All Things New (Virtuous Heart)

by Donna Fletcher Crow

  “But I want to know what happened.”

  To Debbie’s relief Greg come jogging toward them from the far side of the dunes. What had he been doing over there? She thought he was out on the beach. “Look, there’s your daddy.” She tugged Melissa around.

  “Daddy. A man’s hurt. The plane hit him.”

  Greg took one look at the scene and scooped Melissa into his arms. “Let’s take a look.”

  “Greg, no!” Debbie grabbed his arm. “Don’t let her look. It’s—it’s serious.”

  “But she’s already seen, hasn’t she? What she wants now is to understand. Come on, Punkin. Tell me what happened.”

  Debbie couldn’t believe it as Greg moved away, talking to his daughter, calmly answering her questions. Now everyone had come out of their initial shock. Someone was feeling for a pulse at the man’s wrist, another bystander was halfway to the Promenade to call the medics, a young man with an authoritative voice directed the crowd to move back. A woman who appeared to be acquainted with the boy was comforting him. And everyone was discussing their version of what they’d seen: “Erratic little things. Hard to fly.” “Silly to let a kid try it—they’re adult toys.” “Don’t understand it. It couldn’t have been affected that much by the wind.”

  Greg came back, still carrying Melissa. “We don’t think there’s much we can do to help here, so we’re going to feed some hungry seals.”

  Melissa clapped her hands. “You’ll come help us, won’t you? They need lots to eat.”

  Debbie blinked. The child had witnessed a gruesome accident. Her father had deliberately taken her to where she could get a clear view of the bleeding man. They had talked about it. And now Melissa was fine. “I—I don’t know.”

  Greg touched her arm. “Take your time. You’ve had a shock. Will you be all right if we go on, or would you rather we stay with you?”

  “No, no. I’m fine. I just want to think. Alone. Really.”

  He nodded. “OK. If you’re sure. We’ll take the kites in, then go on to the aquarium. Join us when you feel ready.”

  Debbie turned back to the accident scene. The man hadn’t moved. Was he … ? she couldn’t bear to finish the thought. It was only a toy. Such fun. It all happened so fast. It wasn’t possible that anything really serious could happen just like that.

  The medics arrived and bore the man away on a stretcher. The woman followed with her arm around the boy. “What happened? Did you see it?” A familiar voice made Debbie turn. Ryland Carlsburg.

  “Yes, I saw it—but I don’t know what happened. The plane just went crazy and attacked him.” She shook her head. “I know that sounds wild, but it’s what it looked like …”

  “You’re trembling. Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

  Debbie looked at him blankly. “I don’t know. I—”

  “Allow me to rephrase that. Come along. You need a cup of coffee.” He took her arm and led her to the sidewalk.

  She didn’t like his touch. But it seemed like too much work to resist.

  After barely 20 minutes in Ryland’s company, however, Debbie began revising her opinion of him as a sleazy playboy. Everything he did spoke of thoughtfulness and concern for her well-being. And her nerves responded on cue as her trembling stopped and the warm drink relaxed her.

  To take her mind off the scene at the beach, Ryland chatted about his development company and his plans to bring new life and more tourist revenue to Seaside. “This is a special place, peaceful, relaxed, with incredible views in every direction. There should be facilities so more people can enjoy it. Environmental wackos accuse us of wanting to destroy the environment. But we wouldn’t do such a thing. After all, it’d be killing the goose that laid the golden egg. Maximize, not destroy. That’s my motto.” He signaled the waitress to refill both their mugs.

  “We’d likely have it done by now, but we had a tragic setback a couple of years ago—had a whiz of an attorney who had the wheels greased for all the permits—” He shook his head. “Killed in a car wreck. We had to start the process all over again.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Well, now, have I thoroughly bored you? Enough to make you forget that unpleasant excitement?”

  Debbie smiled. “I do feel better, but not because I’m bored. I’m interested in your plans. When do you start construction?”

  “As soon as the committee approves our environmental impact statement, and a few other—well, technicalities. Come on, let me show you.” He left money for the bill and got to his feet.

