Sweet Waters

by Julie Carobini

  The coffee mug keeps my hands warm. I’m grateful. Grateful that my father scrimped and saved and worked hard enough that I can be sitting here in this Adirondack chair, not overly worried about money. We’re no trust-fund babies, not in the traditional sense, but he left the girls and me with enough to make this new start.

  In the midst of sorrow, a fissure of hope startles me. What was that little prayer Dad taught us when we were little, the one about Jesus being as close as our hearts? He always said that when we felt sad, we should remember the prayer and how it meant we’d one day live forever. Hadn’t thought of that in years.

  With resolve, I drain my coffee cup, head back inside, and grab my purse from its hook. No way will Peg’s accusation be allowed to stand.

  The RAG bustles with early morning diners, something I’d not seen to this extent. Holly propels by, a pot of coffee in one hand and two mugs in the other. “Mornin’, Tara. My, you’re here early today.”

  I slide into a two-person booth that appears to have been an afterthought in the planning of this place. Kitty-corner to my table, a young woman with perfectly angled hair the color of dark chocolate coos at a child perched in the high chair next to her. I steal glances at her while waiting for Holly to fill me up on more coffee.

  So far, the royal pain in my you-know-what has failed to appear.

  “Phwee. Camille and I had a good time yesterday.” Holly plunks down a mug in front of me and sloshes coffee into it, dropping two hazelnut creamers nearby. “My aunt’s AWOL so far, though, so I can’t stop and chat. Be back in a minute.”

  As she swivels away, Nigel appears at my side. I smile at him. “Good morning, Nigel. Have you had breakfast? Please, join me.”

  He leans on his cane. “My dear, I thank you, but I have had my fill for the morning. I need to stand for a moment now, to get my bearings.”

  “Of course.” Josh, imposing in his head-to-toe blues, walks from the other end of the diner with another blue-

  uniformed man. Was he here when I arrived? He doesn’t notice me, but instead makes a beeline for the young mother feeding her baby. I watch as he bends down to tickle the child’s chin, his wide smile producing deep creases in his cheek. Still bent over, he turns to say something to the woman, and she grins into his face. The other man stands just off to the side, his smile shy.

  Josh seems to be the only one on an intimate footing with this woman.

  Holly reappears. “Hey, Nigel. You didn’t sit at my station today.” She holds out her order pad and looks to me. “I almost put your order in myself, but thought maybe you’d like to try something different today.”

  “Um—” I glance at the menu like I haven’t already memorized the thing—“I’ll take . . . hm, you know what, I’ll just have the eggs, with bacon and—”

  “Wheat toast. Yeah, I know.” She sticks the order pad in her pocket and takes my menu, offering me a playful smirk before turning away.

  I try to focus on Nigel, but my gaze flits past him to Josh, who has taken several glances at me. When Nigel turns to see where my attention has gone, Josh waves bye-bye to the baby, says something to the woman and the other firefighter, and then approaches us.

  Nigel smiles at Josh and takes a step to one side. “Mornin’, Nigel.” Josh tips his head first to Nigel, then to me.

  “And a grand morning to you, Joshua.” He lifts his cane in the direction of the open seat in my booth. “I believe this space is open for you.”

  Nigel’s invitation jerks me up straight, and the back of my hand connects with my coffee cup. It shimmies and gives up a slosh of coffee, smack onto the table.

  Josh stalls. He glances at me, as if for permission.

  “Please.” I motion toward the empty seat.

  “All right. Thanks.”

  A tingle runs through me when our knees graze each other.

  “We meet again.”

  It isn’t difficult to smile as long as I focus on his model-worthy face and not on my reason for coming here this morning. “Yes, we do. You’re becoming a habit.” Did I just say that?

  He smiles. Even his white teeth, which I’m seeing up close for the first time, are gorgeous. “A good one, I hope.”

  Nigel cuts in to our nervous banter. “Well, I must be taking my leave now. Much to do this day.” He turns to go, then stops short. “Say, Joshua. I believe this would be the proper time to ask the lady for a dinner date.”

