Chapter 11

Copyright 2003 by Elizabeth Delayne



"You've always been married to the water," Amy murmured as she stood on deck with Ham, the night dark and quiet. Above them stars were more plentiful and bright, away from the bright lights of civilization. The waves lapped against the edge of the boat, soft music to soften the volatile emotions she was feeling. She had prepared herself to deal with this, but it wasn't with the bitterness she had expected-not when he seemed more alive then he had in years.

She'd brought him a stack of books, an assortment of bestsellers from the last 100 years. He would read them all.

They were alone, looking out into the blackness of the ocean.

"My father once told me that sailors can only share vows with the woman that sends them on, her arms of mercy the waves that speed him from port to port."

There was a wistfulness to his voice that surprised Amy. "You don't ever talk about your father."

"Not much to tell. He was married to the sea," he smiled and slipped an arm around his shoulders. "And I have to thank him for giving me a love for it. It might have been the only gift he could give. It's produced my children, for me, hasn't it?"

Amy smiled softly and leaned into him. Mitch, John, and so many others ... they were all tied to the sea. They all thrived in the surf. It was always changing, but never gone.

"I remember when I first saw you with your mamma outside my station. Your dad was away with his team. You must have been two, maybe. She was trying to distract you with sand castles and keep and eye on your brother who was playing in the surf ... but you were always called to the water. So she was constantly bringing you back to dry ground."

"She was frustrated," Amy remembered, not from her own memories, but from having heard the story many times before. Ham had told her, and long ago, her mom had told her.

"Not with you, rarely with you. She was tired of being alone, with not being able to share the moments she had with you and Ryan with your father. Summer's an important time around here—an important time for baseball. Then he would come home and you were a family again, and she would forgive him for being away."

"I walked down and picked you up and said, ‘this is Lance's little girl. She's such a beautiful thing. Got her mamma's chin and her father's eyes. Determination and vision. It will take her to far places.'"

"The vision's a little blurry right now. The feet still stuck."

He chuckled. It was odd, Amy thought, that he had always chuckled when she'd seemed the most uncertain ... not in a mean way, but he'd always seemed to know that everything would be okay. It was so easy to lean on him knowing that he knew everything would be okay.

And she'd depended on him for that.

"I've been thinking that I might have kept you from really figuring it all out."

"You gave me dreams—"

"Dreams mean nothing until you've got the boat under your feet and the sail primed for a tour of the world," he looked over his boat, gave her a hard squeeze. "Adventures are out there for you, Amy. You've got to find your own boat and sail into your own waters."

He tipped his head toward the ocean and Amy looked out into the dark night and thought of the adventures she couldn't see.

She stepped forward and put her hands on the rail, looking out into the ocean, thinking of Ham. He would be out here, in the dark, at night, she thought. He's really going away.

And he's leaving me. To what? To this?

Ham stepped forward and put a hand on her shoulder. "You can't always know where your boat is going to sail. I always tried to get you to guess, or to think, but you can't always know."

She closed her eyes and listened to his voice. It would be this she missed in the months to come.

"You've got to find your own way, your own dreams. You're made of good, strong stock, and you've got a good foundation under you with God. Faith isn't blind, Amy. When you walk with your heavenly Father, you are in the light."



Amy followed Andrea's gaze as it wondered away from their pastor one more time. It seemed Eric had become friends with Derek as they sat next to each other on the other side of the church. Could the man stay out of anything? Amy wondered, thinking of Derek.

She tried to accept his presence. She couldn't fault him for finding a home within the family of her church. It was made up of people who worshiped freely and loved easily. It was informal, a place for the skaters and beach crowd that found their way to Christ. Her church family was a group of people that had given her safety, and for the most part, accepted her.

From the beginning Derek had done the same.

She sighed and turned back to the pastor, trying to focus.

When the sermon ended, Mitch took his place on stage with the other band members. This morning he played with the new band members. The song they invited the congregation to sing was a beautiful, soft melody.

It was good to see Mitch back—to know that he wasn't completely gone. He had led the music for ... well, since before she had become a Christian, more than seven years.

Amy looked at Chloe. She stood beside Amy, worshiping, her eyes closed, not on the stage or Mitch. But she was happy, also, to have him back—if only for this one worship service. The next few months would be hard on her.

When the music ended, people began to move out of the building. When Amy turned to Andrea, she found her friend following Eric's path across the room. He was coming toward her. Thankfully, Derek had disappeared.

Amy opened her mouth to break the trance Andrea seemed to have fallen into, but was stopped when Mitch said her name.

She turned and noted that Chloe was holding his hand. Their fingers were linked loosely with ease and familiarity.

"Chloe and I are going to go get something to eat. You want to go?"

