Sweet Waters (32 page)

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Authors: Julie Carobini

BOOK: Sweet Waters
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The spears I throw bring me no cure from the brokenness.
“Tara. Please. There's much I have to say to you. Allow me to take you to breakfast, so we may discuss this at once.”
Breakfast at the diner. What had become a mainstay since our relocation, no longer holds any draw for me. I'm not even hungry. “Moving to Otter Bay has been enlightening, that's for sure.” I pause, drawing strength from my disappointment. “But it's also been the stupidest thing I've ever done.”
“No, no, no, my dear. You mustn't say that. Please. I ask that you reconsider my offer.” He takes his cane and turns toward the door, opening it wide in an effort to guide me over to the diner. “Your father saved my life and you must allow me to tell you about it.”
Betty gasps. She wears a guilt-ridden smile and turns a page she never actually read.
Nigel lures me with the first positive words about my father that I've heard since we arrived. I don't want to be angry anymore. Nigel welcomed my sisters and me into this town from the very start and this is something I've not forgotten. I wipe my eye with the backs of two fingers. “Coffee's all I need.”
As we walk across the parking lot in silence and enter into the daily din of the Red Abalone Grill, I only hope what Nigel has to say will help me to truly understand.
Chapter Thirty-one
So my father wrote to you all these years?”
Nigel's eyes never leave me. “He never forgot me. He liked to call himself my personal narc.”
I swallow. The thought makes me want to laugh aloud. Dad, a narc. It's even funnier hearing the word coming from Nigel's mouth. Still, the implications are frightening. “You were addicted to drugs then, Nigel? That's hard to believe.”
“I would prefer to have thrown my old life into the incinerator, but that's not always possible, nor the right thing to do. You see, God has long forgiven my past, but if I were to forget it completely, what use would I be to others in need?”
“So my father was the one who kept you accountable, then?”
“Precisely. He would write, and when I would not write back to him, he would call. Oh, this was before e-mail became so prevalent. I would not have been able to get away with so much avoidance these days.”
“Except the way you avoided telling me the truth all this time.”
Nigel's usually neutral coloring takes on a faintly scarlet hue.
Mimi's on duty this morning, swinging a coffee pot in her normally frenetic way. I accept another refill and she scoots on to other customers.
The mug warms my hands. “Did Dad ever talk about us?”
Nigel sips his tea, the creases near his eyes deepening. “He spoke of you girls quite often. Your father did not show his emotions readily—unless talking about his daughters. He loved you all so very much. That was always clear.”
I sling back into the cushioned seat. “I had no idea. Dad never mentioned you—oh! I didn't mean to insinuate . . .”
Nigel smiles in that soothing way of his. “You didn't. Robert was a private man, except when it mattered.”
I lean my head to one side. “When it mattered?”
“He shared his faith with me.”
“The prayer. He had each one of us recite it when we were children too. My mother never seemed to take it all that seriously, but for Dad, it was a solemn occasion. Any time he talked of God was a solemn occasion, actually. He asked me often if I believed that Jesus was my Savior and how much God loves me. I always said yes. I guess that's why I've felt so drawn back to church lately. It's like I've needed to know more about my faith.”
“Yes, well, I have noticed that you have grown immensely in your beliefs. Your father would be pleased you have accomplished something he so wanted for you. He prayed for this, Tara. For all you girls.”
Hope stirs inside my chest. “Really?”
“Yes, truly. Robert struggled with pride—I believe that's one reason he could never find it in him to return here—but he also knew the eternal value in a relationship with God. He told me many times that all I needed to do to get right with God was confess my failures and receive the Lord's forgiveness. And I have done so.”
“And yet you lied to me.”
Regret, palpable and raw, shrivels his face. His chin quivers. “I'm very sorry.”
My eyes skim the diner's ceiling and I draw in and exhale a deep breath. Part of me wants to indulge in some finger pointing, to make sure Nigel knows just how his deceit has discouraged me. The other part of me longs to soak in every detail that he can remember about Dad.
“Tara? Do you remember your father's baptism?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, blinking away trace bitterness. I let out another breath, while digesting Nigel's question. My inclination is to say “no,” but somewhere in the far reaches of my mind, a familiar thought resides. Water, my father, he's happy . . . “Nigel? Was Daddy baptized at the beach?”
“You do remember—how wonderful. Yes, your father, along with several friends, was baptized in the ocean. Except for the birth of you and your sister, I believe that was the happiest day of his life. Made him feel like a new man, he always said.” Cheer tries to alter Nigel's countenance, but it doesn't last and regret settles back on his features. “Of course, that was before, well, the church hurt your father. Deeply.”
I reach my hand across the table. “What do you mean? How?”
“He wasn't a perfect man. Unfortunately you have heard about some of his past sins, things he never denied. However, your father would have stayed in Otter Bay forever, despite his fallen state, except . . .”
“Except
what?”
Deep rivulets reappear on Nigel's forehead. “Some of the more vocal church members no longer thought he had any right to attend services. He did understand that his indiscretions most probably should disqualify him from teaching Sunday school, but they asked the pastor to send him away. And the man of the cloth agreed—the scoundrel.”
