Port in the Storm

by Mary Crawford

  Unfortunately, I can’t get to the area where they are having the rest of the families wait because my scooter won’t go there and it’s too far for me to walk with my crutches. The organizers of the program have asked me to wait in another area. I’m too nervous to mess around with my cell phone to make it look like I’m doing something productive. When I’m nervous or anxious, my muscles tend to get more spastic, which makes it harder for me to do things which require fine motor control. Instead, I sit and stare out at the harbor and watch the birds fly on and off the docks. It’s cold outside, but not bad for December in Oregon — it could be worse.

  The big, heavy, metal door opens behind me and I turn around as an officer announces, “Samuel Taylor, thank you so much for opening your home to Petty Officer John.”

  I have to consciously remember to lift my jaw off the ground when I see who it is. By the look on her face, she seems just as surprised as I am. She quickly collects herself and responds, “We are already pretty well acquainted, Senior Chief.”

  The officer looks at his watch. “Very well then, I’m late to a briefing. Be back at 1800 hours on the third of January. Conduct becoming, John. Remember that.”

  She salutes him smartly. “Yes, Senior Chief. Message received. Have a good holiday, sir.”

  As the door shuts behind her commanding officer with a resounding clank, Officer John looks as nervous as I feel — that is a feat all in itself. I’m pretty sure she can see me trembling. I’m jerking like some deranged marionette. Sometimes I really hate the fact that my cerebral palsy amplifies every emotion and nervous twitch I feel. When I played out all the scenarios I thought might occur today, this was not one of them. I figured they would assign me a geeky single guy who was into computers and studies the ocean bottom or maps or something similar.

  The silence is growing awkward, so I start with the obvious, “I have to ask — John?”

  Her low husky laugh is like a breeze through a wheat field on a late summer day. “I guess you could say my dad really wanted a boy. The whole thing is only slightly less egregious — Taylor Samantha John.”

  Everything becomes clear as I remember the paperwork I saw on the organizer’s desk. “Oh, that’s why they had you down as John Taylor. They probably thought we were related. Believe it or not, my name is Sam John Taylor — actually my full name is Samuel Jonathan Taylor. When I started talking, it took forever to get all the syllables out, so they shortened it to Sam John. My dad’s name is Sam too, so they frequently include my middle name just to keep it all straight,” I have to catch my breath after saying all that. It takes a massive amount of concentration for me to talk this much. I wait to see what her reaction is. She didn’t seem to notice much the first time we met, but the circumstances were incredibly strange that day so I’m not sure what she thought of me that day. It was loud and chaotic out there. Perhaps she didn’t hear me or she wasn’t actually paying attention.

  As I watch her try to untangle my words, she doesn’t appear to be put off or unsettled. She just grins. “You probably have the same issue with your first and last name as I do. Did you hate it in school when they couldn’t figure out which was your first name and your last?”

  “Did you really catch all that or are you simply being polite? I usually have to repeat things three or four times when I’m talking to new people,” I explain, unable to curb my curiosity over her unusual reaction.

  She shoots me a look of total confusion. “I’m sorry … did you just tell me to be rude to you? I can handle it that way if that’s what you really me want me to do. I’d rather not, because I understand you perfectly fine. Compared to my grandma, your speech is crystal-clear. She had a stroke when I was about two, so I pretty much don’t remember her talkin’ any other way. She liked to joke that we learned to talk together. She would tell my teachers at school it’s why I have a strange accent.”

  “You’re right, I jumped the gun. I guess I can be a little defensive about all this. You’re not exactly what I expected.”

  “To be honest, you’re not exactly what I expected either. I was told I was going to stay with a bunch of nuns at a Catholic girls’ school,” she admits.

  “I hope you’re not disappointed. Although, I probably will have to change my plans for the week. I figured I would be getting a guy who was an oceanographer or computer geek like me. I suspect you probably won’t want to veg out watching old episodes of Star Trek and check out ComicCon with me and you’re probably not into playing copious amounts of video games.”

