Chasing Sunsets (31 page)

“So, then why, Charlie? Why give all that up?”

He shook his head again. “The collar just got a little too tight. The leash too short.”

I didn’t say anything for a while. We sipped our lukewarm coffee and nibbled at the cake until I said, “Are you happy, Charlie?”

“I’m doing all right.”

“I see.”

He leaned toward me. “But I want you to know something, Kim. I love our sons. Yeah, I’ve used them a little like pawns a few times, but I do love them. With everything I’ve got.”

“I know, Charlie . . . but you have to be there for them when they’re with you. I know we both deserve to be happy again, however we choose to find that happiness. I’m not here to dictate that to you, I promise. And just because we’re parents doesn’t mean we’ve stopped being human. But . . . just put yourself in their shoes, okay? Chase wants to make you proud and Cody just wants us all to be together again. Like we were.” I shrugged. “And if not like we were, at least getting along.”

“I think I can work on that,” he said, his grin impish.

I pulled a folded piece of paper from my purse. “Here,” I said sliding it toward him. “It’s the stipulations I just told you about. I want you to have them on paper. I’ve signed it and dated it and even took it to the bank and had it notarized. All I’m asking you to do is think about it and let me know as soon as you feel comfortable.”

He unfolded the paper, studied it for a minute, then folded and slipped it into the left pocket of his slacks. “I guess we’re done here,” he said.

“I believe we are,” I answered.

There are four bridges leading into Cedar Key, but there is only one road. On Tuesday morning, just a few minutes before 10:00, I turned my Honda off US 19 and onto State Road 24 at Otter Creek. Fifteen minutes later I passed through the infamous Rosewood, Florida, where a racially motivated massacre occurred during the first week of 1923. Little evidence of the horror remains; just a black and white historical highway marker and the home of John Wright. Another fifteen minutes later, I approached Bridge Number Four, ironically the first bridge one comes to when approaching the island. The sun was directly in front of me. On both sides of the road, the dark blue water—dotted with dark green islets and little pink spoonbills and white egrets—stretched toward the haze along the horizon. Nearing the end, to my left, I noticed several men and women standing on the public pier, casting their lines. Two women read their books in lawn chairs under brightly colored umbrellas. To my right a pole rose high from the water. On its top, an osprey stood watch over the world from her nest. The traffic was light; I pulled to the shoulder of the road, got out of the car, and took several snapshots with the camera I bought before having dinner with Charlie.

The road leading to my home and to Patsy’s was just ahead, but I kept driving, past the long pier known as Wooden Bridge Road and the maroon and white sign welcoming me and those like me—wayward children returning home—to Cedar Key. The speed limit slowed to thirty-five; I applied my foot to the brake and allowed the island to come to me slowly. Reverently, the way she ought to. This place, I marveled, truly is the land time forgot. And I thanked God for it. It was secluded and unhurried and—right then—it felt like it was all mine.

In front of the market, Maddie swept sand from the door to the sidewalk. She looked up just as I passed, waved, and I waved back. I stopped at 2nd Street, turned left, then right again on A. I immediately caught sight of Steven standing under the awning on his dock, writing something on a clipboard. He looked up as if he sensed my presence, dropped the clipboard on the nearby wooden bench, and walked to where I parked my car. I jumped out, Max right behind me, and ran straight into his arms at the edge of City Park. I buried my face into the curve of his neck, smelled the heat and sweat, and said, “With him all things
are
possible.”

He craned his neck to see me better. “Are they?”

I nodded.

“I love you, Kimberly-Boo.”

“And I love you, Steven Granger.”

His kiss held all the passion it should and none that it should not. And when we broke apart, I wept. We were standing right where we’d stood so many years ago—two kids just hoping to watch the sunset together.

Seeking Sunrise

Spring 1964

Patsy Milstrap sat on the passenger’s side of the jet black ’63 Ford Falcon Futura. Her husband, Gilbert—whose face seemed transfixed on the road before them—rested an arm over the steering wheel as though they’d not a care in the world.

Earlier in the drive from their South Carolina home to Cedar Key, Florida, and as the sun grew warmer, Gilbert had lowered the convertible top. It was now midafternoon. In spite of the scarf tied around Patsy’s head and secured under her chin, her long hair had been whipped to a frenzy. Her face felt sunburned. She would ask Gilbert to raise the roof, but she couldn’t find the energy to do so.

Besides, she liked knowing her body could still feel . . . something. Lately, she’d only wanted to slip between the sheet and the coverlet of their bed—the one she’d shared with Gilbert for nearly fourteen years now—cover her head, and sleep. Not her devotion to her husband nor her love for their children—five, ranging from four years of age to thirteen—could penetrate the pain she’d been living with of late.

Or had it been forever?

Clearly, she was dying, she thought. Clearly no one could hurt this much and survive.

And the pain . . . so deep . . . maybe even Jesus couldn’t reach it. So deep . . . like the blue-green water on both sides of the road leading into Cedar Key, where Gilbert had rented a cottage for them. They would stay a week, he’d said. Just the two of them. The children could stay with his sister Janice and her husband. And their children. It would be like going off to church camp, he said, while Patsy and he would come for the arts festival Gilbert had heard about.

She liked art, didn’t she? he’d asked.

And they would go boating. Take bike rides. Relax in the sunshine. It had rained so much in Trinity lately. It would do them
both
good.

Okay, she’d said. Okay.

“And maybe,” he’d hinted with a wink, “we can snuggle like we used to.”

Patsy closed her eyes at the thought. If she came up pregnant again . . . it would be worse than the other times. Every time, a little worse. Every time . . .

