The natural tug and pull of the ocean’s surface hides a seemingly unnatural current below, an undercurrent, that slips in around your feet and legs like a snake and sometimes, tries to drag you in, down and away. On the outside, I appeared normal (I hope), just another woman walking her dog along the boardwalk.
On the inside, undercurrents were circling. My heart wouldn’t stop racing. My hands shook. I wasn’t even looking at the ocean, and I felt like I was being carried away by it. Again. Images from my night at sea flashed through my head like strobe lights.
I yanked Willie across the street and down the alleyway toward the store. He yapped at me a little, disappointed in the diversion. But, there was no testing the waters for me today. I shouldn’t have even tried.
The morning had been tough. When I arrived at the front door of Beach Read to open up, I found two packages awaiting me. First, The Tipee Island Gazette sat graced with the headline Feathers Fly at The Peacock and a juicy story about how a lovely welcome home party for Chris Kayne was marred by a false alarm. Yes, he used my name along with the words “sole witness” and “frantic partygoer” and “potentially overstressed.” The undercurrent of the article was that I had lost my marbles, even though Clark mercifully didn’t mention the shoes – either losing them or finding them again.
The second was a large envelope from TIBA outlining the list of aesthetic compliances I was expected to make to Beach Read before Octoberfest, the community-wide celebration they were sponsoring to bring in tourists for Halloween. The envelope was thick with the undercurrent that there was no way in Hades or anyplace else that I’d be able to get the work done in time, let alone afford it. I was Cinderella, overwhelmed with someone else’s to-do lists and completely lacking in resources to even try.
Walks with Willie had been a saving grace when I first came to Tipee, a chance to clear my head and think things through. But now, time in my own head only led to panic.
“There ya are,” Raina cooed as I rounded the corner of the store. She stood by the lamppost near the entrance, carrying two large tote bags, and looking elegant in her flowing sundress that just barely showed the protrusion of her pregnant belly, hardly a bump. She smiled widely, and my panic vanished. Raina was eighteen, grieving the death of her boyfriend, pregnant, and without the father to help her. Plus, Clara was her mother. Who was I to complain about anything?
“Been waitin’ for ya,” she went on. I held the door to Beach Read open and followed her inside. She set the bags down by the counter, greeted Henry with her usual cheerfulness, and leaned down and gave Willie some enthusiastic attention. “You read the paper?”
I huffed out a dulled “Yep.”
“Sorry ‘bout all that,” Raina returned. “Never imagined gettin’ you to babysit my sister would end up making you out to be a – a-”
“Crazy person? It’s okay. I’m used to it. So, what’s in the bags?”
Raina gushed with excitement, taking each item out of the bag. Raina was an artist, a good, but under-appreciated one. This was her first delivery of merchandise that I had requested a couple of weeks ago (and frankly had forgotten). After the Darryl Chambers murder was solved, I had returned the beautiful hand-painted sand dollar she’d made for him, and asked her to make some sellable items like that for Beach Read. Those plans had been swept away to the back corners of my mind, thanks to a disappearing redhead, reappearing shoes, and a business about to go under.
Hand-painted shells with Bible verses and small canvases decorated with beach scenes. Picture frames adorned with tiny clamshells. A couple of crosses made of shells wired together. Raina had given me an awesome display. I paid her as much as I could for the whole lot.
She held the money in her hands for a minute, lost in thought. “Can’t believe I’m takin’ money for ‘em,” she told me. “I’m sure that’s what Darryl would want, but that’s not what we planned.”
“You and Darryl had a plan for your hand-painted shells?”
She nodded, smiling sadly. “Been makin’ these things forever. Had this enormous stash of ‘em in my closet. You see, Mamma wouldn’t buy me canvases or proper paper for my paintin’s. Too expensive. So, I just used whatever I could get my hands on.” She fiddled with the unique pendant around her neck, a twisted metal piece, resembling a cross. “Darryl made me this, so I wanted to give him something in return, that sand dollar. And when I told him about my stash, he had this crazy idea.”
She stopped to chuckle, and then shrugged her shoulders. “Darryl’s life, being what it was, you’d never think he’d say it, but he told me I should just give ‘em away.”
“Give them away?” I repeated.
“Yep. He said, let’s take a bunch to the beach and just scatter ‘em everywhere. Let lucky tourists find ‘em and be inspired by ‘em. And that’s what we did – our own little ministry,” Raina stopped, her eyes filling up with tears. “In spite of the bad things he did, Darryl was a generous person.”
“I know he was,” I told her. Raina wiped her eyes, and smiled widely.
“Tourists aught to love ‘em,” she gushed with pride. “So if these sell, I can bring more.”
“That’d be great,” I said, though I didn’t know how I’d afford them.
“Oh, almost forgot,” Raina grinned, reached into her bag again. “Felt kinda bad ‘bout hookin’ you up with my ridiculous sister, so I gotcha somethin’.” She pulled out a bright orange shoebox. I opened the lid to find bright blue Nikes with hot pink laces.
“Holy cow!”
“Got a great deal off my friend Molly Tubbs,” Raina beamed, “at the Cotton Exchange. Brand new!”
I ogled the shoes, mouth agape. “How’d you – Why’d you – You spent too much!”
“Oh, please,” she returned with a roll of her eyes. “Gotta good deal, like I said, and knew you needed to replace those ratty ol’ sneakers.” She pointed down to my feet. I shrugged. She was right. “Oh, and this. I gotcha this, for your desk.” She pulled out a spiral, flippable desk set. “Bible verses to give you a little encouragement.”
“Wow, thanks. You really didn’t need to get me anything. You have way more important things to spend your money on.”
She shrugged. “Well, you only saved my life, solved my boyfriend’s murder, and gave me a new vocation. You’re due! Besides, puttin’ up with Rachel while she practically throws herself at Chris Kayne. Well, that’s gotta be worth somethin’ and whatever you did, it worked.”
“Oh?”
“He called, asked her to dinner,” Raina reported. “Gotta run. Mamma’s takin’ me to the doctor for a check-up. Get to hear the baby’s heartbeat today.”
I turned to the verse-a-day spiral book she’d set on my counter, and eyed the scripture from 2 Timothy 1:7. For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind. I smiled. The undercurrents had let up, and I was floating on the surface again.