Sweet Waters (39 page)
Authors: Julie Carobini
Now it's Monday. There's no fog in sight while Mel, Camille, and I lounge outside, listening as the roll of waves provide backdrop music to our banter. Instead of facing the west, however, we've dragged our Adirondack chairs to the street-facing, northward section of the porch. From this spot we watch as a gang of town locals begin the slow process of restoring Beth's burned-out house across the street. There is much to do.
“Do you think Beth will ever recover from her injuries?” Camille's flip-flop-shod feet rest atop the porch railing, her voice hopeful.
“Norma says her counselor is amazing,” I tell her. “She knows a ton about what Beth's going through. Apparently, self-injury can actually feel like relief to those who practice it.”
Mel's eyes are closed against the sun. “Even though they're slowly killing themselves.”
“Well,” Camille leans back, “I hope she gets lots of help and moves back in. We should invite her to dinner sometime. Holly can cook for us!”
I smile at my sweet sister, grateful to know the truth about this young woman whom we've loved all these years. Equally grateful to welcome Holly into our family. Whether or not she plans to grace us with her culinary charms is another matter.
“And we should keep her in our prayers too.”
Camille swivels her head in my direction, her body still in a lounging position. “About that, Tara. I think I'd like to go to church with you next week.”
Hope stirs in my chest. “Sure. I'd like that.”
“Only, do they have a later service? I'm not an early bird you know.”
Mel yawns. “Unless a surfer's involved.”
Camille glares at her, but it's obvious the way a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth that she's only half serious.
I laugh. “Yes, they have a later service. I'll drink a second cup of coffee while waiting for you.”
“You know how much I'd love to join you girls”âMel's trademark sarcasm lines her wordsâ“but I ought to be on my way across the country by then.”
Several tendrils of my hair lift on the breeze, tickling my cheek. “You're really going this time, aren't you, Mel-Mel?”
She answers, but her face is turned toward the beach, as if she's hiding. “I am. I really am.”
I keep my eyes on her anyway. “Well, I, for one, think you'll do great! Simka keeps raving about your eye for marketing and your resumé looks perfectâFuture You is waiting out there, Mel.”
It's obvious how much she doesn't want to smile at this moment, but she does. A little. “Well, then. You know how glad I am that you approve, big sister.”
“Ha, ha.” I smack her chair, lightly.
“Actually, I'm serious. Your opinion matters to me, Tare-Tare.” She rises from her chair as our mail carrier, Bea, climbs the steps and hands her a stack of mail. I glance over at the bushel in Mel's hand as she sits back down. It's good to see something in the pile other than ads directed to
Current Occupant.
Mel holds up an envelope stamped
Par Avion.
“It's from Mother.”
Current Occupant.
Mel holds up an envelope stamped
Par Avion.
“It's from Mother.”
Camille pulls herself up slightly, craning her neck for proof. “Mom wrote a letter? Like on paper?”
I cringe. I've called and e-mailed her many times over the past couple of weeks, even leaving a message for her to return my call when someone answered her phone with a foreign accent. Her lack of response has unnerved me. I figured that either Derrick has her climbing the Alps, in which her silence might be somewhat explained, or she's angry. Mom always pouts when she's angry.
Mel rips open the letter, sent by priority mail. We watch in silence as her eyes scan the page. She looks up. “They're coming home.”
I gasp. “Which home?”
Mel looks as surprised as I feel. “To Otter Bay.”
“No way!” Camille straightens up. “What else does it say?”
Mel sighs and leans against the seat back. “She got all your e-mails, Tara, but both of their cell phones were stolen when they stayed at a hostel in Prague. Well, that explains it. Anyway, she and Derrick agreed that they need to come home and help us deal with all the latest news.” Mel glances at us both. “She says she thinks she has some explaining to do.”
I don't say what I'm thinking, that she might have warned us that our history in Otter Bay consisted of more than splashing around in tide pools with Dad and collecting moonstones at sunset. That she could've saved us from the pain of facing revelation after revelation about her and Dad.
But then again, I've come to see and hear and feel God in the midst of all this craziness. He has used past lies to draw us to the truth. I've discovered that the truth is more than the uncovering of secrets about my familyâit's also about learning to live a life of hopeful, active faith. And to do it one minute at a time.
My father's mistakes may have clouded his judgment, keeping him from living the life of freedom God meant him to have here on earth, but his death was not the end. It's a new beginning. Just like God used Josh to help rescue another soul, even in brokenness, He used Dad too.
I just know Dad's living it up right there in heaven.
As Nigel told us, Dad prayed for his daughters often. Just the thought warms me to my toes! Pastor said the other day that God works all things together for those who love Him. I think my dad would agree that things worked out as they should.
Camille, who just a moment ago was her usual human-pogo-stick self, even from a sitting position, now has a pensive frown etched into her face.
I turn to her. “You okay?”
“I was just wondering if Mom's feelings have changed any now. She must be disappointed that Grant's not my father.”
I shake my head. “Mom's been in love with you since the first time she saw your little bald head peeking out through the top of a pink blankie.”
“And what about Holly? Will Mom accept her as my sister? Still feels weird even saying it.”
None of us notices Holly standing on the second step to the porch until she clears her dainty throat and speaks up. “Feels weird even sayin' what?”
“Holly!” Camille lunges for her newfound sister. She hugs her tight, curly head to curly head, before looking into Holly's face. “It was nothin'.”
They already look alike, and now they're even beginning to sound alike. Pretty soon their female cycles will be synced up and that's when their sisterhood will truly be official.