  I swallow my gasp and watch in silence as Nigel makes his way to the exit, acknowledging various diners as he moves along.

  “I’m not sure that crossing Nigel would be a very good idea.” There’s underlying laughter in Josh’s low voice.

  I wave my hand. “Please. No. He’s quite the matchmaker, but shotgun dates are out of vogue these days.”

  Josh’s laughter bursts through, and my heart leaps. For the first time since we met, Josh seems to have dropped the inhibitions.

  “I know this is one of your favorite places,” he says, “but what would you think about fresh seafood?”

  “Actually, I prefer it to be fresh.”

  “All right then, it’s a date.”

  I groan. “Really, Josh. Don’t feel obligated by Nigel’s coercion . . .”

  His grin flattens and a brow arches. “Do I look like someone who is easily swayed?”

  I’ve been struck mute. Wow, he’s handsome when he’s being forceful. I shake my head, trying not to laugh at his earnest expression.

  “Okay then.”

  “Okay.”

  He slides out of the booth, never taking his eyes off mine. “So, I’ll see you next Saturday. Where can I pick you up at say, 7:00?”

  “5225 Fogcatcher Lane. You know it?”

  His smile dims, but he nods. “Sure, I know where that is . . .”

  “Josh!” His friend approaches. “Fire on Elm.”

  Josh breaks eye contact with me and flips his attention to the other firefighter. “I’m on it. Let’s go.” He says a hurried good-bye as he and the other man streak out of the diner, and I’m beginning to have déjà vu.

  I’m still watching the door when my breakfast arrives at my table. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you around here anymore.” Peg plops my plate in front of me. “Need ketchup?”

  I try to center myself, still stuck in the daydream that just tore out of here. A breath escapes me before focusing on Peg. “I came to talk to you.”

  Peg glances over shoulder, her flat lips pursed. “I said plenty last night. As it is, I could hardly sleep.”

  “What makes you think my father took money from you?” My voice is a whisper.

  She pauses. “That’s easy, because it’s true. Your father worked for me when you were just a kid, and he figured out a way to siphon cash right out from under me. It was terrible and bitter, but he left town and that was that. If this were my father we were talkin’ about, I couldn’t bear to stay in a place with so much bad karma.”

  “Do you have proof?”

  Peg flinches. “Are you calling me a liar?”

  “Because if you don’t have some sort of proof, I will expect a retraction.”

  “This isn’t some newspaper article. I don’t have to retract a darned thing.” She collects my empty coffee cup, signaling that my breakfast is nearly over. “And another thing. I’d suggest you stay away from Josh Adams. I’ve known that boy since he was a pup, and he’s fixin’ to be the next fire chief in this town. Wouldn’t be right for you to stand in his way.”

  “Me? Stand in his way? I don’t know how I could be any worse for him than someone else in this town who’s obviously full of stories.”

  Peg slams my empty coffee cup onto the table and leans in so close I can see soft breading squished between her teeth. “I’ve tried to keep this under my hat, but you are a stubborn girl. You want proof, I’ll get you your proof. Just heed my advice, young lady. There are some things best not remembered, and that’s all I have to say on the matter.”

  Holly zips by, slowing
only long enough to toss me a troubled glance. “Everythin’ all right here, ladies?”

  I nod, and Peg waves her on before leaning toward me again. “No need to worry Holly over this. I don’t want her to know that her Aunt Peg once almost lost her inheritance. In fact, why don’t you girls steer clear of my niece. That way none of us will have to lie about our past.”

  I take a sip of coffee, which unfortunately is imaginary considering my cup’s empty. “I’ve got nothing to hide. In fact, I plan to stick around, at least long enough to prove you crazy, Peg.”

  She backs away while I, with forced cheerfulness, accept a refill from Holly.

  SUNDAY MORNING HAS ARRIVED, and with it, my need to attend church. Not for any religious reason, of course. Though if you count the desire to defend one’s father’s honor as a spiritual thing, then I’d accept that definition. What draws me most, however, is pure curiosity.