Amy looked at Chloe. She had dressed in a simple light blue shirt with three-quarter length sleeves and a denim knee length skirt that was complimented by Andrea's silver necklace and earrings. On Andrea it looked elegant; on Chloe, it just made her seem more radiant. She was happy, still tired, and not quite relaxed, but at ease with Mitch. She didn't even need to ask if Chloe was okay. It was in her friend's eyes.

And Chloe needed Mitch more.

"No—I have other plans."

Like, she noted as she turned around, figuring out what was going on between Andrea and Eric.

"You want to make a run for it?" Amy asked.

"What?"

"You don't seem so upset that Eric's coming this way."

"I don't carry a grudge like you."

"Sure you do."

"Andrea, Amy," Eric slipped in between the row in front of them and leaned on the back of one of the chairs. "You two ladies are looking fine this morning."

Andrea pushed her hair over her shoulder, her hand not quite steady. "Thank you. I saw you and Derek came together."

"We saw each other coming in this morning."

"You guys want to go grab some lunch?" he asked, and looked at Amy. "I'd love to see what local restaurants you guys like."

Andrea dropped her hand and fingered the bracelet on her other wrist. "I, ah ...."

"Actually," Amy jumped in slipping a hand through Andrea's arm, "we're going to have lunch together. Andrea and I. Girl talk. It's been a busy weekend."

Eric nodded and looked at Andrea, "Then I'll see you later?"

Andrea nodded as he left and dropped down gracefully to grab her Bible and purse from the floor.

"Ordinarily, I would thank you for being so quick," she said as they made their way out the back, "but you didn't have to save me this time."

"Of course I did—" Amy said, then stopped and turned fully to face her friend; feet apart, and hand on her hip. "Or didn't I? What are you not telling me?"

"Just—" Andrea shrugged and moved out of the way to allow other people by. "We talked."

"When? About what?"

"Yesterday—and Amy, don't look like that. It's not ... it's not what you think."

"And what am I thinking?"

Andrea shook her head and grabbed Amy's arm to tug her toward her car. As they'd come from her apartment that morning, Andrea had driven the three of them to church.

"Look, I was going to say no to his lunch invitation on my own, so it's not like I've changed my mind, it's just that he ... that I—"

"That you..." Amy prodded.

Andrea closed her eyes and sighed. "I'll tell you all about it later—when we're not in the middle of the church parking lot. Where do you want to go for lunch?"

"Let's grab something and head back to my place."

Andrea sighed and looked over the roof of her car at Amy. "Do we have to?"

"Chloe will head back when Mitch leaves. I don't want her to be alone," Amy opened the passenger's side door to Andrea's car. "Besides, one of the three of us has to study."

Andrea rolled her eyes dramatically and started her car, "That would be you."



A seagull cried out and swooped toward the ocean. Mitch stopped, his hand loosely holding Chloe's, and watched the bird's descent.

He took in a long, deep breath and savored the ocean smell. He felt sand under his feet, the ocean in his view, and Chloe by his side.

"Do you miss it?"

"Not like I thought I would," he said. "But I was just thinking that I do miss being able to share this with you. Walks on the beach ... the sunset, like that first night."

"It's beautiful in the mountains," Chloe prompted.

"Yeah. I want to share that with you, too. Have you ever been to the Upper Springs?"

"I lived there for a few years."

When Mitch looked at her in surprise, she shrugged. "More than a few. It's not a time in my life I like to remember. All that stuff I told you about my dad happened when we lived there. My dad had a job at the mine, and when he lost it, we stayed for a few more years. Then one day my mom got tired of living ... how we were living, and she left him. He came down here, they reconciled for a few months, then she sent him packing and hasn't looked back since. He'd moved back ... the last I heard."

She let go of his hand and started walking, dragging her feet slowly in the sand. "I've worried a little, thinking that my dad might still be living up there. I didn't want you to know. I didn't want you to worry about arresting him when he needs to be arrested. If he's still alive, and he's not in prison, then he's still getting into trouble."

"Chloe Jones. Is your father a Jones?"

"Yes ... Tom—Thomas Jones," she fumbled a bit, the name sounding odd on her tongue. "Have you ... had problems?"

He shrugged. "No—but I would like to know just in case. I can ask around if you want. I can see if people know what happened to him."

"You're going to do it whether I ask you to or not." Chloe sighed and turned away, but Mitch stopped her, putting his hands on her forearms and turning her to face him.

"It doesn't change how I feel about you."

"I know."

"Is this going to keep you from coming to visit? Will it be a problem?"

"Before you it was. I've never been back. Not to see my dad, not to go with Amy to her uncle's. I've never gone back to see my friends or walk the trails in the mountain paths I knew by heart. You could escape into the mountains from the arguing and the fighting."