After they embrace, Holly leaves one arm around Camille's shoulder. With her other hand, she thrusts a basket of brownies toward us. “I brought you girls some of my newest creations. They've got butterscotch
and
chocolate in 'em, plus some coconut and pee-cans. Aunt Peg's lettin' me try them out on people.”
and
chocolate in 'em, plus some coconut and pee-cans. Aunt Peg's lettin' me try them out on people.”
I jump up to grab one and tear away at the plastic wrapping.
Holly giggles. “Gee, Tara, you're like a foraging raccoon!”
I'm already picturing Thanksgiving with a table full of Holly's creations, many that I neither had to buy the ingredients for nor spend hours baking. Oh, the possibilities!
I'm licking my fingers when a familiar rumbling announces itself from down the street. It's Josh, and something in my own heart rumbles too as he pulls his truck up in front of our home. There's a heap of something tied down in the bed, a tarp protecting it from the elementsâand from prying eyes.
I watch in unguarded delight as Josh hops from the cab wearing Levis and a T-shirt that'll need a few washings before it can be considered worn in. The smile he sports could light up the sky on a moonless night.
“Hello, ladies.” He jogs the stairs and heads straight for me with not one hesitation in his step. He rests his strong arms on the sides of my chair and leans himself forward to steal a kiss, lingering just long enough to bring out a snarky response from Mel.
“Oh, brother, get a rooâ”
“Mel!” Josh wiggles his eyebrows at me as I break away from him to scold the middle kid of the family.
He leans against the railing, next to Holly, grinning. When he reaches for a brownie, Holly playfully slaps his hand. “Use your manners, Mr. Adams,” she says with a giggle.
He purses his lips, a look of mock offense on his face. “After all I've done for you.”
One of Holly's hands digs right into her waist. “Oh, yeah. And tell me, Joshua Adams. What exactly is it that you've done for me?”
He holds a fist to the chest, looking pained, but turns and winks at me. He offers me a hand, pulling me out of my chair. “You, Miss Holly, are about to find out. Tara and I will be right back.”
As we head down the stairs toward his truck, Josh lets go a sharp whistle. One of the volunteers working on Beth's house turns around and jogs toward Josh's truck, meeting us there.
“Don't you go butterin' me up for my brownies, Josh! I'm a businesswoman now!” Holly's still hollering from the porch, her arm a bent triangle. Mel and Camille are laughing.
We reach the truck. “Is it all painted and everything?” I whisper.
Josh kisses my forehead. “Yes, dear.”
“I was just asking . . .”
He laughs and climbs up into the bed of the truck, causing it to lower under all that muscle he's wearing. The other guy hovers near the back as Josh unhooks the straps from the tarp. “Grab the other end, will you?” Josh squats to lift the item and swivels his face in my direction. “You just stand there looking
fine.”
fine.”
His helper buddy grunts, a goofy grin on his face. “Spare me.”
The guys carry the item across the lawn without removing the tarp. By now, Camille and Mel have joined Holly, who's hanging over the side, at the railing. “What you got under that tarp, Josh?”
He wags his head and looks to me. “She's an impatient one,” he says with a grin. “Gonna have to get used to that.”
I crack up.
They set the tarped item on the deck, next to the row of Adirondacks that have served the girls and me well over the past couple of months. In them, we've rested and wrestled and reflected on all that's happened. I get down on my knees and began pulling away the masking tape that secures the tarp. Before I can get even one piece removed, the other girls, except for Mel, begin ripping away at the covering. For her part, Mel stands back, a radiant grin shining on her face.
Camille pulls the tarp off first. “It's . . . a chair?”
We stare at each other for a beat. “For Holly. So we can all hang out here on this great deck. Together.”
Camille gasps and throws her skinny little body into my arms. “You're the best sister ever!” Her arms still hang around my neck as she whips a look back at Holly and Mel. “No offense, girls!”
I laugh. “You're welcome.”
Camille takes the basket from Holly. “Sit down, sit down. Let's see how you fit in it.”
Mel shakes her head. “Her rear end is smaller than mine. She'll do just fine.”
Camille flicks her wrist at Mel. “Silly.”
Holly moves toward the new Adirondack, her lips pressed together. She glides her fingers slowly across the newly painted armrest. “I . . . I don't know what to say.” Her pale golden eyes, the ones that remind me so much of Camille, fill with tears. “You really don't know how much your doin' this for me means.”
Camille grabs Mel and pulls her toward us all. “Group hug!” We all laugh and hug and well up a little before collapsing into our row of Adirondack chairs. Josh's grin couldn't get any bigger, as he stands against a deck post, his thick arms crossed across that molded chest of his, watching me.
Longing ripples through my veins and I look elsewhere, afraid my emotions will give me away. Only Josh will have none of it. Playfully, he calls out a low “psst,” and I respond simply because I can't
not
respond to him. The headiness of this moment with the girlsâbeautiful as it isâfades the moment my eyes lock with his. He leans forward, still gazing intensely into my eyes. “You're an amazing woman, Miss Tara,” he says, his voice a husky whisper.
not
respond to him. The headiness of this moment with the girlsâbeautiful as it isâfades the moment my eyes lock with his. He leans forward, still gazing intensely into my eyes. “You're an amazing woman, Miss Tara,” he says, his voice a husky whisper.
“Yeah?”
His smile is confident. “Yeah. Walk with me down to the water?”
Mel flicks a nod toward the sea and mouths, “Hurryâgo.”
I take in the viewâmy sisters on the deck, Josh in front of me, a clear shot of the level path leading straight ahead to the sweet waters at the end of the road. It occurs to me that nothing turned out like I thought it would.
I didn't marry Trent.
I no longer work behind a desk doling out auto parts to men twice my age.
I've learned that moving on requires letting go of everythingâexcept my faith. That's something I am pursuing with gusto.
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