie saw his eyes start to glisten before he went on.

  "The first time I saw you, there in the restaurant, my heart about stopped," Jack sighed. "You look so much like her, you know. I just looked up and there was Katie, standing in front of me. I was going to tell you; in fact I'd started to when--"

  "I know," Cassie nodded.

  "I'm…I'm sorry Cassie," Jack said, "more than you can know, for everything…"

  Jack went on to tell a similar, if somewhat slanted version of what she had heard from Beth the night before. In Jack's memory, much more of the blame was laid on his shoulders. Her father's suspicions, her mother's flight, the gun that Bill had used. The culpability for everything seemed to fall at Jack's feet, and he kept his gazed fixed firmly on his lap, unable to look into her eyes. Finally, Cassie stopped him.

  "Jack," she said, "I know what happened, Beth told me all of this last night." She swallowed hard. "You've blamed yourself all of these years, but it wasn't your fault."

  "My father," she said, chewing the words slowly, "chose to do what he did and you did everything you could to keep it from happening."

  "No Cassie, I--"

  "No," she interrupted, "I know what you thinkyou did, but you've blamed yourself all this time, punished yourself for something that wasn't your fault! You loved my mother, and you knew it was wrong, but you never acted on it, you never said or did anything out of line." She felt tears threatening, and fought them back. "She never even knew."

  Jack sighed, and Cassie continued.

  “I resented her you know, my mom, for keeping my father a secret from me, but I can see now that she was protecting me, just like you were protecting her.”

  Cassie paused and took a sip of water, her throat suddenly dry. "Jack, I want you to think about this. I grew up in a home filled with love, surrounded by people who cared about me, who supported me.” Her voice began to quaver.

  "What kind of home might I have grown up in with Bill, the old Bill?"

  Jack raised his eyes slowly; his face looked haunted, lined with guilt and self-loathing, but there was something else there as well, something like the first faint light of dawn after a long, long night. A tiny predawn glimmer of hope.

  "Don't you see, Jack?" Cassie said, "We've made the same trip, you and I, because of our anger and our unwillingness to forgive. I couldn't forgive my father for leaving us, and you couldn't forgive yourself for what happened. I thought I had to hurt him the way he hurt us, and you had to hurt yourself the way you thought you had hurt everyone around you.” Cassie moved to sit at the edge of the bed.

  "I realized this morning, when I sat and talked and laughed with the same man that I swore I would never forgive. I finally remembered; Jesus reminded me,” Cassie swallowed hard, “that I didn’t have the right, that it wasn't my place to hold back forgiveness. That's what you've done Jack, you've taken away God's right to forgive and claimed it for yourself! Are you qualified to do that, do you know better than God?"

  Jack lay silently, his jaw clenched, the edge of the thin cotton sheet balled up in his fist. Cassie could see tears shining in his eyes.

  "You don't understand--" he started.

  Cassie's voice rose in sudden anger. "Don't tell me I don't understand, Jack!"

  "I understand," she grated, "that I had more reason to hate my father than you have to hate yourself! I thought he abandoned us. I thought that we were so unimportant to him that he never even tried to find us. My mother lived most of her life sad and scared because of Bill Beckman. You, on the other hand, have spent the last twenty years with your life on hold, taking care of him, pretending like it was your finger that pulled the trigger. And making sure that you always had him near so you could use him as an excuse to hate yourself!"

  Jack's head snapped up at this, his cheeks flushing and his eyes flashing with sudden anger.

  "Well look at that," she said, her voice dripping sarcasm, "he's alive after all."

  "Show him the way to get out…"

  Cassie took a deep breath, trying to calm herself.

  "Listen to me Jack,” she went on, “I wouldn't say these things if I didn't care about you. I've spent the last couple of days convinced that you were my father and trying to decide if I loved you or hated you." Cassie’s eyes locked with his.

  "Now I know who you are, who you've been to my family and I know that you're the closest thing to a real father I'll ever have, maybe you're even the man who should have been my father…"

  Tears began to course down Jack's cheeks as the flush of anger faded from his face. His lips trembled as he groped one hand blindly toward the edge of the bed and Cassie
took it in her own, clutching it desperately, so tightly the older man's fingers began to go white, but neither noticed.

  "Jack," she said, and she was weeping herself, now, "this isn't God's will for your life..."

  Tell me Jack, what is God's will for your life?

  “It happened so fast, Cassie,” he whispered, “she was just gone and I never got to say I’m sorry. I never saw her again, never spoke to her, or even read her letters. If she had anything to say to me, I never got to hear it.”

  Cassie lowered her head and stared at the gleaming white tiles beneath her feet. Suddenly her eyes widened and she reached into her jacket, retrieving the tiny dictation machine. From another pocket, she pulled a small cassette decorated with a red heart.

  “Jack,” she whispered, looking up into his grief-reddened eyes, “this is what she would say to you if she were here…”

  Cassie pressed the play button.

  “Trust in the Lord with all of your heart and lean not unto your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will direct your path…”

  "…He's forgiven you," Cassie whispered, "I forgive you, sheforgives you…"

  The cry came from the depths of Jack's soul, rumbling up like an earthquake, a geyser of pain bursting from his heart, his lungs, demanding escape. He couldn’t contain it; in truth, he was hardly aware as the sound of his voice echoed off the thin, white walls of the hospital room. Faces seemed to float through his wavering, tear-filled vision. Katherine Beckman, Pastor Karl, Dottie Westcott, all the people that have loved him, the last people that he had allowed himself to love. Then Cassie was in his arms and he was shaking, convulsing with sobs.

  The first of the pain, the self-loathing, the waste of his life was vomited up, spewn from him like poison.

  He said things and was hardly aware of the words he spoke.

  Crying out for forgiveness, from whom? From Cassie? From Katherine? From God? Each of them, all of them.

  You’re giving up on Him, Jack, but Heisn’t giving up on you.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, "oh God, I'm sorry…" over and over again, and each time the words left his lips, the burden, the great weight that he had carried so long, seemed to lighten. Half a lifetime of bitterness and guilt, festering in the darkness of his self-inflicted prison, buried deep where no one could touch it, was being dragged into the light.