The injustice slams into me like a rod to the back. “I'll never go back there.”
Nigel shakes his head. “No, my dear. Those people have long gone and with them their ungodly ways. I believe your father would be tickled to know that you have gone back to the church he once loved. Those who are there now understand that the church today should operate much like a hospital for sinners.”
I lean my elbows onto the tabletop and cover my face with both hands, emerging only after I've had a moment to think about this latest barrage of news. One secret after another revealed. Just a few months ago, life was unstartling. Predictable. Linear in its approach. What I didn't know, didn't hurt me—but it didn't help me much, either.
On the heels of that thought it occurs to me that I've been reading my beloved Soaps Weekly Digest less and less lately. The more I reread the Scripture passages from Pastor Cole's sermon each week, the less interest I seem to have in Eliza. Besides, it's not near as much fun to read when I'm starring in a daytime drama of my own. “Why did you keep all this from me, Nigel?”
“I was fearful. And, perhaps, stupid. You see, after verifying who you were that very first morning, I did start to tell you, but we were interrupted by the delivery of Jorge's fine meal. I wondered if perhaps it was a sign that it was too soon. I feared you would leave before Robert's wish was fulfilled. After some time had passed, I saw the error in my judgment. By then, you had been discovered by Peg and I became concerned that she would fill your head with her opinions.”
“So you knew about Peg's relationship with my father?”
“Some, yes. He had made peace with his past, however, so I had hoped she could move on.”
I hang my head, taking in his revelations. After a few cleansing breaths, my eyes meet Nigel's again. “Well, you shouldn't have worried because my father's wish
was
fulfilled. He asked me to take my sisters home to Otter Bay.”
“That my dear, was only part one.”
“Oh? He told you there was more?”
“He did, indeed. Robert hoped that someday you and Mel and Camille would all fully embrace the life of freedom he never had.”
“I don't understand.”
“Don't you see? He wanted you to
live
your faith and not be ruled by bitterness. He knew what it was to struggle with that and wanted so much more for you girls.”
Mother's words spin into my consciousness:
Don't let bitterness guide you, Tara. Forgive and move on and you'll be set free. Make a point to love your life, dear one.
Nigel's eyes shine with emotion and I reach out and rest my hand on his. “Thank you.”
“Whatever are you thanking me for?”
“For being my father's friend.” I catch my voice before it breaks, then turn toward voices mingling behind the cook's counter, across the diner. Peg bustles between customers, cracking jokes and offering coffee and napkins. She moves fast, but people seem to enjoy her, their smiles congenial, warm. After Peg sets down a check in front of a guest, she mops her forehead and walks to the far corner of the diner. There she slides into a booth.
“Before you go, I have something I must ask. Will you forgive me, Tara?”
I can't receive forgiveness unless I give it first.
Norma's words reopen raw wounds. Who am I to refuse to forgive someone who asks for it? “Of course. Yes. I do, Nigel. I really do.” Peg rests in the booth across the diner and I address Nigel. “Will you excuse me for a moment?”
He nods, his features more relaxed, and I leave the diner to call Mel on my cell. We talk, my sister and I, the steady crash of waves as my backdrop. Conversation over, I step back inside the diner and head directly for Peg, whose white-clad feet rest on the seat opposite her.
“May I?” I gesture to the seat where her feet lay.
I slide in next to her shoes. She's neither smiling nor frowning; instead Peg appears tired, loose bags dangling beneath her crescent-shaped eyes. I had hoped to talk to my mother about Peg last night, but as it turned out, our conversation was disturbing enough for one evening.
“You looked lovely at the wedding,” I tell her.
“They're good kids. Come from solid stock.”
My hands flex over and over beneath the table. “I'd like us to start fresh, Peg.”
She looks away, those flat lips pulled against her face. “I have nothing left to say. You have made your decision to stay and that's your right.”
“I've made another decision as well. My sisters and I . . . we want to pay you back the money our father took from you.”
“You want to . . . pay me back? Why?” She narrows her eyes. “What do you want?”
“Nothing. Well, nothing other than our father's memory to be left intact. He was a good man who made mistakes.” I drop my gaze to the table, draw in a breath, and give her a firm look. “A lot of them. But he loved his family—he made a million sacrifices for us. I wish you could've known the man we did. But since you didn't, please allow us to erase the debt he owed you.”
“And your sisters have agreed to this?”
I nod.
She places her feet back on the ground. “I've never heard of anything so . . . so crazy in all of my life. Paying your father's debt . . . when you had nothing to do with it.”
I spot Nigel glancing around the diner, so I slide out of Peg's booth. “You have my word on this.” She doesn't answer, her eyes still carrying a look of bewilderment.
As I make my way back to Nigel, Mel rushes through the door. “Good. You're still here.”
“What's the matter?”
She pushes me gently, indicating with a flick of her chin that I should sit.
“Good morning, Mel.” Nigel gives her a congenial smile.
Mel sits. “Norma called. I take it neither of you have heard the news about your friend Beth—the one who used to live in that burned-out house across from us.”

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