  She sighs as she takes her cap off and recoils the hair at the base of her neck. “For the life of me, I will never figure out why guys always think the only thing women watch are goofy reality shows and soap operas. Where is it written that just because I have ovaries, I can’t like a good TV show? For the record, I tend to lean more toward Firefly, but I’ve been known to go old school and watch a little Star Trek. I wouldn’t call myself a Trekkie, but I wouldn’t embarrass you at ComicCon.”

  “My apologies. It’s just that in my experience, women like you only exist in my fantasies. Speaking of that, I know this is totally weird and I swear it’s not a come on — but I think I know you. Your voice sounds totally familiar to me.”

  “It should. I knocked you down on one of the most embarrassing days of my life and I didn’t have an opportunity to properly apologize or make it right. I still feel bad about that.”

  “No, I told you not to worry about that. I didn’t even have any lasting bruises — just the stupid scrapes on my hands. I’m talking about before then. I swear you look familiar to me.”

  “I’m not sure that’s possible. You’ve seen me on both of my trips to Portland. I haven’t been here any other time.”

  “I probably don’t even know you from here. I haven’t been in Portland long. I’m a newcomer here too. Originally I’m from Tampa.”

  I’ve heard the phrase “white as a ghost” before, but until this second, I’d never seen it in real life. I thought for a minute Taylor would pass out on the floor right in front of me. I shift in my scooter seat, pull a bottle of water from my messenger bag and hand it to her.

  “What’s wrong? Most folks like Florida — you know Mickey and all his pals live there,” I tease, hoping to restore the lighthearted mood.

  She sets the water down, untouched, on a desk next to her as she looks at me with her eyes still wide with terror as she asks in a raw, broken voice, “I just need to know how much Reid paid you to do this. For some weird, perverse reason, I’d like to know what my sanity is worth on the open market.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  TAYLOR

  WHAT IS IT ABOUT boys that makes me totally stupid? For a few minutes, I let myself believe Sam was different. Actually, I had allowed my fantasy about him to grow since Fleet Week when I unceremoniously ran him over while I was taking pictures. His response to me was so unusual and polite I thought, maybe, just maybe, I had found a diamond in the rough — the one guy who was completely different from anyone else I have ever encountered. I guess I just have the world’s worst luck with men. There must be something written on my forehead which says, “Pick this one, she’s a pathetic loser.” I have to hand it to Reid; he’s more devious than ever.

  My monster of an ex-fiancé would have had to raise his game to unprecedented levels to manipulate the commanding officers and the volunteer program, not to mention the group that I was sightseeing with the first day when I inadvertently ran into Sam. The number of things which would’ve had to go absolutely right to make this happen are truly mind-boggling. I still don’t know how he did it. It’s enough to make me want to throw up. I have sweat pouring off my body from the adrenaline dump. I panic as I realize I have nowhere to stay. My chief is probably in the middle of a high-level briefing right now. My personal crisis is not critical enough to interrupt him. It wouldn’t be a stretch to think my ex-fiancé is waiting back wherever Sam lives. I mentally review all the self-defense moves the Navy has taught me and try t
o remind myself I’m not the same person I was at nineteen.

  I will myself to hold it together, as I realize Sam is quietly observing me fall apart right in front of him. I refuse to give him the satisfaction.

  “Taylor, I’m not trying to be dense here, but I feel like we must be traveling in some weird parallel universe because I have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t know what I did wrong. All I did was mention that you look familiar and that I’m from Tampa. As far as I know, I don’t know anybody named Reid.”

  “You claim to know me, but I don’t know you. How did we both wind up in Portland? Why are you the only guy who happens to end up with a female sailor, who just happens to be me — when I’ve been hiding from my ex-fiancé for years? Don’t say coincidence. I’m not buying it.”

