The Discovery, A Novel (14 page)

Legare Street, Charleston
1:00 a.m.

I carefully set the manuscript down on a little table I had pulled up next to me. Didn’t want the pages to tear. What time was it?
No way
, I thought as I glanced at my watch. I’d been sitting here for almost five hours.

Jenn!

I’d forgotten all about Jenn. I reached in my pocket for my cell phone. It wasn’t there.
No, no, no
. I spun the chair around and searched the desk. It wasn’t there. Must have left it out in the kitchen. Had she called? She must have. How could I not hear it? I ran out into the kitchen. She must be worried sick.

The whole house was dark. I flicked on the light switch. There it was, next to the microwave. My heart sank when I flipped my phone open and checked for messages. She’d called at least a half dozen times. I hit the send button.

It rang and rang, and finally I got her voice mail. “Jenn, I’m so sorry. Didn’t even hear your calls. I left my phone out here in the—” My phone started beeping. I looked. It was Jenn.

“Michael? What time is it?” She sounded groggy.

“It’s a little after 1:00 a.m. I’m so sorry, Jenn.”

“I was so worried.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I left my cell phone out here in the kitchen.”

“Where’ve you been?”

“Nowhere. I’ve been here at the house the whole time.”

“I called and called.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“I even called the hospitals.” She was sounding more awake. “I figured, it’s a modern city. If he got in an accident, the hospitals would know. Since they didn’t have anything on you, I figured you were probably fine.”

“Jenn, I . . . no excuse. I hate that I put you through that. Really, I’m sorry.”

“Okay. You just forgot all about me, that I even exist.”

“It’s not that. I was just preoccupied, reading Gramps’s book. I was back in his office, had the door closed.”

“All this time?”

“I haven’t moved from that chair since I called you last.”

“Not even to go to the bathroom?”

“No. Speaking of that—”

“You better not take me into the bathroom with you. I’ll be able to tell if you do.”

I laughed. “I won’t. But I can’t talk as long.”

“Then you can call me back.”

“Don’t you have to work in the morning?”

“Yes. I need to go back to bed.”

“Well, you do that. We can talk tomorrow.” I walked toward the refrigerator, poured myself a glass of iced tea.

“So, it’s that good?” she said.

“Totally sucked me in.” I drank a sip of tea. “It’s not like any book of his I’ve ever read. It’s almost a love story.”

“Really?”

“It’s got some action and suspense, but so far I’d definitely not call it a thriller.”

“Do you think it will sell?”

“Jenn, it’s my grandfather. They’d buy his grocery list.”

“I’m glad you’re safe.”

“Sorry I made you worry.”

“Next time you read, keep your cell phone in your pocket.”

“I will, I promise.”

“Don’t just promise.”

“Okay. Love you. Can’t wait for you to read this book.”

“If your grandfather wrote a love story, I definitely want to read it.”

I woke up the next morning pretty groggy.

The sun was shining brightly through the curtains. I rolled over and looked at the digital clock. It was after 9:00. I reached for my cell, thinking of Jenn. How could I have missed her call again? She left for work at 7:30. When I flipped it open, I saw that I hadn’t. Jenn had let me sleep in. I was so glad she was coming back for the weekend. I got up and took a shower. Got dressed and went downstairs. After a cup of coffee and bowl of Cinnamon Life cereal, I was ready to head back to Gramps’s office and pick up where I’d left off.

Before I did, I looked outside. A much better location to work. I walked out on the veranda. The temperature was cool but not cold. Very little wind. I went back in, refreshed my coffee cup, put my cell phone in my pocket, and picked up the manuscript pages I hadn’t read yet.

As I walked back toward the porch, I pondered why my grandfather had decided not to turn this in to get published. It was definitely up to par with his other works. Was it the love story angle? Gramps always included a measure of romance in his novels, though no one would have ever pegged him as a romance writer. It wasn’t the time period; he’d certainly written novels set in World War II.
Back to Bastogne
and
Remembering Dresden
came to mind.

So what was it?

I opened the front door. A couple of chairs at the far end of the porch were clearly purchased for comfort. I sat in one, pulled a little wicker table close to hold the loose pages after I read them. Propped my feet up and set the manuscript on my lap.