  The building itself is only vaguely familiar, but then again, it stands much like any other nondescript church found along the road in Anywhere, USA. Plain, beige building, two tall entry doors, and a green lawn with little else sprouting up around it. I lock the door of my vibrant Mustang, reminding myself once again that without Camille’s enthusiasm I’d have been just as happy with a less showy model, and stroll up the church steps.

  A pleasant looking woman with pearlescent hair swept up into a halo-sized bun holds out her hand. “Good morning. Welcome.”

  “Thank you. Do I need to be a member to go inside?”

  Her eyes flutter. “Sorry?”

  “I-I was just wondering if I can just go in.”

  Her eyebrows knit toward one another. “Why of course! Please, come in, come in.”

  She directs me into a wide-open room with a bright white ceiling and rows of light-pine pew benches, enough to seat a small town. Surprisingly large considering the building’s modest appearance from the outside. A teenager in jeans and a button-down shirt hands me a flyer and shows me to a seat, like I’m here to see a production of Cats.

  “Tara!”

  I turn my chin toward my shoulder, and see Mikey, whom I recognize immediately by his enthusiastic greeting. He crosses the aisle and squats beside me. “That’s cool you came. Find it okay?”

  I nod.

  “There’s room with me and my mom, if you want to come sit with us.” He points toward his family. “My sister’s in her class, and my dad’s home sick.”

  Relief at not having to sit alone in the place that may or may not hold a piece of our family’s past floods me. A woman with a smile that matches Mikey’s slides down the pew to make room for me to join them. “Hi.” My voice is a whisper among many.

  She leans to speak in my ear. “Mikey told us that you are new to town. Welcome.”

  “Thank you. But I was born here, and I think my family may have attended this church when I was a child.”

  Her brows lift. “Really? What is your last name?”

  When I tell her, she smiles, but shakes her head. “Sorry. It’s a lovely name but doesn’t ring a bell. You might want to try the early service. Lots of old-timers attend then.”

  The band begins to play, signaling the start of service. I fiddle with the flyer handed to me when I walked in, alternately reading it and letting my eyes dart around the room filled with people. Most of whom, by their smiles and hugs and laughter, appear to genuinely care for one another. I should feel out of place, and partly, I do. But that’s mostly because I’m unfamiliar with the traditions and ways of the people here, not because of how I’ve been treated. And perhaps the most startling thing of all is that once the band begins the refrain, I seem to be able to recall the words.

  An hour and a half later, I’m standing on what a carved-wooden sign refers to as the Promised Lawn, talking with Mikey’s mother, Norma, and watching his little sister, Emi, do round-offs with two other young girls.

  Norma nods at Emi, even while talking with me. “How do you like working at the Bayside? Pretty nice view from there, isn’t it.”

  “I like it more than I thought.”

  “And the church? How do we compare to your church back home?”

  “Well, it looks much like the others around my hometown.” Eliza’s voice cuts into my thoughts: Why don’t you just tell her that you’ve hardly set foot in church in your life? I clear my throat. “I often worked on Sundays.” Coward. Okay, so I didn’t actually have to, but I liked working in the quiet office on the weekends, when no one was around to interrupt me.

  Norma seems unfazed by my newbie status, if she noticed at all. “You have such a beautiful voice. I thought maybe you sang on a worship team or in the choir.” She glances to the right. “Beth! Come and meet Mikey’s new friend.”

  It’s the woman from the diner, the one with the to-die-for hair, and she’s carrying her son on one hip. She tiptoes across the lawn in her pointy-toed heels, attempting not to sink.

  Norma’s bubbly voice continues. “Beth, this is Tara. She’s new here and just took a job at the Bayside.”

  I grin. “Hi there, cutie.” At Beth’s startled expression, I laugh. “I meant the baby . . . he was smiling at me.”

  Her smile curves gently, even as her chin stays lowered when she greets me. Does her lack of eye contact mean she’s shy? She’s wispy, almost frail somehow, like a new bird, and on this warm summer morning, her long, slender arms are covered with thick woolen sleeves. She whispers a “hello,” then focuses her attention back on her child, bouncing him softly on her hip.

