by T. K. Chapin
“I thought that was you!” he said. “It’s not summertime yet, what you doing here? Where’s the family?”
Recalling when I first met Joe, I remembered that he doesn’t use the internet or a smart phone. There was no way I was going to explain to him what had happened in the middle of a busy restaurant, so I slid away from the truth without entirely lying about it. “They didn’t come this time. I’m just here taking care of some stuff.”
“Ahh . . . Getting the cabin ready for the summer? I remember Jasmine talking last summer about coming up with her friends after graduation.”
Hearing her name used in the future tense about made my heart stop. I shook my head and said, “I . . .”
The waitress arrived back at the table and set my cup of water down.
Joe patted my shoulder and said, “I’ll see you around.” He went back to his table, relieving me of the conversation.
“What’ll it be tonight?” the waitress asked.
“Fish and chips,” I replied, picking up my menu and handing it to her. My eyes stayed fixed on Joe as he returned to his table and sat down. Watching Joe laugh and enjoy time with his family was unsettling. That whisper from inside of me spoke up again, telling me I couldn’t handle all of this. I shook the thought away and picked up my glass of water.
I got to the cabin around seven and walked in the front door. Memories flooded my mind from the last time I had visited with Denise and Jasmine. It was last summer, for an extended weekend getaway. Setting the keys down on the dusty counter in the kitchen, I looked over at the sink. I thought about Denise laughing there and smiling as Jasmine sang and danced around the living room. I grabbed onto the back of a chair at the kitchen table as I felt myself weaken. My legs wanted to give out, along with the rest of me. This was supposed to be an escape from the memories, but it was just more of them.
Lifting my eyes, I glanced out the window that was just beyond the table. Able to see a part of the ocean, I took a breath. God created that ocean by speaking it into existence, I told myself. He’s bigger than my problems. I wiped a runaway tear.
Turning my attention over to the kitchen, I went and grabbed a wash rag from a drawer and began wiping down everything with a surface. Once done, I headed down the hallway to the laundry room to toss the rag in the dirty clothes hamper.
On my way back out, I saw Jasmine’s room.
I lost it.
Tears welled in my eyes and my jaw clenched as they made their escape and began running down my cheeks. I dropped to my knees and brought my hand up to the door.
“Why, God? Why’d you do this?” I asked, looking up at the closed door. “What purpose did this serve?” My thoughts drifted to Denise. “My wife is destroyed, my daughter is dead, and I’m left wondering why?”
My throat felt as if it was closing. Covering my face, I dipped my chin to my chest. Shaking my head, I said, “God. This makes no sense . . .”
A knock from the front door startled me out of my breakdown. Jumping up, I wiped my eyes and took a few deep breaths to collect myself. Going to the front door, I glanced through the peephole—it was Pastor Clarkson from Christ Community.
I undid the deadbolt and opened the door.
He smiled. “Micah,” he said.
I opened the screen door and said, “Come in, Pastor Clarkson.”
He stepped inside and we went into the living room. I sat down in the recliner while he took a seat on the couch. I watched as the pastor’s eyes traveled across the room. He seemed rather curious. “Joe told me you were in town,” he said as his eyes arrived back at me.
“Yep.” I raised my hands out to both of my sides and said, “Sure am.”
“You going to be here for a while?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.
I shrugged. “I don’t know yet.”
“Joe said you didn’t bring the family. He didn’t seem to know about the accident, but don’t worry, I didn’t tell him.”
“Thanks.”
“Where’s Denise?”
“Home.” Realizing I was being curt, I felt bad. “Sorry if I’m being a little short. I just really came out here to be alone. Trying to stay under the radar a bit.”
He nodded. “I understand.” The pastor slapped his knees and stood up. “Well, I hope we see you on Sunday. I won’t keep you.”
“We’ll see.” The last thing I needed was more people trying to say they’re sorry for my loss. Some of them had to already know about Jasmine. Sensing my annoyance with the pastor, I questioned it. Why did I feel so angry? So annoyed?
The pastor flashed another smile and asked, “Remember last summer when you filled in for me at the church when I was out of town?”
“How could I forget? I stumbled through the entire message.”
“Oh, c’mon, Micah. You did great. People still talk about the story of that grocery store fire you told and how God is always with us in storms.”
I forced a smile.
We walked over to the front door for him to leave and he extended a hand. “If you need to talk, let me know.”
“Thanks.”
Shutting the door, I went back into the living room and sat down on the couch. Dropping my face into my palms, I began to cry. Praying out loud to God, I pleaded for His help.
“Take away this anger, this disdain I have for everybody I see. Let my joy return and allow me to have pleasure in my heart for You, Lord. Help me.”
After the tears subsided, I remembered I’d told Denise I would call her and let her know I made it to town.
“I made it safe,” I said.
“That’s good. Did you go get yourself some groceries?” she asked.
“Not yet. I just stopped in at The Home Port for dinner.”
“Mmm . . . Waffle Supreme,” she replied.
“You sound a little more chipper.”
“I got up and did some laundry, took a shower. It really helped.”
“Wow. That’s great to hear. Hey, guess who was at The Home Port?”