  They walked back along the Prom to the site of the proposed hotel. Debbie smiled at Ryland’s enthusiasm as he paced off the footage and described the ocean front restaurant, the ballroom, the pool and spa that he envisioned in each area. “Well, good luck. It sounds great.”

  “It will be great. If we can just build a fire under a few stick-in-the-mud types. But I expect approval any day now. We hope to be operational within a year. Matter of fact, some of our people are wining and dining some of the zoning council tonight. Very posh affair at a restaurant up the highway. How about coming with me? Salmon, crab, plenty of booze. Soft lights and a killer of a band. What time shall I pick you up?”

  “No. No, thanks. I couldn’t. I’ve, er … I’m busy tonight.”

  He gave her a penetrating look. “Pity. We could have had a very good time.” He shrugged. “But then, if you can’t, you can’t. And there’s always next time.”

  “Yeah. Sure. Thanks for the coffee.” She turned toward the aquarium. “I have to go now. I promised to meet a friend.”

  “Right. Catch ya later.” He strode off with a jaunty wave.

  Debbie watched him go. Why did she feel attracted to him? She couldn’t imagine wanting to spend an evening with plenty of booze and dim lights. And yet—there was something … She thought of Greg in comparison—putting aside for the moment the fact that Gregory Masefield was safely married, of course. She had far more respect for him. But that was part of the problem, wasn’t it? Deep down she knew that any man as fine as Greg couldn’t really like her. He was kind and thoughtful, always offering to help her—now. But if he really knew her—knew what she was like inside—he wouldn’t want to have anything to do with her. Ryland Carlsburg wouldn’t care.

  Chapter 5

  Debbie almost ran down the Promenade toward the huge, gray barn of a building that was the Seaside aquarium. She hoped Greg wouldn’t be angry with her for keeping him waiting. Take your time, he had said, and he always seemed so patient. But he wouldn’t have thought she’d be this long. Her father had always demanded punctuality, and she had tried very hard not to let him down. She always tried so hard to keep people satisfied, to meet their expectations. She hated it when those around her were unhappy. Especially since she always felt it was her fault when things went wrong. And then she would try to control it all. And then more would go wrong. And then it would be her fault.

  She increased her speed and almost collided with a little boy just getting the feel of his rollerblades. All she would need would be for one more thing to go wrong today. She hurried into the aquarium.

  Melissa and Greg were just emerging from the large, dark room where rows of brightly lit glass tanks displayed colorful sea life. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to take so long. I hope I haven’t—”

  “No problem.” Greg’s smile was relaxed. “We’ve just been looking at the exhibits.”

  “Daddy, can we show Miss Jensen the flowers?”

  “Flowers?” In an aquarium? Debbie wondered.

  “Sure, Punkin. I have to make a phone call. You show her your favorite fish, and I’ll be back to help with the seals.”

  “You don’t think they’re too hungry to wait, do you?” Melissa glanced toward the long tank where the seals were barking and cavorting for the visitors who threw them bits of fish.

  “They look fat and sassy to me. I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

  Satisfied, Melissa grabbed Debbie’s hand. “Come on, let me show you.”

  Debbie
resisted the impulse to pull back from the small, soft hand holding hers. It felt so good. So warm and sweet. It was so reassuring to have a child offer her friendship and trust. She felt needed and valued. But that reliance was just what she wanted to pull back from. She concentrated on the tank Melissa pointed to. “Stars. See. Daddy says the bottom of the ocean is as beautiful as the sky at night. God decorated the top and bottom of the world just alike.”

  Debbie stood fascinated before the tank of starfish. Some with as many as 20 rays looked like giant orange sunflowers—some as big as two feet across. A mean-looking sculpin frowned at them through the glass, seeming to size them up for dinner. Then a great orange garibaldi fish swam by, its graceful fanlike fins undulating the water over delicate tangerine starfish lying splayed on the bottom.

  “God did good, didn’t He?” Melissa’s enthusiasm made Debbie smile. Apparently the child’s theologian father hadn’t let a teaching opportunity go by. “Daddy said this shows how much God loves all life.”

  “I’m sure he’s right.” Debbie moved along to a row of high tanks displaying miniature marine life. She leaned forward for a closer look at the two-inch-long purple crabs.

