CHAPTER FIVE
L
UKE
HELD
T
IMMY
’
S
hand as they stood with Annie on the dock of Redbeard’s Marina, talking to Redmond Wilkerson Taylor Jr., most commonly referred to around town as Captain Redbeard. Well over six-feet six inches tall, Red was a huge man with a barrel chest and hard-as-a-rock barrel belly. He’d tied a leather strip around his full head of flowing red hair—streaked with natural gray “highlights,” now that he’d crossed the sixty-five-year marker—to keep it from flying in his face as he sped around Indian Lake in one of the many fiberglass ski boats he rented to tourists and residents by the day or week.
“You sure you don’t want to try your hand at waterskiing?” Red asked Luke, squinting his China-blue eyes nearly shut. Red had a craggy face, made rugged from long days in the sun and smiling a great deal. His teeth were even, and as white as the brilliant, puffy clouds above.
“No, thanks, Red,” Luke replied. “The kids are a bit young for skis. Besides, skiing is an expensive sport. They just wanted to be on the lake today.”
“Purdy day for it.” Red laughed as he often did, with an unmistakable explosion of good-heartedness bursting from his mouth.
Annie smiled widely. “That’s what I said to Dad. The whole summer will be over before we know it.”
Red laughed again. “Well, little missy, since school isn’t even out yet, you have plenty of time left.”
“I don’t want to miss a single second,” she replied with a wistful sigh. “I just love the water.”
Luke touched the top of Annie’s head lovingly. “Yes, you do, don’t you?”
“I wish I could be here every day,” Annie gushed as she clasped her hands together then dropped them in front of her, striking a rapturous pose.
“You can.”
“Excuse me?” Luke cocked his head as he peered at Red.
“I run a summer camp for the kids in town. Five days a week, and the city underwrites most of the cost. I’ve been doing it for years now. The working parents love it. The kids are outside most of the day. They learn swimming, lifesaving, boating, sailing, knot tying, even flag signals. And some things I learned in the rivers in ’Nam.”
“Marines?”
“Navy. I was a chief petty officer.”
“Not a captain, then?”
Red shook his head. “That’s just a nickname. One of my buddies called me that and it stuck.”
“I like the sound of this camp. Being a former navy man myself, I want the kids to not just like the water, but to respect it and know how to navigate it.”
Timmy was listening intently to the conversation between the grown-ups. He looked up at his father and asked, “You mean we don’t have to go to the Lollipop Day Care Center this summer?”
Luke shot a pleading glance at Red. “You got room for two more?”
“Happens I do.” Red chuckled.
Annie nearly jumped out of her pink flip-flops. “Yes!”
Luke stuck out his hand to shake Red’s. “Then we have a deal.”
“We do. And for today,” Red said, bending over and picking up two oars. “I’ll give you Number Six. It’s the blue rowboat at the end of the dock.”
“How much do I owe you?” Luke said, reaching for his wallet.
Red looked at the sun and then back at Luke. “A dollar.”
“What?”
“Dollar. Looks like high noon. All rowboats rent for a dollar an hour after noontime.”
Luke shook his head and took out a single bill. He saw Red glance at his wallet. Not that there was much there to look at.
“Nice doin’ bidness with ya.” Red saluted Luke.
“Where are the life jackets?” Luke asked.
“In the boat. I had Willie put in two children’s and one adult. No alcohol on the lake,” Red warned.
“We just brought juice boxes,” Timmy said.
“Best you stay around the shoreline so you’re out of the way of the ski boats. Their wakes will knock you out of the boat. Some of the drivers are plumb crazy and don’t know their safety rules.”
“Gotcha,” Luke said.
Red looked down at Timmy. “Have a good time out there, young man. Ask your dad to tell you the Legend of Indian Lake while you’re on the water. That’s always fun.”
“What legend?” Luke asked.
“Of Indian Lake,” Red replied, looking at Luke as if he was nuts.
“I don’t know that one,” Luke said.
Red squinted his eyes again. “You’re not from around here, are ya?”
“No. We moved here from Chicago just after Timmy was born. My wife didn’t want to raise kids in the city. We came here near Halloween that year, and she fell in love with the town. She passed away two years ago.”
Red nodded solemnly. “Sorry for your loss.”
Timmy pulled on Red’s khaki shorts. “What about the legend?”