"And when you came here," Mitch added, "you found the waves and the sand and the half pipe."

"The smooth sound of the wheels of a skateboard rolling underneath," Chloe said with a smile. "I learned in Upper Springs. Street surfing. Someone rides a bike with a rope tied to the back and you hold on--until you let go or they run you into a tree."

"I had a few knocks like that in my childhood."

"I don't know how either of us made it through childhood. Knowing you're up there has made me pray about it for the first time," Chloe slid her arms around Mitch and closed her eyes. "I've chosen not to see my dad, and maybe he's chosen not to see me. My mom won't talk to me. Neither of my parents knows about my relationship with Christ. I don't know that I'm ready to see them, but there is a part of me that wants them to know, that thinks that maybe if they did know and they could receive Him as well ... maybe the past could be forgotten."



After changing into shorts and tees, Andrea and Amy settled on the small balcony with their hamburgers and propped their legs up on the rusted railing. Amy had her criminal justice book in her lap and alternately ate while she read. Andrea had grabbed a magazine and a spare set of clothes from the trunk of her car.

"I was thinking," Amy said at length. "Remember that Christmas you went up with me to my Uncle Pete's?"

"Mmm."

It was common for Amy to join her Uncle Pete at Christmas, but not with her friends. But Andrea's family had been in need of something new ... and her Uncle Pete had been very perceptive.

To their needs and to hers ...

"You were thinking about doing it this year?" Andrea asked.

"Just thinking. How did you know?"

"Because Mitch is there and Chloe is here. And Chloe wants to be with Mitch. It's neat to see them together."

"Maybe it would be good for her to get away from here. Besides, don't you think the two of them should be close around Christmas?"

Andrea smiled as she thumbed through a few pages of her magazine. "Mitch is certainly not going to get the time off. He and Ham have always worked the Christmas shift at the station."

"We could have a big celebration. Your parents could come. The cabin's big enough."

"My brother's baby's due around Christmas. I know mom and dad had planned to work around the in-law thing. But maybe ... maybe it would be good to give Brian time with them—Speaking of that ... with everything that's happened recently, what if you and Chloe and I found a place and moved in together?"

Amy looked down at her book, turned a page, and sighed. "The rent you pay on your place is more then twice what we pay here. And that's with two of us."

"Is that it?" Andrea asked, setting her magazine aside and dropping her feet to the ground. "I know why you didn't move in with my parents when things went so wrong with you and your dad. I know why you didn't want to room together when I came back from Harvard. Come on, Amy—we have to be passed that now."

"Andrea, its just—"

"No—I'm going to get this out because its always stood between us. I know its not really about the money. You put Jenny between us. I hate that. I hate that you throw her into my face and prefer to live here with nothing in your apartment then to move in and share what I have. I hate coming here. Every time it reminds me that she's not here."

She stood and looked over the balcony. "It was an accident. You were out with your friends, doing the wrong thing, and Jenny was out with Matthew Brooks doing the wrong thing. Everyone knows why they were going out to Back Bend, Amy. And it wasn't just to talk."

"I'm sorry," Amy murmured. She set her own book aside and stood next to Andrea. They faced another group of apartments on the other side. A thin strip of concrete divided to two buildings. "If you've thought it was about Jenny, I'm sorry. Maybe it is. Part of me just wants to know I can make it on my own."

"Amy, if one of us was to get married, we wouldn't have the chance to move in together and have that time."

"Are your thinking of getting married?"

"That's not what I'm talking about."

"But it's been on your mind," Amy noted and looked at Andrea. "You're blushing. You are thinking it! I can't believe it. What did happen between you and Eric?"

"Nothing—it's not that. I just .... Can we finish one conversation before we move onto something else? One doesn't have anything to do with the other."

"I'm not so sure of that, but you keep telling yourself," Amy said as she sat back down, propped her feet up and tried to deal with the anxiety. Ham and Joe were leaving in the morning. She didn't want to think about Andrea's idea. Not yet.

Moving meant change. She was so tired of change.

"I'll pray about it," she said at last. "That's more then I've ever done before. And I'll talk to Chloe."

"That's good enough for me."

"You're hopeless."

"Nope, just paying you back."



Derek noted Amy's truck parked outside the beach station. He closed his door, locked it, checked the handle and detoured around the station on the sandy sidewalk.

The beach was empty except for two spots of color where towels were dropped. He recognized Amy's bag, an aged nylon beach patrol duffel. He walked forward until his feet hit the wet sand, knowing she would have to walk past him. He stood alone, felt the slight chill in the air and stuck his hands in the pockets of his wind breaker. He'd never been one to surf winter waves. They could be powerful, as winter storms dropped in from the north.

But the current was also cold.