“Who?”
“Joe Edmunds and his family.”
“Oh jeez. He loves you.”
“I know. He’s ridiculous.” I sighed. “I’m still wishing you were here.”
“I think some time alone to process this is good for me. I don’t want to break down every ten minutes in front of you.”
“But I’m okay with that, Denise.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m okay with it. This is good. I shouldn’t have gotten upset with you earlier for wanting to go out to the cabin. I’m sorry I did that.”
“It’s okay. I feel kind of dumb coming all the way out here.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I wanted to be alone and I’m not. I know Joe’s right up the road. The pastor even came over already. I envisioned it a little differently. Guess going to The Home Port was a bad idea.”
“Don’t beat yourself up about it. You would have seen people at the store. Just go with it.”
“Okay.”
“As for church, I’d just tell him you’re not going to come. Don’t over complicate it. That’s my job,” she replied with a little laugh.
Wow, I thought to myself. She’s laughing? Maybe being away was really good for her. Then, a moment later, she was crying.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, adjusting my seat on the couch.
She sniffled and said, “I feel guilty.”
“For what?”
“Laughing.”
“Why?”
“I don’t feel like I should be happy at all. It feels wrong.”
I looked down at the hardwood floor in the living room and said, “I know the feeling. But it’s not right. We shouldn’t feel that way. Jasmine wouldn’t want us to be miserable.”
“I need to go,” she said with broken words.
My eyes filled with tears as I replied, “Okay.”
Wiping my eyes after I got off the phone with Denise, my phone began to buzz. It was a text from Cole wondering where I
was. I suddenly recalled that he wanted to meet up for coffee and talk since he hadn’t seen me since the funeral and I had been off work. I picked up my phone and called him.
“Hey, man,” I said.
“Where are you?”
Standing up, I walked into the kitchen and looked out the window that faced the ocean. “I’m in Ocean Shores.”
“What? When did you guys decide to go there?”
“It’s just me, and earlier today.”
His tone got serious. “You left Denise at home?”
“Yeah. She didn’t want to go.” I sat down at the table and began running a finger around the rim of the salt shaker.
“Dude. That’s your wife.”
“I know.”
“You don’t make any sense, Micah. You told me you don’t just leave your wife.”
“I didn’t just leave her. She didn’t want to come.”
“Shouldn’t you be at home, taking care of her?”
“I need to take care of myself before I can take care of her. She’s hurting and broken, but I’m not doing so well either.”
“You okay?”
“No, I’m not okay. My daughter just died!”
“Okay, okay. You’re a pretty logical guy, but it just seems . . . illogical.”
“I know,” I replied softly as I took my finger away from the salt shaker and looked up through the window. “Not a whole lot of my life makes much sense right now.”
“Hey. You told me not that long ago that God doesn’t think like we do and we’re limited in our ability to understand.”
“I still have this desire to understand the incomprehensive. It’s hard to get past that.”
Cole sighed and said, “I can’t even imagine what you’re going through. Denise, she’s okay?”
“She is to a degree. I just got off the phone with her a little bit ago. She sounded better than I’ve heard in her since this the accident. She still has a lot of pain—we both do—but I think this might be what she needs.”
“All right. I’ll keep praying for you two. McCormick and I have been praying for you every morning at the station. Alderman even came in one morning and prayed along with us.”
“Thank you. Sure was nice that ya’ll showed up for the funeral.”
“You’re one of us. We’re there for each other. By the way, the kid’s probably getting married in May. I’ll let you know when exactly.”
I smiled. “I’ll be there.”
The firemen were like the brothers I never had growing up. Hanging up with Cole, I headed down the hallway to the bedroom to turn in for the night. It was still early, but I felt exhausted.
CHAPTER 11
Waking up at five the next day, I found myself unable to get back to sleep. I got out of bed and put on my gray bathrobe that hung on a hook near the door that led out to the balcony. Glancing out the sliding glass door, I saw that it was still dark out. Opening the door, I took a deep breath of the ocean air and listened for a moment as the waves crashed onto the shore in the distance. I smiled as I thought about how those waves never stopped pushing against the shoreline and God had put them in motion so long ago.
Closing the door, I journeyed down the stairs and into the kitchen. After realizing I had no fresh coffee in house, I sat down at the kitchen table and grabbed a pen and notepad that were leaning against the napkin holder. I wrote “COFFEE” in big, bold letters at the top and then began wondering what else I needed. Looking over my shoulder into the kitchen, I tried to think, but my Bible sitting on the counter caught my eye. Sighing heavily, I reminded myself I had barely opened it since the accident. That was the real food I needed the most: spiritual. I knew my lack of Bible reading wasn’t helping matters in my heart, but I struggled to get myself to read it.
Standing up, I set the pen down and walked over to the counter where the Bible was sitting. Glancing at it, I said, “You’re always waiting for me, Lord, aren’t you?”