  “I sat near you yesterday at the Red Abalone Grill.” Thankfully she left prior to Peg’s invasion. “I just love your hairstyle and was noticing it when my friend stopped by your table.”

  Her saucer-shaped eyes flash, catching mine for an instant before landing back on her son. “Josh. He’s a good man.”

  Norma nods. “Yes, he is. I didn’t realize you knew Josh, but that’s right. Mikey was with him the other day at the inn. Is that how you met?”

  Beth stills.

  “We officially met then, but we had run into each other a couple of times before.” The way Beth acts—as if she’s focused on her son, and yet leans in as if to hear my response—makes me wonder about her relationship with Josh. “He’s becoming a . . . friend.”

  Beth’s cloaked eyes find Norma’s, and an unspoken thought seems to pass between the two women. I flit my gaze around as if I don’t notice, but I do. Norma pats Beth on the shoulder, and the younger woman turns quickly away with only a whispered good-bye.

  Something, it seems, happened between Josh and Beth, and curiosity wedges its way into my mind. Really, though, how much do I need—or want—to know?

  Chapter Twelve

  Meet me at Surfer’s Ridge.

  So much for Camille sleeping in on this fine Sunday. Other than the syrup-coated plate and fork she left in the sink, and her rumpled bed, our cottage stands quiet, giving me more than enough space to ruminate on all that’s happened this week. I consider slipping into flip-flops and heading out to meet Camille, but opt instead to find answers.

  With a click of a button, I switch on my laptop, and log in to Camille’s Facebook. If I can’t reach her by phone, then it’s time to find other means. Mother’s been spotty in her reply to my e-mails, but I notice that she’s better about updating her status on Facebook. Her posts always sound so cheery.

  Saw the royal family . . .

  Ate at a Paris café . . .

  Toured chapels in Belgium . . .

  Sigh. Hopefully she’s not off on some mountain peak now, and unable to check her computer. I send a note to her inbox asking if we’d ever attended Coastal Christian and telling her I really need to ask her something, then click shut the lid and hope for the best. Glancing around the living room, I wrinkle my nose. While this oft-rented cottage with its vintage furniture suits laid-back Camille and busy me just fine, it’ll never do for Mel. And wait till she finds out that there’s no major department store for miles.

  My cell ph
one buzzes. It’s a text from Camille: Where r u?

  I text her back that I’m on my way, and with a cluttered mind, head back out the door. Ten minutes later I’m standing behind her.

  “You’re so amazing, Shane!”

  Camille’s fawning over a bleach-blond surfer with a Cheshire-cat grin. He’s about to make his move when he sees me, stops for a brief second, then goes back in for the kiss before I have a chance to say hello.

  I cross my arms, and Camille spins around, laughing. “Hey, Tara. Shane, this is my sister.”

  He jerks up his chin, eyeing me. “’Sup?” His speech is drawn out, lazy.

  Rolling my eyes is a bad habit, but one I can’t avoid at the moment. I look at Camille. “I’ve got to work this afternoon.”

  “First church, and now this! You’re such a fuddy-duddy, Tara. Sundays are for lying on the beach!”

  Shane cuts in. “Among other things.”

  I don’t even want to know. “Mel will be here tomorrow. Maybe we could run into town and see if we can find anything to decorate her room.”

  Camille grabs my hand and pulls me down beside her. “Would you relax already? The waves are perfect today, and I want you to hang with me, okay?”

  I glance around. She’s right, the waves curl long and slow, making a perfect ride for surf maniacs. I stretch my legs out in front of me, and stick my fingers deep into the pebbled sand, reveling in the sensation. Unlike those famous Caribbean beaches, the sand’s not fine around here, but grainy and interspersed with flat, smooth rocks called moonstones. I pick one up and rub it with my thumb, the motion easing away the tension that’s been with me for the past two days.

  “There, see? You look more relaxed already.”

  Shane’s on Camille’s blanket with her. “Mmm. I like relaxed.”

  Camille giggles while I try not to gag.