  “I don’t blame you for being suspicious. If I were in your shoes, I’d feel the same. Even so, I’m about the most boring person you could ever meet. I moved to Portland because I got a promotion at Heartbeat of the Rock Jewelry, where I’ve worked since I was about twenty years old and new to the art of being a gemologist. I basically grew up in the Tampa store. Moving to Portland is pretty much the most adventurous thing I’ve done.”

  “The jewelry store,” she mutters to herself half under her breath. “I should’ve known. I don’t know why I didn’t recognize you sooner. You still look more or less the same. You were a perfect stranger back then, but you were the only person to caution me against marrying Reid. After the break-up, I asked my mom what she thought about it. I was shocked when she admitted she knew he was a jerk and that it would never last — but she was hoping I would get a big wad of money if we ever got divorced.”

  “Wow! I don’t even know your mom, but I think I might hate her just a little. I think I remember you now, but you look a little different. Didn’t you have blonde hair back then? I remember thinking your hair didn’t match your eyes.”

  “Reid didn’t like me with dark hair,” I mumble.

  “He disagreed with your DNA? Are you kidding me? That’s pretty narcissistic. Anyway, I recall your hair wasn’t the only thing which seemed out of place. Your fiancé seemed to take great pleasure in tearing you to pieces over every opinion you had — big or small. I didn’t know you at all, but by the time your ring consultation was over, it was all I could do to not-so-politely escort him out of my store. I wanted to grab you by the shoulders and ask you what in the world you were doing. You should have never been treated that way. Real men don’t treat women like that — but it wasn’t my place to say anything. I wanted to take you away from him and tell you that you deserved more.”

  “If you cared so much about what happened to me, why did you sell me a bogus ring?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SAM

  “WHAT ARE YOU TALKING about? There was nothing bogus about your ring. In fact, when your fiancé chose that particular ring, I thought it was ridiculous. He chose one of the most ostentatious rings in the whole store. Yeah, it was valuable, but he was missing the whole point. It’s not uncommon, but I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen someone devalue their fiancée quite as much as yours did. I was actually embarrassed for you.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you. When I tried to trade my ring in to get cash to escape from Reid, I took it to three different pawnshops and they all told me it was costume jewelry and not worth anything. I was livid because I ended up paying the credit card bill for that worthless ring for years. I just got it paid off a few months ago.”

  “It’s easy enough to trace. The diamond has a laser inscribed serial number in the stone itself. Every time the stone is sold, the serial number is recorded on the bill of sale. In theory, it’s supposed to work like the VIN number on a car. I personally inspected and graded the diamond in that ring. I placed it in the box when I sold it to your fiancé. It was in the sack when you guys left the store. What happened to The specific diamond after that is anybody’s guess. We should be able to reliably rebuild the history of your stone using the identification number lasered into the stone.”

  “Wow, I thought diamonds were interchangeable, especially after they had been taken out of their set. Do you really think we have an opportunity to catch that rotten jerk in yet another lie? At this point, I’m going to choose to believe you over him. He has done nothing but lie throughout our whole relationship. This is just one more shining example of his most prominent personality trait,” she declares in a disgusted tone. “Every time I think Reid Weber can’t stoop any lower, he does … in spectacular fashion.”

  “With any luck, he may have conned his way into a corner he can’t get out of this time. I’ll put my loss prevention folks on it on Monday. Technically, I’m off this week for vacation, but we’ll go into the store and file your paperwork. I should be able to retrieve the records from Florida using the corporate database. I know you said you ended up with the payments, but do you remember who filled out the financial paperwork with financing?”

  “Heck yes, I remember. I was beyond angry. Can you believe I had to pay for my own wedding set after he had purported to be this grand romantic? He gave me this long involved story about why he didn’t have his wallet. Apparently, his car was in the shop and the car lot sent it out for detailing — somehow he lost his wallet and could not retrieve his credit card, but didn’t discover it until that very moment,” Taylor describes the memory with disdain. “He promised to come back to the store and fix the account the next day, which he obviously never did.”

