Destiny Lingers (22 page)
Authors: Rolonda Watts
A
fter that exhausting phone call with Garrett, all I want to do is climb into bed and go to sleep, pretending that the cruel joke called Garrett never happened. A hot bath and a hot toddy might help me fall into a deep sleep. I just want to escape this feeling that my depression is coming on again.
I get home to a dark house and flip on the light as I open the door. I feel uncomfortable in my own skin, tired of carrying this heavy load of disappointment on my shoulders. Is this what I am bound to face for the rest of my life in love—one disappointment after another? What did I do to piss off the gods?
I find nothing in the kitchen except an old bottle of Pinch scotch in the cabinet under the sink. I am so happy to see this shapely bottle of mercy that I help myself to a big pour, believing it might calm my nerves, settle me down, and help me get a good night’s sleep so I can forget about everything for a while. I drop in a couple of ice cubes and walk out on the screened-in porch. I choose Aunt Joy’s chair; the big wicker rocking one with the tattered cushion that faces the sea. This was her throne. I fold my legs up under me and nestle into what is now my throne. I listen to the ocean waves crashing against the shore.
Even with the gusting wind, humidity hangs in the air like a strong smell. I rub my eyes, realizing how physically and emotionally exhausted I am. I take another long sip of the scotch. It goes down smoothly, warming my insides, soothing my tension and my mind, helping me escape thoughts of Garrett and his lame excuses and Chase with his lame girlfriend, Missy.
I take another sip. While the scotch may lessen my tension, it only magnifies my emotions. I begin to cry, pitying myself for my many failures in love. I take another sip of my liquid relief, feeling a bit light-headed and loose as the alcohol gently seeps into my system, taking me away to a place of no pain. I look out over the darkness, imagining walking into the deep black ocean, disappearing beneath its stormy waves and the howling wind, where no one can hear me crying.
Blindly, I fling open the porch screen door and take off down the steps and across the dunes, onto the beach, and up to the churning water’s edge. Hot tears stream down my face. I begin to wail. Why do I have to constantly have my heart broken?
“I don’t deserve this!” I shout into the whipping wind.
“
And when you truly believe that, kiddo, it will stop happening.”
Startled, I snap around, expecting to find someone there, but I see no one in the darkness.
“Hello?” I call. “Who’s out there?”
The only answer is the howl of the wind.
I know it was Aunt Joy’s voice I heard. Those sounded like her words of wisdom. Is it the alcohol, or is my dear aunt speaking to me in the wind from heaven? I know she loves me enough that I can count on her anywhere—even after life—and Lord knows I need her now, perhaps more than ever.
“Aunt Joy!” I cry out to pierce my voice through the wind. “If you are here … p-pl-
please
show yourself.” I keep screaming out for her as if my life depends on it—and maybe it does. “Aunt Joy, if you can hear me, p-pl-please help me. I need you.”
I wait for an answer, swaying and crying in the wind, looking for some kind of sign that I am not alone. I hear nothing but the pounding of the waves. I walk deeper and deeper into the water, staring into the empty blackness of the sea. I feel the warm water whooshing around my ankles … calves … thighs. I move deeper into the churning waters, the salt of my tears mixing with the salt of the sea. I keep walking, waist deep now, being tossed back and forth by the strength of the swirling currents and waves. But I don’t care; I just keep walking as if there’s a huge magnet in the ocean drawing me deeper and deeper into her hypnotic grip. I don’t know why, but I just keep walking.
“
How will you ever find love if you giv
e up?”
There’s that clear voice again. But I stumble and turn again in a desperate search for Aunt Joy, but again, no one is there.
A huge wave crashes on top of me and knocks me down. I am tangled in the ocean’s relentless control, until finally, she spits me out onto the shore. It’s as if she’s rebirthing me back into my own life. Trembling and clawing at the sand, I drag myself across the beach and stumble back to the house. I finally make it. The telephone rings. Should I even pick it up? Take the chance that Garrett is calling back with more of his nonsense? Or maybe it’s my girls.
“Hello,” I answer through breathless panting, expecting Hope and Kat on the other end of the phone. I’ll be so happy to hear their voices once again, ensuring me that I am cared for, loved, not alone, and most of all, alive.
“Where have you been?” It’s not Kat or Hope. “I’ve been calling that house for more than an hour now.”
It’s Mother.
“I … I was out on the beach.” I struggle to sound sober. I find myself instinctively straightening my back, my hair, my voice.
“On the
beach
? At this time of night? What in the world were you doing out there?”
“Well, I was talking to Aunt Joy.”
“Say
what
?”
“I was … I …” I am fighting to focus through my fog.
“DeeDee, what’s the matter with you? You don’t sound like yourself. What’s going on down there?”
“I’m fi—I am fine. I f—”
“Destiny? You don’t sound well. Are you okay? Hold on. I’m going to put your father on the phone.”
