Sweet Waters (27 page)
Authors: Julie Carobini
“The bed was too soft, the closet inadequate, and the rate too high!” A puffy, gray vein protrudes from the bald spot on the man's crown. I focus on it a little too long . . .
What would happen if the vessel burst right in front of me?
What would happen if the vessel burst right in front of me?
“Well?”
His angry question hangs in the air between us. As a former accounts receivable clerk, I have no qualms about refusing to take this man's guff. I could threaten with the very best of them, although I readily admit that it's easier to do so over the phone.
Or I could do just the oppositeâthe very thing that Mel has accused me of doing in my personal lifeâand passively take this man's abuse if only it would make him go away. With me it's always been an either-or situation.
Either I'm a tough accounts receivable rep refusing to excuse a $4.10 charge, or I'm the pushover girlfriend, the one who walks on eggshells in hopes that some day Prince Charming will finally climb down off that horse and book the castle for the wedding of the year.
It occurs to me that Eliza would refuse this man's guff and that she'd do it in such a way that he'd not only pay that bill, but leave her a tip on the way out.
She'd probably overcharge him too.
I shove away that random thought and as it goes another idea takes hold, one that splashes a wash of peace over me, similar to that moment at Mom's wedding when I realized it was time to move to California.
She'd probably overcharge him too.
I shove away that random thought and as it goes another idea takes hold, one that splashes a wash of peace over me, similar to that moment at Mom's wedding when I realized it was time to move to California.
Maybe it's time to put aside my old ways. It's not like they've been much help to me anyway. Really, did making old men grovel for another thirty days do much for my state of mind? Or for theirs?
Just look what an angry countenance has done to Peg.
Dad used to say that gentleness could turn away anger. After hearing a similar phrase during the sermon recently, I am beginning to understand why he believed that to be so.
I take a mysterious peek about the lobby, then lean across the counter. “I know what you mean, sir. A few of the beds are almost ready to be replaced. When I stayed here, my mattress wasn't the firmest.”
His chest continues to rise and fall, but his grip on the room bill loosens. He begins to mumble. “And the closet area is just large enough for one suitcase. Where will my wife put all her things?”
“Tell you what. I'll send in a rolling laundry rack. It should fit well between that empty space and the bathroom door. Will that be helpful to you?”
He lays his forearms, which just moments ago had been striking the air, across the countertop. The bill falls from his hand. “My company just announced layoffs.” He lowers his sweaty forehead into one hand. “I don't know how secure the job for an old man is. My wife didn't want to cancel this trip, and I just couldn't disappoint her.”
“No, sir, I don't suppose you could have.” His desperation touches me. “I wonder . . . do you possibly have auto club? Because I can offer you a rate deduction if you are a member.”
He straightens and yanks a wallet from his back pocket. “I amâwe are members! Hadn't thought about this.” He begins flipping through the papers in his wallet, his hands shaky and frustrated grunts escaping from within. “It's in here somewhere . . .”
I pick up the phone. “While you look for your card, I think I'll have housekeeping send over a board for underneath your mattress.” Mary will no doubt grouse about having to retuck all four corners of the sheets again, but she'll get over it.
He lifts his chin. His eyes brighten. “You're a peach.” He whips out his club card and smacks it on the counter. “You've made my day, young lady.”
After he's gone, I think about the abrupt change in my angry customer's countenance. The thought haunts me. In my old life, I could have turned around dozens of situations if only I'd tried a little understanding. Somewhere along the way, I'd forgotten that.
I'm double-checking the registration cards, laying them out “just so” for Betty who should arrive at any minute. The lobby door opens and I wave her in without looking up. “I'm just about ready for you, my dear . . .”
“I'm relieved to hear it.”
I jerk my head up. Josh walks toward me, tentatively.
“I called Mel and she told me you'd be off work soon. Hope you don't mind.”
“Hope I don't mind you calling Mel? Or you coming here?”
Did that have to come out so terse, especially after my breakthrough with Mr. Angry Guest in room 9?
Did that have to come out so terse, especially after my breakthrough with Mr. Angry Guest in room 9?
He leans his head to one side, but no grin breaks out. “I want to make this up to you.”
“Forget it. You were tense. It happens.”
“I'm sorry.”
“Forgiven.”
“You don't sound like you mean it.”
“Are you saying I'm not sincere?”
A small smile curls on his face. “Of course not.” His voice slides over his tongue, soft, low. “Not at all.”
“Well, good. I hope your father is feeling better.”
The door opens again and in stumbles Betty. “Hoo-wee. I'm here, I'm here now.”
“Hello, Betty. Take your time. I'm in no hurry.”
Josh raises an eyebrow, but I continue with my job, puttering around the lobby, straightening brochures and stacking magazines, fully aware that his eyes follow me. Betty removes her coatâshe wears one even on warm daysâand hangs it on the rack in the corner. She then fills a cup with hot water from the coffee service and plops in a fresh tea bag retrieved from her purse.
“There. I'm ready for the rest of the afternoon.”
“You sure?” I'm barely able to hide my reluctance to leave the inn.
Josh's touch lands at my elbow. “She's sure. C'mon. I want to show you something.”
We drive northward along the coiling highway, with far-reaching, unfettered ranch land to our right and breathtaking ocean vistas on our left. Josh's golden hair ruffles in the drive-generated wind. All seems perfect.
“I don't suppose you'll tell me where we're going.”
He shrugs mischievously. “I suppose I could.”
“Well?”
“I'm taking you to see some of the strongest animals in the wild.”
“Really.”