“Well, son, a long time ago when all this—” he swept his arm over the lake, pine trees and shore “—was Pottawatomi Indian land, the Jesuit priests came from France to convert the Indians. One winter there was an outbreak of influenza or measles or smallpox—one of those deadly diseases. Anyway, the Indian medicine man had done all he could, and still, the villagers were dying by the dozens. Then Father Pierre, who had just arrived at the fur trader’s outpost about two miles from here, heard about the Indians dying. He walked in a blizzard across the frozen lake to get to their village.” Red pointed to the far side of the lake to a grove of trees and the dozen log cabins that comprised Tall Pines Lodges of Indian Lake.
“Well, sir, it seems Father Pierre went to the village and prayed over those folks somethin’ fierce. They say he fasted and abstained for three days and three nights. He carried with him a special cross that had been in his family for a hundred years. They say he touched each of those sick Indians on the forehead with his cross and prayed over them. On the fourth day, they were miraculously cured. When he was walking back across the lake, the ice broke and swallowed him up, cross and all.”
“Yeah?” Timmy asked with wide, captivated eyes.
“Some folks say Father Pierre’s sacrifice has blessed Indian Lake. From then on, during the worst storms and the most unimaginable disasters, people swear they have seen the image of Father Pierre and his cross. And then, everything gets better.”
“What do you think?” Annie asked.
Red laughed. “It’s all hooey to me. There’s no magic in that lake. Probably never was a Father Pierre, neither. It’s just a great story to tell around a campfire.”
“What does the cross look like?” Timmy asked quickly, not to be thrown off track.
“Some said it was just wooden. Others said they saw a gold cross studded with jewels. I say it’s just make-believe, anyway.”
Luke held out his hand. “Thanks for the boat, Captain Redbeard.”
“You’re welcome.”
Luke picked up a zippered insulated bag that held bologna sandwiches and juice boxes for the kids that Annie had put together for them. It was only an hour they bought out on the lake, but it would be good for all of them, he thought. Since Jenny died, Annie had grown up overnight, taking on household chores, preparing lunches and taking care of Luke and Timmy.
Luke grabbed the life jackets out of the rowboat and helped Timmy put his on, then tightened the belt on Annie’s jacket. He untied the lines and climbed into the boat, helping both of his children get seated before taking up the oars.
As he rowed around the shoreline, Annie took out two slices of stale bread, tore them into small pieces and showed Timmy how to feed the ducks that had flocked around the tall cattails and grasses at the north end of the lake.
Luke listened to his children laughing and watched enormous white clouds scud across the azure sky. It was a perfect day.
It was the kind of day that should have made his heart sing.
Luke felt that familiar lump in his throat that had been born in the deepest recesses of his soul. For two years he’d been angry with God and the universe and everything that was holy.
He thought it ironic that Red told them an Indian Lake tale that had nothing to do with reality and everything to do with belief.
Belief in what?
Luke had no faith. He lost it somewhere between chemotherapy treatments and Jenny’s grave. Luke didn’t believe in magical, healing crosses or legends—or much of anything.
“Dad.”
Luke heard Annie’s voice roll toward him from some distant place. “What?”
“You said you would teach us how to row.”
“Right. Okay, today is just basics.”
Luke held out the oar and showed Annie and Timmy how to hold the handle and keep a firm grip. He placed Timmy on his lap and held a single oar with his son so that Timmy could get a feel for the weight and length of the oar. Together, they worked the left oar, while Annie sat next to Luke and worked the right. They didn’t go very far, and only skimmed the edge of the lake through patches of water lilies, but Luke found himself laughing with his children.
When their hour was up, Luke rowed them swiftly toward the marina. Annie, shielding her eyes from the afternoon sun with her hand, looked up at her father.
“We should come to the lake every day, Dad.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because you’re happy on the lake.”
“I am?”
“Yes. You even laughed with us. So if the water makes you happy, we need to be here more and less at home.”
“Now that you’ll be here every day with Red, maybe we can make that happen,” he said.
Annie smiled at Luke, but he pretended to be concentrating on his rowing. Once again, Luke realized he wasn’t being the father to his kids that he’d been when Jenny was alive. He remembered laughing and horsing around with them every day. He’d often commented that their house was filled with happiness.