Opening the Bible, it fell open to the book of Job where I had been studying during the weeks up to the accident. Peering up at the ceiling in the kitchen, a smile crept into the corner of my mouth as I realized the parallel between Job and myself. “You sure know how to weave things together. You knew I was going to lose her before I even began this study.” Grabbing the worksheet from between the pages, I unfolded it and leaned against the counter as I read my notes. “Oh, Job . . .” I said, shaking my head. “Your suffering was so much greater than mine.” Realizing I couldn’t read anymore, I placed the paper back into the Bible and closed it.
I grabbed the pen and paper from the table and came around the island. Going through the cupboards in the kitchen, I continued making my list of groceries.
A little later in the morning, the sun began to rise on the horizon and I decided to go for a walk down to the beach. It was only a few minutes to the access point from my back porch. Grabbing my coat off the hook near the back door, I headed outside and down the pathway that led out to the road.
Arriving at the beach, I stopped and admired the golden sunrise coming up over the horizon. The sea went out as far as I could see and the beauty of God was drawn across the sky in yellows and shades of gold. There was no sadness in me as I beheld the glory of God through nature.
“Whatcha looking at, Mister?” a young boy, maybe seven years of age, asked, pulling me from my thoughts.
“Hi, little boy. What’s your name?” I asked, bending a knee as I looked behind him, searching for a parent nearby.
“My name’s William,” he said, extending a hand.
I shook his hand and lowered an eyebrow as I looked at him. “Hi, William.” I looked around the beach more. “Where are your parents?”
“My parents are in heaven.”
“Oh,” I said. “Who takes care of you?”
“Charlie.”
“And where is he?”
The kid shrugged. “I need to get going, Mister. Have a nice morning.” The boy continued walking along the beach away from me. I looked around again and still couldn’t spot an adult anywhere nearby. I didn’t want to just leave the kid on the beach by himself, so I caught up to his side.
“The sunrise,” I said as I caught up to him.
“What?” he asked.
“That’s what I was looking at.”
The boy looked over at the horizon and said, “Oh. Okay, Mister.” The kid kept walking. As I followed next to him, he looked over at me. “Why are you following me?” he asked.
“I need to make sure you get back to your parent.”
“You mean Charlie?” he asked.
“Yeah. Charlie. You don’t know where he is?”
“He’s probably asleep in his chair. Maybe in his office.”
“Where do you live?”
“Right on the ocean.” The boy pointed down the beach. “Way down there.”
“Let’s get you home,” I said, putting my hand on his shoulder. “Charlie is probably worried about you.”
“Charlie doesn’t care,” the kid replied. His tone didn’t seem too bothered by own words.
“Why’s that?” I asked as we continued down the beach toward his house.
“I don’t know.”
We walked for another twenty minutes down the beach. He told me about his rock collection he’d been working on for a couple years and how he’s just about to be done with the second grade. He seemed like a brilliant young man from the small amount of time I spent with him. As we arrived at the wooden steps that led up from the beach to his house, a family with kids walked by. The boy asked, “Do you have any kids, Mister?”
The conversation with William had taken my mind off the accident and everything to do with Jasmine, so when the child presented the question it brought with it all the pain associated with the loss. I cleared my throat and said, “Yeah. One.”
“Maybe I can meet them one day,” he said, squinting as he looked up at me.
“Maybe,” I replied, forcing a smile.
“One mo
re question.”
“What?”
“What’s your name, Mister?”
“Micah.”
He squinted and shook his head. “I’m going to call you Mister.”
I laughed. “But why? That’s not my name.”
“Not everything has a reason.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a dark gray rock. To me it looked ordinary and not much different than many of the rocks lying all across the shore. His eyes went wide and he smiled as he kept his eyes locked on it. “This is going to go perfect with the rest.”
I smiled as I watched him admire the rock.
“William Lee Johnson!” A man shouted from up the path.
We both looked up to see an angry older gentleman with furrowed eyebrows. He hurried his steps down the path toward us.
I asked the boy, “Is that—”
“Charlie? Yes.” The boy shoved the rock back into his pocket and hurried away from me, up the steps toward the man.
“Hello. You must be Charlie. I found—”
“Mind your business, sir!” he said, turning sharply. He glared back at me over his shoulder as he put his arm around William and trekked back up the path. I looked up at beach house they were heading toward. Shingles were coming off the roof, the green paint looked warped and torn, and the back porch of the house didn’t look to be in the best condition either. I felt bad for the kid as I turned and walked back down the beach. Wonder what happened to his parents? I thought as I glanced back toward the boy’s house for a moment. And who was Charlie?
I was walking down an aisle at the grocery store that afternoon when Betty Edmunds, Joe’s wife, came around the corner. She made a beeline right for me.
Beaming with joy, she stopped her cart next to mine. “Funny running into you here. How you been?”
“Hi, Betty,” I replied. “I’m doing okay.”
“I heard about your daughter. I’m so, so sorry. Just heard about it last night, as a matter of fact.”
“Okay. Thanks.” I tried to push my cart further down the aisle, but she grabbed onto it, stopping it. Looking at her, I said, “Yes, Betty?”
“Look. I know you’re hurting, okay? I just know Joe was so happy to see you last night. It’d be good if you spent time with people, you know? People who care about you—and Joe is one of those people.”