He nods and smiles and doesn't say anything more. He doesn't need to, as the views leave plenty to think about. The sky stretches to forever and provides covering to the vast sea. Coal-black rocks mimic sunbathing whales with frothy waves washing over them. Tourists park along the highway and dash onto private land with their knee-shorts and cameras and expectant looks.
I, on the other hand, have decided to have no expectations, to instead live for this moment and see where it leads. I expected Trent to agree to a wedding date; he never did. I expected to find paradise in Otter Bay, and while the cool breezes and sea air provide the feeling of serendipity, the reality is that Mother and Dad found it less than idyllic here.
I glance over at Josh and he smiles at me, that wind still blowing through his hair. Something pulls at me and I want to reach out and touch him. But I don't. Still too many questions in my mind about my family, this place . . . his demons.
He pulls into a viewing point just off the highway. Tour buses hog multiple spaces, while full cars weave in and out, dodging foraging squirrels and distracted tourists.
“We're here.” Josh snakes an open spot right at the cliff. He dashes over and opens my door, the wind providing help as it flings back.
We mosey along the dirt lot to a viewing spot overflowing with people speaking myriad languages. It doesn't take long to see what has drawn so much of their attention. Spread out on the sand below lie rows and rows of elephant seals, their blubbery folds encrusted with fresh sand.
I laugh and grab hold of the handrail separating us from the drop to the sand. “They're enormous! Why are there so many out there?”
“They're here to shed some skin. If you look closely you can see mottled brownâthe older skinâpeeling right off. Look. See the silver skin shining through?”
I nod. “They remind me of oversized sardines!”
Josh throws back his head and laughs. “I've never been a fan.”
“What can I say? They're full of calciumâa girl can never have too much calcium, you know.”
He wrinkles his nose. “So you eat sardines often?”
I wag my head and laugh. “Never actually tried them. They smell disgusting.”
Laughter resonates through him and he shakes his head. “You are too much.”
A blush heats my face, but there's a good chance it'll appear like nothing more than the start of a sunburn. I clear my throat. “I tell guests about this rookery all the time, but I always feel like such a fake since I've never actually been here before.”
I continue to hold the railing but straighten my arms and sway backwards, my back arching until my chin lifts to greet the sky. The rustle of ocean waters mixed with the buzz of air across my warming face sends me to the past. I'm about six, with no thought in my head that we'd be leaving Otter Bay anytime soon. A group of adults and some older children splash around in waist-high water. Mother sits in her beach chair, a distance away.
All of a sudden, several of the parents walk out together in the surf. I remember my father turning and smiling at me, but when I try to slosh toward him, he tells me no with a quick shake of his head. I look back to Mother, but she doesn't seem to be paying attention. By this time, other children and some adults gather near the edge of the water. A tall man wearing a wet suit takes turns dunking each of the parents into the sea. I remember being afraid, a rising, choking panic building in my throat. But the others around me are laughing and clapping. Dad's smiling too.
“Tara? You still with me?”
I snap out of my memory, realizing I'm suspended above the ground, my arms still hanging onto the railing. “Yes. I'm here. Sorry.” I release the railing, landing on my feet, and focus on the squirming, barking mass of elephant seals below. Several massive seals hunker into the water and slap against each other, no doubt males showing off their sparring abilities. “I can see why you'd say they're the strongest animals.”
“These elephant seals are strong, but I wasn't talking about them. I want to show you something else, but first”âhis voice and features turn resoluteâ“I want to tell you I'm sorry for barking at you the other day. I was wrong to do that.”
Despite my wounded heart, I almost laugh when his apology is accented by air-beating barks from the nearby elephant seals.
“I'm sorry for more than that, Tara.”
“Oh?”
His eyes flit around this time, as if trying to gather the right words to say. “My faith is important to me, but with you, I'm making all kinds of mistakes.”
“Excuse me?”
“Wait. That came out all wrong.”
“I'm waiting.”
“All I meant is that I'm trying to live out my faith every day. Not just on Sunday. I'm not sure if our beliefs are compatible. And that's not a judgment on youâif anything, it's more of one on me. You've said more than once that we're moving fast, but I've never felt this way about anyone. Believe me.”
“Whoa. I'm a little confused. Are you asking if . . . if I believe in God?”
“Sounds trite, doesn't it.”
My eyes scan his face and find nothing but sincerity. “Maybe, but I think I know what you're asking.” I breathe in. “I didn't attend church much while growing up, but my father spoke often of God's love and His goodness. He was a praying manâjust not a churchgoing one. Anyway, I've believed in Jesus since as long as I can remember, but until moving here, I never considered how that should impact my life. Does that make sense?”
He nods. “Absolutely. And now?”
“Now I want to know more.”
“That's what my apology was for. I'm sorry if my affection for you has done anything to keep you from growing in your faith.”
Something catches in my throat and I can't speak.
He cares this much about my faith?
He cares this much about my faith?
Isn't this when he should be attempting to take control in order to get everything he wants from me? Like Maurice would do to Eliza?
And Eliza would do to him.
And Eliza would do to him.
And yet here Josh is, apologizing for playing some nonexistent part in the weakening of my faith. I squeeze my eyes shut against the wind, hoping he won't see the emotion trying to spill out. When I open them again, he's still watching, waiting. “You're one very different guy, Josh.” I shake my head, my voice quiet. “Thank you.”
Tenderness shapes his expression. He reaches out his hand, taking a quick peek at the docent who's backed up to us. “C'mon,” he whispers. “I want to show you something.” We slip out of the crowd and follow a narrow trail that has been worn into the earth. It's absent of signage, unlike the rest of the area that is lined with trail markers. We reach the point directly below the vista point, excited voices lofting in bursts above us. Other than that, we are alone.
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