I was going to be here a while.

Mid-January, 1943

For the next three months, Ben followed his own advice and did his best to put most of what Father Flanagan had suggested behind him. He genuinely appreciated the priest’s concern for his welfare but decided Father Flanagan just didn’t fully understand Ben’s situation. How could he? The clergy lived a rather sheltered life and Catholic priests didn’t even marry. So how could he know what was best for Ben and Claire?

Ben did, however, receive much help from the Bible he’d been given, and made it a habit to read it every morning. He’d started with all the references Father Flanagan had written out for him on a sheet of paper. First the Psalms, then the Gospels. Most of the psalms on Father Flanagan’s list spoke of God’s ability to know all things, including the condition of every heart at every moment of the day. This made sense to Ben, the more he thought on it. If there was a God, then he was God almighty, the most majestic and brilliant of all beings. It made no sense to believe in a small God.

Modeling David’s prayers in the Psalms, Ben tried to make a habit to talk to God that way, telling him whatever he thought, as honestly as he could. It was wonderful not having to keep everything locked up inside anymore. He was so grateful that he felt compelled to send Father Flanagan a thank-you note with fifty dollars inside. Although, Ben felt quite sure, someone of Father Flanagan’s virtue would likely give most of it to the poor.

Ben and Claire were now very much in love. Claire first said she loved Ben within a week of their first kiss. Now each spoke of their love constantly. They went out on dates two or three times a week, and Ben ate dinner at her house at least that often. The gang had somewhat dissipated after Barb and Joe’s wedding just before Thanksgiving. Right after their honeymoon, Joe had shipped out to boot camp. He was now stationed somewhere in California, preparing to be sent to the Pacific theater.

They’d occasionally see Barb, and even Hank, and share a meal together at McCrory’s, maybe take in a movie at the theater. That was the plan, in fact, for this afternoon. Ben was on his way to McCrory’s right now. Claire had met Barb there for lunch. Hank said he’d meet them at the theater for the matinee.

Hank had finally given up on Claire. Now he mostly complained about not being able to find the right girl in this town. Ben thought that strange, seeing as there were over ten thousand WACS walking about. You’d see at least two dozen at every gas station and grocery store at any given time. Just that morning, hundreds of WACS paraded by in neat rows on the boardwalk next to the Bandshell, as they did every Saturday morning, right past the spot where Ben and Claire had their first dance.

“You’re just too picky, Hank,” Barb would say.

That’s part of it
, Ben thought silently whenever she’d say it.

Ben had just one more stop to make, to drop off a story he’d written for his employer, the Daytona
News Journal
. A human interest piece about a group of WACS who drove and fixed their own fleet of military trucks around town. Ben had gotten the job to give him something to talk about at the dinner table, to offset any more conversations about him working for Claire’s father. He’d started off freelancing, picked up a nice portable typewriter at Upchurch’s Office Supply, and hammered the articles out at home. They liked what he’d given them so much that they offered him a steady job. He split his time now between his desk at the News Journal on Orange Avenue and his kitchen table.

He dropped off the story to his editor. Everyone at the paper was buzzing about some major winter storm blowing in from the Gulf this evening. The paper was actually running a story on the front page, warning people to brace themselves for high winds and rough seas through the weekend. Storms like this often made their way across the state then out to sea. Temperatures were expected to dip below freezing overnight, and the weatherman predicted up to eight inches of rain in the next two days.

As Ben walked out to his car, he looked at the sky toward the west. It looked dark and stormy already. He wondered if they should cancel their movie plans this afternoon. On a nice day, he would have walked the distance between the News Journal office and the diner on Beach Street; it was just around the corner a few blocks. But it looked as if the rain might start cutting loose any minute.

It took two minutes to reach the diner but almost ten minutes more to find a parking space, compliments of the WACS. As he walked past the diner’s glass windows, he saw Claire and Barb sitting inside. Claire saw him, ran outside, and all but leaped into his arms. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said.

Ben kissed her passionately. As their lips parted, he glanced through the store window, saw Barb rolling her eyes. He smiled at her over Claire’s shoulder. He didn’t mind her chiding; he loved the way Claire greeted him and didn’t care how it looked.