Guilt pressed its iron grip into his shoulders— it had become a familiar pain. Before Jenny died, Luke had been an exemplary father. Now he didn’t come close to making the grade.
He’d been blaming the universe for all his anguishes, but his apparent failure as a father was his own fault.
By the time they reached the shore and tied the boat to the dock, Luke’s anger at himself seared his insides like a brand. He didn’t know how much longer he could endure this kind of torture. And he didn’t have a single clue how to deal with it.
CHAPTER SIX
M
ONDAY
MORNING
AT
the construction trailer brought the usual phone calls from disgruntled customers and demanding suppliers who wanted to be paid. Luke had already been to a small residential jobsite and briefed the crew on their jobs for the morning until his return at noon. At the moment, he was on the phone with the manager of the lumber company who had been shorting them on the deliveries for the past month.
“I’m telling you, the four-by-eights are not here and neither are the two nail guns I ordered. And you never replaced the missing joists from last week. So what’s the deal? Your warehouseman can’t count? Does he need glasses? ’Cause if he does, I’ll personally buy him a pair so we can get this right! Now what are you going to do for me, Mick?”
Just then, Jerry walked into the trailer. Out of the corner of his eye, Luke could see him reacting to the last blast of angry words Luke was firing into the phone. The argument ended with Luke spewing a string of expletives and cutting off his conversation in midsentence.
Luke stared at Jerry’s pursed mouth and troubled expression. “What?”
“You get what you wanted from them?”
“Not yet.”
“Surprise.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You need to work on your people skills, my man. That, and you need to cool off.”
Luke swiped his face with his palm. He was surprised when it came away with sweat. “Guess I got worked up.”
“Worked up?” Jerry harrumphed, went over to the coffeemaker and poured them both a mug of black coffee. “We need to talk.”
Luke’s eyes nailed Jerry’s. “You firing me?” Luke’s hand shook when he took the mug from his boss.
“No.” Jerry leaned against the blueprint table and hoisted one leg over the edge. “This,” Jerry said, nodding toward the phone, “isn’t about some missing boards.” Luke opened his mouth to make a retort, but Jerry held up his hand. “I’ll take care of the lumber company. Or the thief in our own midst, if that’s the case. But right now, you need to talk to me.”
Luke lowered his gaze to the muddy wood floor and was struck by the fact that this company had become more than just a paycheck to him. His work was physical, creative and demanding, and it had kept him from losing his mind over the past two years.
“I don’t know what to do, Jerry. I should have pulled out of this by now. I shouldn’t be feeling this God-awful ripping and shredding I seem to go through every single freaking day,” he said, punching himself in the stomach. “And it’s gotten worse in the past six months or so. I think about Jenny all the time. All the time.”
“I know,” Jerry said, looking down into his mug.
“I’m hurting my kids,” Luke continued. “Half the time I don’t even know they’re around. The other half, I’m barking at them, criticizing them for stupid little things they did or didn’t do. They’re just kids, for cripes’ sake. It’s gotten so bad that they’re changing their behavior because of my outbursts. They hang their heads a lot and don’t look at me. I see Annie giving Timmy hand signals not to talk about certain things when she thinks the subject will upset me. Annie’s built this tent in her room out of blankets and chairs and whatnot, where she goes and hides when I get angry or talk about the bills. God. The bills.” Luke raked his hair. “You can’t imagine how tough it is to make ends meet.”
Jerry stood up, put his coffee mug down and reached into his back pocket for his wallet. From underneath his driver’s license, he pulled out a crumpled business card. “I’ve been saving this for you for two years. I knew eventually this moment would come. When you would need help, I mean.”
Luke took the card and read it. He burst into sarcastic laughter. “A shrink? I just told you I can’t afford peanut butter! Forget it.”
“Margot is a friend of my wife’s. She runs a free bereavement counseling group on Wednesday nights. I can get all the details for you. It’s not as good as a one-on-one, but that can be expensive.”
“Free, huh?”
“You’ll like Margot. She’s brilliant and compassionate.”
Luke looked down at the card. “I’ll think about it.”
Jerry picked up his coffee. “Luke. You can’t go on like you’ve been. I’ve had complaints from some of the guys in the crews about your drill-sergeant tactics with them. Something has to change, Luke. You have to change. This is eating you up.”