  “What a prince. Just so you know, not all men are creeps. I don’t know if I can do anything, but I’ll certainly try. No one deserves to be treated like that. I hope we can nail this guy. In the meantime, welcome back on land — I can’t wait to get you back to Portland and show you around the City of Roses — so, what can I do to start things off on a more pleasant note?” I ask, brushing my hands together as if dismissing the whole nasty topic of her ex-fiancé.

  “I know this is an odd thing for me to ask, but do you mind if we just randomly take off somewhere? I’ve heard Oregon is beautiful. I have been cooped up for so long I just want to be on the road and free, I don’t really care where at this point — as long as eventually you can point me toward good food, I’ll be happy.”

  “Are you sure you trust me to drive?” I ask as I turn on the scooter.

  “As long as you don’t want me to ride piggyback on the freeway on that thing, I suppose I do,” she answers with a healthy degree of skepticism.

  “Are you kidding? People around here drive like maniacs! You’d need a seatbelt and I don’t have a spare.” I look up at her and grin “I drive a nice safe minivan like a soccer mom.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  TAYLOR

  Honestly, I didn’t know quite what to expect, especially after learning Sam was from Tampa. I really almost lost it. After I figured out who he really was, I realize the chances he’s an ally rather than the enemy are pretty good. I decided to trust my gut for whatever that’s worth. It’s still a frightening proposition since my gut has let me down before. Under the circumstances, I really don’t have much choice.

  The Pacific Northwest sure lives up to its billing. The first thing that hits me is the fact that there are trees everywhere. It looks like a Christmas tree farm exploded. As soon as we leave the congestion of the naval base in Washington and head toward Portland, everywhere I look there are large trees and they look nothing like the trees in Florida. Sam explains if we want to go to Eastern Oregon, there is a mountain range where people go skiing. I pull out my cellphone and take pictures of the snow-capped mountains. Even in the middle of the day, it looks like something you’d see on a postcard.

  When Sam told me where he lived, I was dreading the almost three-hour drive with someone I didn’t know, but Sam is refreshingly honest in a way which tells me he spends a lot of time watching people. My grandmother would have loved him and I’m sure they would’ve spent a lot of time comparing notes. He pulls no punches when it comes to calling peop
le out on fake behavior and his commentary is touchingly funny. I can’t remember laughing this hard in a long time. He has an odd way of encouraging me to open up and talk about myself. I haven’t felt this comfortable since before I met Reid.

  I’m not sure what I find most appealing about him. It could be that he is really smart and funny but doesn’t find it necessary to go out of his way to convince me; or maybe it’s because he isn’t trying to show me how brave and macho he is every other second. Perhaps it’s because he seems to value my opinion about things. It doesn’t seem to matter whether it’s something trivial like what makes a standup comedian funny or something serious like global politics, Sam seems genuinely interested in what I think about things. Even if we disagree, he doesn’t challenge my opinion simply for the purpose of proving me wrong or making me feel inferior.

  Theoretically, I know this is how friendships are supposed to work in the real world. But since Reid did a number on me, I haven’t felt comfortable enough to let my guard down. It’s nice to feel like the person I was before someone set out to destroy my soul.

  Instead of sightseeing today, I elected to stay in. Even though Sam has said nothing, I can tell his muscles must be sore. Today, while we were at Powell’s bookstore, the mechanism which lifts the scooter in and out of Sam’s van broke down. Fortunately, I was able to run to an auto supply store and grab the parts I needed to fix it. Sometimes, having a degree in engineering is helpful. A lot of guys are threatened by what I do, but Sam was gracious. He thanked me for my help and told me I saved him a lot of money. Unfortunately, while his scooter was in the van, he was using his crutches and the added pressure broke open an existing blister on his hand. He didn’t say a word, but I could tell it was causing him a great deal of pain. In an effort to help reduce his pain, I volunteered to make dinner tonight.