  “I can’t see.” Melissa tugged at her skirt.

  “Oh, sorry.” Well, there was nothing to do but to hold the child. Debbie couldn’t understand her struggle over taking the small, warm body in her arms. The problem wasn’t physical. Melissa was small for her age and feather-light. She smelled good, her skin was soft, her hair silky. Yet that was the very problem. As Melissa snuggled against her, the emotional pain was so sharp Debbie had to fight against crying out and pushing the child away. Instead she focused on the display before them. “Look, those are called pipefish. Can you tell which are the fish and which are the reed grasses?”

  Melissa watched for a moment. “That one.” She pointed. “He moved.”

  They continued around the room. Dozens of tiny silver gunnels lived in tenements of empty clam shells. Iridescent sea pens rippled like frilled feathers gracing the writing desk of an 18th-century lady. The transparent bodies of cornstripe shrimp showed water running through their bodies like plastic tubing. Tiny volcanoes of barnacles adorned coral, peach, and mauve scallops. But best of all was the giant display of sea anemones filling one whole corner of the room.

  “There! Flowers!” Melissa pointed. The mirror-backed tank was filled with an enchanted forest of white, coral, yellow, green, and red miniature trees topped with ruffled, feathery crowns.

  “They look like flowers, but they’re really animals—and very deadly to unsuspecting sea creatures that cross their path.” Debbie jumped at the sound of Greg’s voice. She had forgotten he would be returning. But she saw the truth of his statement as an attendant dropped a chunk of salmon into the mouth of one of the flowerlike creatures, and the innocent-looking petals immediately closed to devour it.

  Melissa nodded with satisfaction. “Daddy says that shows all life is important.”

  Debbie laughed. “You’ve trained her well. A budding theologian at age six.” Debbie turned toward the seals, wondering why Greg’s precepts irritated her. Of course she agreed. She could hardly bring herself to pull weeds out of her garden in case they turned out to be flowers. So he needn’t preach to her.

  She let Melissa down and turned to the splashing, barking, diving seals who rocked on their platforms, shoved each other, and hit the water with disastrous results to the clothing of the visitors tossing pieces of fish to reward such antics. Melissa squealed with delight each time one of the aquatic clowns stood on his tail and caught her morsel in his mouth, then clapped his flippers to thank her for the tasty tidbit. But her delight turned to dismay when she began getting soaked by all the activity.

  Debbie took her to a private pool at the end of the room where a sign introduced a baby seal pup, born at the end of June. “See, he’s almost a month old.” Debbie pointed to the baby who observed them with huge, round, dark eyes. “You can’t feed him. He’s on a special diet.”

  “I want to pet him.” Melissa stretched out her hand, but to no avail. After several moments she turned. “He looks kind of scared—like he doesn’t want so many people staring at him. Maybe we better go.”

  They washed their hands at the sink provided for that purpose and emerged, blinking, into the late afternoon sunshine. “Will you come to our fire beach?” Melissa asked.

  “Um—fire beach?” Debbie was at a loss.

  “Beach fire,” Greg prompted.

  “We’re going to have hot dogs and marshmallows and everything,” Melissa urged.

  “Well, I don’t know.” Debbie hesitated. She didn’t really have any excuse. But it suddenly seemed as though it had been a very long day. “Maybe another time. I—”

  “Please.” Melissa turned her wide blue eyes up at her. The soft, round look held a special appeal.

  “Give me an hour, and I can contribute a pan of brownies.”

  The cottage was cold and silent when Debbie entered it. A hastily scribbled note told her that Byrl was off with Dream Lover and Deb was not to wait up for her. Debbie shook her head and let the note fall back on the kitchen table. She didn’t have time to worry about her cousin’s escapades. She rushed to throw the promised brownies in the oven. They had been her brother’s favorite, so she could make them with her eyes closed. She brushed her glossy black hair, then clambered into a pair of jeans and a heavy Aran sweater while the brownies baked. Greg and Melissa came to collect her just as the warm, chocolate scent from the oven signaled that they were done.