“I gotta go, Mother,” I say.
“Destiny!” Mother snaps, but I am fading far away from her. “Don’t you go anywhere!”
“Gotta go.” I struggle to hang up the receiver, but it crashes to the floor.
I feel dizzy, so full of emotions and scotch. I lie down on the couch and close my eyes, but the room keeps whirling around me. I feel like I am going to be sick, but I can’t lift my head. Oh God, don’t let me throw up all over Aunt Joy’s rose-covered couch. I know how much she loved her roses.
I feel horrible, lying here listening to the wind, and the waves and with my heavy heart pounding. And now, I also hear my mother’s questions still pounding in my head. Am I losing it again? I just keep losing it as the phone keeps ringing.
I pass out and slip into a dream that I am floating on top of the sea, my long waves of brown hair furled into the curling waves of the sea. Little cherubs surround me blowing their sweet melodies through conch shells. They have smiles on their plump little faces. Their cheeks and bums are cherry red. They make me smile as I drift along on the ocean’s surface, floating away in a peaceful slumber. And then Aunt Joy gently floats by, dressed in a long and flowing purple gown. I smile, remembering how much she loved purple. Her silver hair is styled in the same bun-in-the-back beach look she wore each summer. I can even smell her gardenia perfume once again as she floats closer and closer to me. I am afraid to wake up, to open my eyes, because she might float away as quickly as she appeared. So I remain very still and keep my eyes closed. Aunt Joy hovers above me. I can feel her there. Then she leans over and kisses me just above my right temple and lovingly speaks into my ear.
“
I love you,”
she says. “
And I am very proud of you. And I’m going to have a talk with that police chief. You two belong together, k
iddo.”
And then she disappears into a cloud.
I sit up, wide awake and heart pounding. I am in shock—stymied and startled because the dream was so real. I’m not sure whether Aunt Joy was really here, and even if she was, whether a talk with Chase right now would really make difference. I roll over and bury myself under Aunt Joy’s comforter. It still smells like her. I pray to God that when Aunt Joy talks to Chase, she’s not too late.
T
he loud and persistent pounding at my front door startles me awake. Whoever is there is also ringing the doorbell with annoying repetition. Who the hell could it be at this time of the morning? My head is also pounding. I reach for my watch on the bedside table—and I realize I never made it to the bed and am still sprawled across Aunt Joy’s couch, smelling like scotch and suffering from a splitting headache. I drag myself off the sofa and make my way into the kitchen to find that it is eleven in the morning! I cannot believe I slept so late, but then again, with this brutal hangover, I see why my body was taking its sweet time facing this morning.
Bang! Bang!
Bang!
I am going to kill whoever is beating on my door like that. I stumble my way to the door and swing it open, ready to lay one on the big banger—and much to my shock and surprise, there stands Mother.
“You look horrible!” she exclaims as she pushes her way past me and inside my home. “What in the world has happened to you?” Mother looks me up and down.
“Why are you here?” I ask.
“Because you didn’t sound right last night, and your father and I were worried sick, that’s why!” She moves into the kitchen.
“Did Daddy come?” I ask, looking toward the car. My heavy and hurting head is still in a fog, but I would give anything for a hug from my daddy right now.
“No.” She shakes her head and sighs while peeping into the kitchen cabinets. “He had patients to see today and thought it would be best if we had a little mother-daughter time”—whatever that’s supposed to mean.
“I see …” I say, but I don’t.
“My God! Do you eat?” Mother has made her way to the empty refrigerator, where there’s nothing in it but the light.
“I just haven’t had the chance to shop, that’s all,” I explain.
“You may not eat but clearly, you are drinking.” Mother raises the half-empty bottle of scotch to my eye level, peering at me with a raised brow through the pinched glass.
“So I had a drink,” I say.
“
A
drink?” she asks incredulously. “Not the way you smell today and sounded last night. You had a lot more than
one
. And you had us worried stiff! So I jumped in the car and headed here first thing this morning. The last thing we need is for you to go off the deep end again.”
My head is throbbing even harder now. I wish that she would stop making me field all these questions and get back in her car and go home. Somehow, having her five hours away makes my life a lot easier.
“Let’s go shopping,” she suddenly chirps. Mother loves to shop. To her, the thrill of buying things seems to solve every problem. “Well, you have to have groceries in here. You can’t survive on scotch alone.”
“Mother, I can’t make it,” I confess, knowing there is no way I can handle being cooped up in a car with Mother right now.
“Well, I’ll run to the market. You jump in the shower and be ready for lunch when I get back. And comb your hair.” Mother grabs her keys and her Hermes purse and is out the door.
I drag myself upstairs, pop a couple of aspirin, and jump in the shower; the cool water is soothing. How in the world am I going to deal with my mother today? I do need groceries, and I do appreciate her wanting to feed me, and maybe once she sees that I’m okay with a house full of food, then she’ll leave.