“We’re nearly there,” Gilbert chimed from beside her.

She opened her eyes, turned her head slowly toward him, and forced her lips to curl upward into a smile. She could do that much, right?

“Was that a smile I just saw?” he said. The deep dimple of his cheek came into view. “See there? One minute in Cedar Key and you’re getting better.” He squared his shoulder. “I knew this was a good idea.”

Patsy looked back to the front of the car. A town—a little harbor town—was coming into view. Fishermen on a dock. Weathered hands pulling crab baskets from the water and into a boat. The scent of the marsh washed over her.

In spite of its pungency, she liked it.

“Are you hungry, Patsy? I’m ravenous.”

She looked at him again, nodded. “Yes. A little.”

The dimple returned. “See there?” he repeated. “Another good sign.” The car slowed as they entered the city limits. “Let’s get to the cottage, settle in, clean up, and find this place Walter told me about.”

“Sikes?”

“Sikes Seafood. I’ll bet the food is about as fresh as anything you can get on the coastline.”

Patsy inhaled deeply. She liked a good fried shrimp. And deviled crab. She hadn’t had that in ages. That with a baked potato . . .

The cottage was everything it had been touted to be. The cottony-white walls, the dark, rich furniture, the white eyelet curtains and bed linens, and the polished hardwood floors helped Patsy begin to relax. To feel that maybe her life was going to be okay. Even if only for a week.

A week in Cedar Key.

Patsy unpacked their luggage while Gilbert showered. When he was done, she took a quick bath, worked the tangles out of her hair, then brushed it until it shone. She worked it into a long braid that snaked over her shoulder, before dressing in a knee-length mint green A-line skirt with matching sleeveless blouse. She wore no jewelry, no makeup. Only coral-colored lipstick.

The way Gilbert liked it.

“Will you put the top up on the car?” she asked as they stepped from the front porch of the cottage. “It took forever to get the rats out of my hair.”

Her husband slipped an arm around her waist. “Anything for my lady.”

She sighed as he opened the car door for her. Allowed her to get in gracefully. Closed it. She watched him sprint around the front to his side.

He is trying so hard.

A few minutes later they arrived at the seafood restaurant near the harbor they’d heard about from Walter, one of Gilbert’s business associates. He’d also told them about the tropical healing balm of the island.

Already a line was forming at the front door of the establishment. Patsy glanced at her watch. It was only five o’clock. She thought they would have been early enough. Maybe the food really was that good.

She waited at the end of the line while Gilbert gave the restaurant’s hostess their names. He returned a minute later. “Fifteen minutes. That’s not bad.”

Over the fifteen minutes, she found herself drinking in the sights and sounds of Cedar Key. Already she liked it here. It called to her, like an old friend, and made her feel as though she’d been here before.

Seagulls soared overhead. Patsy craned to watch them, then lowered her chin to view them through the glass walls of the restaurant as they dove into the rhythmic waves below.

Gilbert slapped his flat stomach as they inched closer to the inside of the restaurant, drawing Patsy’s attention from the white birds to the pressed white of his button-down shirt. “I smell good ol’ fried seafood. I think I’ll have shrimp. What about you?”

“Deviled crab.”

He wrapped his arm around her waist again and squeezed. “Somehow I knew you’d say that.”

“You know me well.”

“Since you were no more than a pup on a bus.”

“Milstrap, party of two?” the hostess called over the heads of the few hopeful patrons left standing in front of them.

Gilbert raised his hand. “That’s us.”

They entered the restaurant, Patsy behind the hostess, Gilbert behind her. It was all wood and glass. The walls sported lifesavers and nets with shells caught between the yarn. Large mounted fish. Stuffed replicas of tropical birds perched on beachwood. It was typical tropical, and to add to the setting, the Beach Boys sang “Surfin’ U.S.A.” from a jukebox
.

The hostess stopped short before turning toward a man in dress casual attire. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said to Patsy and Gilbert. “Just a minute, please, while I ask my boss a question.” She returned her attention to the man. “Mr. Liddle?”

At hearing the name, Patsy felt the air suck into her lungs before feeling her intake of breath. Gilbert’s hands gripped her forearms.

The man stopped. Turned toward them. Smiled briefly. “Yes, Brenda . . .”

How could it be, Patsy wondered. How was it that here, in Cedar Key, she stared into a face she hardly recognized. And into eyes she would never forget.

Eva Marie Everson
is the author of over twenty-five titles and is the Southern fiction author for Revell. These titles include
Things Left Unspoken
and
This Fine Life
. She is the co-author of the multiple-award-winning
Reflections of God’s Holy Land: A Personal Journey Through Israel
(with Miriam Feinberg Vamosh) and, of course, the Potluck Club and the Potluck Catering Club series with Linda Evans Shepherd.

Eva Marie taught Old Testament theology for six years at Life Training Center and continues to teach in a home group setting. She speaks to women’s groups and at churches across the nation and internationally. In 2009 she joined forces with Israel Ministry of Tourism to help organize and lead a group of journalists on a unique travel experience through the Holy Land. She is a mentor with Christian Writers Guild and the first president of Word Weavers, a successful writers critique group that began in Orlando and has since become the Jerry B. Jenkins Christian Writers Guild Word Weavers. She serves on its national leadership team.

Eva Marie lives with her husband, Dennis, and their fourth (and final) child, Jordynn. Eva Marie and Dennis are parents to three incredible adult children and the grandparents of the five best grandkids in the world.

Eva Marie considers a trip to Cedar Key the perfect respite.