In the waves he spotted two figures waiting to catch a wave. The first wore blue, was male, and rode in on a blue and white board. His delivery was decent, but the waves were poor. He dropped into the water before the wave reached the shore and brushed the water from his blond hair.

"How's it going?" Derek called out, recognizing Cage as one of their regulars.

"We had hopes," he said, looking back out to sea. "An hour ago the waves were raged. Now look. She'll be lucky if she doesn't have to paddle in."

Cage walked over to his towel, braced his board in the sand, and toweled off.

"You know Amy—right?" he asked.

Derek turned, faced him, and nodded.

"See if you can get what's out of her. I think she needed passion today—from the waves. It didn't happen."

Passion Derek thought, was one thing that got him into trouble.

He watched her sit out in the ocean. The waves rolled in, but the morning seemed soothing, calm and peaceful—grating, he knew, on her turbulent emotions.

She would have to come in sometime.



Amy knew Derek waited for her, but she sat astride her board and watched the waves roll toward shore, slowly pushing her forward. Turning her head, she watched the water boil. It's energy, life, was dozing ... it was how her brother had termed it. A surfer wanted the ocean awake, alive, even angry. She figured she had one more chance to catch something. Anything.

It had been hard to say goodbye. She'd gone to the dock, stood with John, and watched as Joe and Ham cast off. They were excited, joking and laughing and singing old songs of the sea. Songs, Amy imagined, Ham's father had taught him.

And she thought about what he said.

There's adventures out there for you, Amy. You've got to find your own boat and sail into your own waters.

Part of her simply wanted to lower her head to her board, close her eyes and slowly sink into the water ... let it rock her into a deep, deep sleep. It wasn't the answer ... nor was it an option she had ever deemed right.

She measured the position of the sun, coming up over the horizon. She had time to go in, shower off the salt water before pounding everything out in the gym.

But first she would have to get through Derek. She was ready for a good fight and she was sorry she wanted one with him—but if he kept standing between where she was and where she needed to go, he was going to be in her way.

When the next wave came, she took it, wishing for the rush of the waves that barely carried her toward shore. The water rushed, but it was unstable.

Finally she dropped into the water and swam a few long strokes of the distance.

When she came out of the water, Derek was still waiting.

She brushed water from her face and walked passed him.

"I really don't want to see you."

"You okay?"

"No—" she said and braced her board in the sand. She grabbed her towel from the top of her bag, rubbed it over her face. She was tired, weary. She wanted him to go away. She wanted someone to lean on.

Ham and Joe were out on the open ocean. Somewhere.

Andrea wanted her to move in with her.

Chloe. Someone had attacked Chloe.

Her probation wasn't even over. The probation that loomed over her because of the accident that night on the Back Bend. The accident that had taken Jenny.

She wasn't ready.

And yet, she needed to be ready. Andrea was thinking about getting married ... even if it was in the far recess of her mind. Chloe ... Mitch would ask her eventually. It was so obvious.

The words, the grief and the fear, wanted to spill out on their own. She would have to talk to someone.

It wouldn't, she promised herself as she studied the station, be Derek.

"Look, I've had a horrible morning," she said and cast a glance at Derek. He stood solid, strong. She knew what his arms felt like, what they would feel like around her. She knew she could turn to him, turn into him and he would hold on.

She just didn't know if she could back up from that. She wasn't ready for what that part of her needed.

"If you don't get out of my way, it's going to get worse."

"Amy—"

"You're not Ham," she shouted and jerked when she felt him step closer. "So go away."

"I'm not," he murmured, "I know you're hurting."

"You can't know."

"Maybe not. Amy—I'm sorry if what happened broke your trust in me. I can step back, give you time, but I can't step away."

"Won't."

"You don't know that, either."

"It's just been a horrible weekend, Derek and that ... what happened, was just in the middle of it. I'm not ready for what you're offering..."

She dropped down to her bag and noticed the folded note on top. She'd stuck it in last night before tossing the bag in the back of her truck, knowing she would be heading out this morning and knowing she would need it. It was a note Mitch had sent her through Chloe. She knew the verse even before she reached for it.

It was the verse on her board. Mitch had known, waves permitting, that she would go out. God's love, His protection, were greater than the ocean. More powerful then the force that drove the tides.

I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge--that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God. Ephesians 3:18.

But the bold red words on the note surprised her—bold harsh words written across Mitch's fine print.

It was supposed to be you.

She froze, swallowed and tried to take in a breath. Someone had hurt Chloe. Someone had gone for her, messed up, and hurt Chloe.

And someone had been around last night, this morning, had taken her note, had taken the time to write the message in red.

Someone wanted her to know.



HEY! and don't forget to e-mail me if you have a comment!







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