I move out of the shower, feeling a bit better. By the time I get dressed, Mother is in the dining room, putting the finishing touches on our mother-daughter brunch table. She has broiled salmon, boiled rice, and tossed a fresh salad. I can’t possibly be mad at her today. We get through lunch with a long talk about my future—whether I’ve chosen the right divorce lawyer, and Mother wants to make sure I get every set of Wedgewood china we got as wedding gifts. She also presses the point that alcohol is never going to solve my problems, so I should lay off the bottle, since I apparently don’t handle it well anyway.
I would love to escape from my mother—take a walk on the beach, clear my mind, clear the air, clear the area—but it has started to rain, so I make a cup of tea and sit here on the couch where my day began, listening to the brawling brook that is my mother. While she talks on and on, I stare out over the stormy sea, thinking about Chase and the irony that we have known each other most of our lives and have waited for this moment of rediscovered friendship for a lifetime.
“Thank you for sharing lunch,” Mother says as she clears the last dishes and crumbs off the table. “I’m going to take a nap now. This day has exhausted me.”
You?
I think, but instead, I say, “Good, Mother, that’ll be a good thing to do.” I’m happy to finally get a break.
I turn on the television and am watching a late-afternoon soap opera when a tropical storm warning scrawls across the bottom of the screen. I hope this nasty storm passes. It’s a bear being trapped inside this house with Mother, even when she’s sleeping.
The sky has turned gray, and the wind and rain are whipping through the sea grass, tossing it into a wild and frenzied dance. The waves crash violently against the shore. I snuggle back underneath Aunt Joy’s old throw, dreaming of falling asleep in Chase’s arms to the pounding ocean and rain. I am snuggling in deeper, readying myself for my much-needed slumber, when the doorbell rings. Who in the world could it be now? In the middle of the afternoon? And in this bad storm? Annoyed, I drag myself to the door and impatiently swing it open.
There stands Chase. Is this a dream? Was he reading my mind?
“Chase? Hey, how you doing? This is a surprise,” I say, just as a fierce, wet gust of wind blasts through the doorway. “Oh, please come in.” I fumble nervously, fighting through my daze, exhaustion, overwhelming surprise, and embarrassment. “Come in and get out of the rain, for goodness’ sake.” I pray he doesn’t smell the scotch and hope my face isn’t green. I quickly rub my hand over the back of my hair just in case of bed-head strays.
Chase politely wipes his thick black leather boots on the doormat and enters. He removes his police hat and rubs his thick fingers through his sun-kissed hair. I am taken by how incredibly valiant, gentle, and handsome he is. Even in a drenched police slicker and rain-soaked boots, he is still my golden Adonis.
Time stands still.
But why is he here?
“May I take your coat?” I offer.
“Oh, no,” he says. “I’m on official business today. Just wanted to stop by and warn you to avoid driving tonight until this storm passes. We’ve got some nasty hurricanes headed this way and just want everybody to keep an eye on the weather reports in case we have to evacuate the island.”
“Evacuate? Chase? Are you serious?”
“Yes, it could get a lot worse. It’s a tropical storm; it’s hurricane season. You never know what Mother Nature might do, so make sure you batten down the hatches.”
“I will. Thank you, Chase.”
“But be on the safe side. Keep an eye on the news,” Chase says with a paternal yet genuine concern. This only adds to my all-the-great-things-I-like-about-Chase list. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a business card with his name embossed in gold:
Police Chief Chase Monroe McKenzie.
I rub my finger across the raised letters and silently swoon.
“That’s my number if you need me. This’ll put you right through to the dispatch, and they’ll radio me in the patrol car. I’ll be right here.”
“Okay, thanks. I’ll be all right.”
“Well, Miss Dee—
Miss Destiny—
I better be moseyin’ on along now. Got some elders, babies, and pregnant ladies out there to calm down in this bad storm. Hope this puppy clears soon. I want to see you back
On Assignment
.” Chase winks.
I blush.
I know he cares because it’s his job to care, but I also feel his deep and loving concern for me and the other islanders. He’ll probably spend this rainy night stopping door-to-door, checking on each and every resident and renter. I hope he cares as much about himself as he does for others. And I pray he’ll continue to care this much about me.
“You be careful out there too,” I warn him.
“Will do. Bye now, Miss Dee,” he calls over his broad rain-drenched shoulder as he grabs the brim of his hat and ducks and dashes through the rain to his waiting patrol car.
“Good-bye, Chase,” I call after him through the howl of the storm.
I stand here in the threshold of my home, getting splattered by the wind-driven rain. I watch Chase sprint to his patrol car, agilely trying to dodge the raindrops. I could have sworn, as perfect as he is, he could have just walked between them.