Luke’s eyes bored straight into Jerry’s face. “You’re right. That’s exactly how I feel. Physically sick inside.” He looked at the card. “I’ll give her a call.”
Jerry walked over to the desk and lifted the receiver, shoving it toward Luke. “Good idea.”
* * *
S
ARAH
ARRIVED
AT
the cheery meeting room in the library, carrying a dozen cupcakes from Maddie Strong’s café. She met Margot Benner, the counselor who would be leading the bereavement group, a bright, happy-looking woman in her mid-fifties with streaked, blond hair that she wore in a French braid.
“Thank you for the cupcakes, Sarah,” Margot said, motioning toward a refreshment table under a bank of huge windows that looked out onto the library’s lushly planted gardens. “I provide coffee and tea for everyone, but this is a real treat.”
“Maddie makes the best,” Sarah replied with a smile.
There were eight folding chairs arranged in a circle. Each held a blue folder with reading materials and book lists. All books, of course, were available in the library.
Within minutes, five people came into the room and introduced themselves to Sarah and Margot. Alice Crane was in her mid-forties and had lost her fiancé in a car accident one week before their wedding. That had been a year ago, Alice explained.
Pete Grobowski’s wife died of a heart attack a month ago. She was sixty-three, he said. Robert Bell had been the caregiver for his father through six long years of Alzheimer’s disease. Julie and Mary Patton had lost their mother on Christmas Day. Sarah conversed easily with all the people in the group, and as far as she could see, they all appeared to be coping fairly well with their losses.
Or they’re darn good actors,
she thought.
Just as everyone was sitting down, the meeting room door opened abruptly. A tall, lean, young man with broad shoulders and thick, dark, brown hair entered the room. He wore a faded blue-and-white-striped, button-down shirt that he’d tucked into his worn-looking jeans. He barely looked at anyone, and went straight to a chair directly opposite Sarah and sat down. He folded his hands and stared down at them.
Sarah recognized him immediately as the angry man with the two children at Puppies and Paws. She was curious as to why he was there. Perhaps he’d lost one of his parents, just as she had. He looked awfully morose, with no greeting smile for the others. She wondered if she looked like that to her friends. If she did, there was no wonder they were worried about her.
The man kept folding his hands one over the other as if he couldn’t get it right. Then he clasped them to his thighs and looked up at the people in the room. For the first time, Sarah noticed that he was rather good-looking, with brilliant blue eyes that shot right through her as if he were a hawk seeking out prey. She wondered if he recognized her.
Then he looked back down at his hands, which were pressed deeply into his legs as if he were holding himself to the spot. She wondered if he was angry again.
Margot walked to the center of the circle and introduced herself formally to the group, explaining that she was a psychiatrist who had been practicing privately for over twenty years.
“I conduct these bereavement groups once each quarter, free of charge, because I had a death in my own life that was so traumatic for me, so depressing, that I withdrew from my family,” Margot told them. “Frankly, I withdrew from everything. I sat in a rocking chair and stared out a window for over half a year. I went through my days in a fog. I couldn’t hear what people said to me and most of the time I didn’t acknowledge their presence. If it hadn’t been for a friend who happened to be a counselor, who dragged me back to reality, I never would have pulled out of it.”
Margot instructed everyone to introduce themselves to the group and mention only their relationship to the person they had lost.
Alice Crane went first. Sarah was next, and explained that her mother had recently died of cancer. Sarah hadn’t finished her sentence when she heard a derisive snort from across the room.
Luke lifted his head. “Sorry.” He dropped his head once more and then shook it. He stood immediately. “Sorry. I can’t do this. My coming here was my friend’s idea. This kind of thing isn’t going to help me.”
Before Luke could leave, Margot rose and placed her hand on Luke’s forearm. “What was her name?”
Luke fixed his eyes on Margot’s face as he replied with a quaking voice, “Jenny.”
He’d said the woman’s name with so much awe and love, Sarah knew instantly that he wasn’t divorced, as she’d surmised earlier. He was a widower.
“What’s your name?” Margot asked.
“Luke Bosworth,” he answered carefully.
Sarah noticed that he held his hands in tightly clenched fists at his sides as if he was struggling to control himself from hitting something. Or someone. And when he returned answers to Margot, the words were pelted through clenched teeth. She glanced around the room and noticed that no one else was as angry as Luke. They look depressed and sad, possibly even in denial, but not raging like he was.