  As they walked out onto the sand, the lowering sun was a glowing white globe, diffused by the thinnest veil of mist. It made the mica in the sand sparkle like glitter in a Christmas display and welcomed them to the beach by spreading a golden path at their feet. And it spun an aura of gold around Greg’s head. Debbie pulled back with a sharp intake of breath, then steadied herself with the reminder that he was safely married. She had just come along as a companion for the child. They walked toward the more deserted end of the beach, the steady, soporific roar of the waves covering their silence.

  Debbie pulled off her sneakers for easier walking. The sand, still warm from the afternoon’s sun, shifted under her bare feet, feeling like deep-pile carpeting. They walked slowly, Melissa leading the way toward a special log she had scouted earlier with the neighbor children for the “fire beach.” Debbie felt cold prickles as they neared the site of that afternoon’s accident and was relieved when Melissa jogged ahead to a spot beyond.

  As the sun sank closer to the wide, flat horizon, it changed from its silvery whiteness to a rich gold. Debbie turned to Greg to comment on the sunset, then stopped. Byrl had dubbed him Adonis, but the golden sunset turned him into Apollo. Debbie took a deep breath of the incredibly moist, fresh air with its unique salty, sea smell and told herself to think about Ryland.

  Intermittently along the beach they passed clusters of holidayers sitting around crackling fires built in the shelter of drifted logs. The air took on a subtle smoky smell, a different brand of perfume from the astringent saltiness of earlier. Debbie was beginning to wonder if Melissa really knew where she was going. That special log she had seen could easily have been in the opposite direction. Or already claimed by other picnickers.

  “Here it is!” Melissa’s voice warbled across Debbie’s doubts.

  With considerable relief they flung down their load of blankets and baskets. “I was beginning to think you were putting us on about a special log, and what you really wanted was to walk to Astoria,” Greg teased.

  “But I was right, wasn’t I?” Melissa gave her daddy a saucy grin.

  “Indeed you were, Punkin.” Greg knelt, laying out the kindling he had hauled to the site on his shoulder. “I don’t think I’ve ever before seen a drift log with roots like these.”

  “They look like a haunted castle. That’s why I chose it. You won’t burn it, will you, Daddy?”

  Greg scooped out handfuls of sand from benea
th the log. “No, we won’t actually burn the log much at all. It just shelters the fire.”

  Debbie turned to unpack the contents of the picnic basket. “It must be some incredible storm that brings these tree trunks up so far beyond the normal surf.”

  “They say the winter storms here are magnificent.” The flame of Greg’s flickering match caught and the kindling crackled. “I’d love to see one sometime.”

  Debbie wasn’t so sure. All that unleashed power and fury sounded frightening. She busied herself preparing the hot dog buns. “Anyone not want melted cheese on theirs? Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

  “What are you doing?” Melissa asked.

  “I’m going to wrap the buns in foil and warm them near the fire with the pork and beans.”

  “Oh. We always eat them cold.”

  Debbie made a face. “I think they’re disgusting cold. Want to help?”

  With meticulous concentration, Melissa followed her instructions for putting cheese slices on the buns and wrapping them in foil. “This looks good.”

  “It will be. You’re a good helper. Come over someday and you can help me make chocolate chip cookies. I have a secret formula that I divulge only to my very best friends.”

  Melissa grinned from ear to ear. “Do you mean it? Honest?”

  “Cross-cross applesauce.” Debbie solemnly crossed her heart.

  Melissa laughed and repeated the words. “That tickles my ears.”

  Debbie stuck a wiener on a stick and handed it to Greg. “Every man for himself.”

  Greg obediently roasted his hot dog to plump juiciness and popped it in one of the buns Melissa had prepared. They followed the sizzling cheese-and-bean-dogs with plump red/black Bing cherries, popping them into their mouths by the stems, then spitting the seeds into the fire. “It’s the only way to eat cherries,” Greg said. “Civilization takes all the fun out.”

  By the time the three of them had demolished Debbie’s brownies, still warm and chewy from the oven, they were all lounging helplessly on the blanket, their backs against a sand dune, far too full to move. The beach was now dark. Only the flickering lights of other fires told them they were not on a deserted island. The glow of the flames shed a circle of gold on the threesome, enclosing them in warmth and shelter.