“Oh my,” Claire said. “It’s getting cold out here.” She stepped out from under the awning and looked up at the sky.

“Big storm coming,” he said. “One of the weathermen at the paper said it was going to be a bad one.”

“Really?”

“Strong winds, almost as bad as a tropical storm. And eight inches of rain.”

“When?”

“Let’s get inside.” He opened the door, put his arm around her, and guided her in. “The worst of it’s supposed to come later tonight, but I don’t know if we should go to the movies this afternoon. Hi, Barb.”

She waved. “You two,” she said. “Every time you meet it’s like Rhett and Scarlett in
Gone with the Wind
.”

Claire looked at Barb. “I love that scene you’re talking about, but we’re not going to end up like Rhett and Scarlett. Our story’s going to have a happy ending.” Turning to Ben, she said, “Can’t we go to the movie? It’s only two hours.”

“What’s playing?” he asked.

“It’s an Alfred Hitchcock movie,” Barb said. “Called
Shadow of a Doubt
, with Joseph Cotton and Teresa Wright. Supposed to be good, very suspenseful. Joseph Cotton plays this creepy uncle who comes into town. He seems wonderful at first, but . . . he’s not who he pretends to be.” She said the last part in an eerie voice.

Oh great
, Ben thought,
that’s all I need
. “I don’t know, Claire. These weathermen don’t always get the timing of these things right. By the look of that sky outside, I’d say it could break loose any minute. And look”—he pointed to her chair—“you only have a light jacket. You shouldn’t be out in weather like this in that. The temperature’s going to be dropping all afternoon.”

“Maybe we can go tomorrow after church.” Claire turned to Barb. “What do you think? Can you make it tomorrow afternoon?”

“Sure. I got no plans.”

“Umm . . . this storm is supposed to last all day tomorrow and maybe even through Monday.”

“Ben, you’re spoiling everything,” Barb said. Both women got up. Ben helped Claire put on her jacket.

“Maybe so,” Ben said. “Just trying to be a voice of reason.” Just then, a drizzling rain began outside. “Look, it’s already starting. We better get to the car. Can I drop you home, Barb?”

“That’d be great.”

As they walked through the front door of the diner, Ben looked at the storm clouds overhead, grateful for their assistance. He was for anything that kept them from having to sit through a movie about a nice guy coming into town who’s “not who he pretends to be.”

After Ben dropped Barb off at her place, Claire reminded him about Hank. Sure enough, he was standing in line at the theater for the afternoon matinee. Ben double-parked just long enough to tell him they weren’t coming.

When they pulled into Claire’s driveway on Ridgewood Avenue, the rain had temporarily halted, but the wind was blowing harder and now the whole sky was dark and threatening. “Let’s hurry before it starts coming down again,” Ben said.

Claire’s mom must have seen them coming. She had the front door open as they stepped onto the porch. She closed the door behind them; the house was nice and warm. “I’m freezing,” Claire said. She walked over to the radiator and stood as close as she could. Ben took his coat off and draped it around her shoulders, then rubbed her arms.

“I’m thinking, Ben, that you should put that coat right back on,” Mrs. Richards said.

“Why, Mom?” Claire said.

“I just got off the phone with your father. He said this storm is going to be pretty bad. The winds are getting so strong, they have all their crews tying down the airplanes at the base. They get the latest weather reports out there. He also said the rain’s going to come down in buckets off and on the next few days. Some low-lying areas on the beachside are expected to flood. He suggested Ben should head over to his house and pack a bag, maybe stay here until it passes.”

“Oh, I like that idea,” Claire said.

“We have a number of nice guest rooms upstairs, Ben.”

Claire shot her mother a look, as if that point needed to be clarified. “You could stay in Jack’s old room,” she said. “Right across the hall from mine. It will be so much fun.”

“I think I’ll do that,” Ben said. “You still cold, Claire? I can get your coat out of the closet.”

“No, I think I’m warm enough now. Want me to go with you?”

“I wish you’d stay here,” her mother said. “I could use some help with dinner. Your father is coming home early, as soon as the base is secure.”