“How long has Jenny been gone?” Margot inquired directly, but softly.
“Two years, four months and five days.” He ground out the words.
“And to you it seems like yesterday?”
“Like it was this morning. She was just...here,” he replied, his voice trembling with emotion.
Sarah thought she saw a glint of tears in his eyes.
“Tell me about her, Luke,” Margot urged.
He smiled slightly and Sarah was struck at how much that tiny bit of a smile lit his face. As he talked about Jenny, his face became nearly rapturous. He’d gone from anger to joy so quickly, Sarah wondered if such an emotional bounce was healthy. But as Luke kept talking, Sarah realized she’d never seen anyone so completely and utterly in love as this man was with his dead wife.
Luke’s memories of Jenny filled the room as he expounded upon his wife’s talents, her kindness and unconditional love for him and their children. He held the rest of the group’s complete attention while he spoke. “Jenny did just about everything. She insisted the kids and I eat healthy food. She grew all kinds of vegetables and herbs in her garden, then all summer and fall she’d freeze and can things. She made applesauce.” He laughed to himself. “I was never sure it saved any money, all that work she did, but it tasted wonderful. We never had boxes of any kind of cookies or snacks. Jenny baked cookies and made granola. She sewed, too. She made clothes for the kids and all kinds of stuff for the house. I’d wake up in the middle of the night and find her sewing some kind of surprise for Annie. Doll clothes. A new dress. Secretly, I wondered if she was a magician. She seemed to make beautiful things out of junk and milk pods and pinecones.”
“She had vision,” Sarah blurted out before she realized she was going to speak.
Luke looked at her and gave her a soft smile of understanding. “Yes, she did. Thank you for saying that.”
Sarah could only nod, she was so struck by the sincerity in his voice. She found it odd that this same guy could be hostile one minute and tame the next. To her, he was like Jekyll and Hyde. Which one was the real Luke Bosworth?
Margot’s eyes tracked from Sarah to Luke. “Jenny sounds like an amazing person,” Margot said. “No wonder you miss her so much.”
Luke’s eyes turned stormy, as if Margot had just doused him with ice water. The blue turned to gray, and his face lost all the softness Sarah had seen while he spoke about Jenny. Luke didn’t say anything for a long moment, his eyes surveying the room and the other faces looking back at him—some commiserating, some staring blankly.
Then, as if he’d made a decision, Luke inhaled deeply, expanding his lungs with courage or conviction—Sarah couldn’t tell which. He clamped his lips shut, as if to stop the flow of words and memories. “Jenny should still be here. It was too soon for her to die. That’s what I can’t stomach.” He slammed his palm on his thigh.
Sarah pressed her body back in her chair when she felt his next tirade coming on. She couldn’t imagine having to live with someone so volatile. Sarah had always been uncomfortable with anger. To her recollection, her parents had never displayed anger at each other. They had always had “discussions” and they “worked out their differences.” She’d experienced anger at flat tires, impossible government websites and inept retail clerks, but she’d never given or received Luke’s kind of intense, blistering anger.
Margot’s gentle voice interrupted Sarah’s thoughts.
“Anger,” Margot said, “is one of the five steps of grief, Luke. It’s natural. Understandable. Expected. It just happens to be the step you’re stuck on—for the moment. In addition, you’re feeling rejected by God.”
“How do you know that?” He growled.
“You show it in your every gesture. My guess is that you think God took Jenny, but he didn’t take you. You were left here to fend for yourself with your two kids. So you feel rejected.”
Luke nodded once, abruptly and affirmatively, but he didn’t respond.
“This rejection you feel is a place for us to start, Luke,” Margot offered.
Sarah sat up straight when she heard Margot talking about rejection. As she repeated the word in her mind, it was as if a blaring alarm had gone off.
Rejection.
Was that what she was experiencing? Sarah had always had a problem with rejection—or so her mother had told her. Ann Marie often warned her that she was getting overly anxious about her schoolwork, to the point of being a perfectionist. Sarah had been terrified of getting a bad grade. She didn’t want to be rejected.
When she broke up with James, she did the breaking up part so she wouldn’t be rejected by him. Yet James had rejected her many times—all in subtle ways, tiny snippets of rejection and dismissal telling her she wasn’t good enough for him or his wealthy friends.