“I’ll be fast,” Ben said, putting on his coat. “I pack light.” He leaned over and gave Claire a kiss. “Thanks, Mrs. Richards, for the offer to stay here. And thank your husband for me.”

“You’re welcome, Ben. But you can thank him yourself. You’ll probably be back here before he will.”

“Right, well, I’ll see you both in about twenty minutes.”

Claire walked him to the door. As she opened it, they both heard a loud crack. It startled Claire. They watched as a palm frond dropped on the front lawn. Instantly, the wind whipped it down the street. “Be careful,” she said.

“I will.”

Ben zigzagged through the downtown area, then crossed the Broadway Bridge toward the beachside. At one point, a wind gust hit him broadside, actually caused him to swerve and hit the curb. The wheels screeched. He pulled back to the left and just barely missed a car coming head-on in the other direction.

He noticed how dark the river water had become, reflecting back the color in the angry sky. The normally calm waters seemed to be almost boiling, with hundreds of little whitecaps tossing water into the wind.

Ben had to admit, the whole thing was pretty exciting. He especially looked forward to getting to spend so much time with Claire. As he turned down Vermont Avenue, he wondered whether the area could actually be called low-lying, and whether there was any real danger of flooding. It didn’t matter, he had to take precautions just in case. His thoughts immediately went to the suitcase filled with cash and ration coupons locked in the second bedroom.

Sure didn’t want that thing floating down the street.

He pulled into the driveway and hurried to the front door as heavy drops of rain began to fall. Once inside, he double-checked all the windows to make sure they were closed tight, then pulled out his keys and unlocked the bedroom. He pulled the suitcase from under the bed and set it on top.

The drapes were closed, as usual. He walked over and turned on the lamp. After opening the top dresser drawer, he slid out the watertight bag he’d originally wrapped the suitcase in, back on the U-boat.

He hadn’t used it since that night. Really, this bag and the suitcase on the bed were the last remnants of his old life. It was a good feeling.

Well, there was the pistol, which he hadn’t used since the night he’d dug the suitcase out of the sand. To be safe, he bent down and pulled out the bottom dresser drawer. There it was. He tossed the gun and the bag on the bed, intending to wrap it up inside the watertight bag with the suitcase. He peeked outside; the rain had stopped again. Maybe he should pack a bag first, get it out in the car before the rain started up again.

He walked across the hall to the larger bedroom where he slept. As he did, he heard the wind whistling through the kitchen. There was a large window in there, facing the backyard, next to his dinette table. It provided great lighting when he typed his articles for the paper, but it obviously had some leaks. If air could get in, so could a hard rain. He didn’t want his typewriter ruined. Better take that with him too.

Where was the case? he wondered. The typewriter worked wonderfully, but the portable case that came with it was a piece of junk. It was cracked across the bottom, and two of the corners had to be taped together. There it was, on top of the icebox. He quickly put the typewriter in the case, tried in vain to get the latch to close, then held it in both arms and hurried out the front door. He’d have to come back for the ream of paper, maybe put it in the suitcase he brought to Claire’s.

With the typewriter in the backseat, he went back inside to pack his bag. After he’d put it in the car, he went back to secure the bigger, more important suitcase. A series of even darker, more ominous clouds were moving in from the west. He’d better hurry.

He opened the suitcase and thought through how much cash and ration coupons he needed for the week ahead, and for that purchase he planned to make at his last stop before heading back to Claire’s. He wedged the gun in a side pocket, zippered it shut, then closed the lid and slid the watertight bag over it.

He stood back and looked at the dresser. Hard to judge how deep the water might get if the street did flood. A picture of the dresser flipping on its side and floating down the street, the suitcase drifting right beside it flashed in his mind.

No . . . that wouldn’t do.

Then he saw the perfect spot. He picked the suitcase up, turned it on its side, and lifted it onto the closet shelf. It was at least six feet off the ground and bolted to the wall. He closed the closet door, locked the bedroom door, took one last look around the house, then went outside and locked that door too. As he did, the rain started pouring down. He was nearly soaked by the time he got in the car.

Just one more stop to make, downtown. This time he’d have an umbrella. The Duval Jewelry Store on Beach Street. He’d had his eye on a particular item for weeks.

A diamond ring for Claire.