Losing Faith (3 page)

Cullen was in some sort of a trance when the last blurred edges of the sun dipped below the horizon, leaving behind only traces of an orange-and-fuchsia sky. He jumped when the waitress cleared her throat.

“Oh, sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Cullen smiled politely.

“Are you ready to order?”

Cullen cleared his throat. “Oh, sorry. Sure. Are the fish tacos still good?”

“The best,” she said.

“Perfect. I’ll have the fish tacos and, if you don’t mind, a glass of pinot noir.”

When the food came, Cullen looked down at the heaping dish of overstuffed fish tacos and crispy french fries.
Prepare yourself, Cullen. Nothing is ever really as good as you remember.

But after the first bite, he had to concede.
I stand corrected. These
are
as good as I remembered
. And that finally brought a smile to his face.

Cullen ate in silence, his memories keeping him company. When he was finished, he paid his check and left the restaurant. He wasn’t quite ready to turn in for the evening, so he decided a short walk was in order. He continued on his earlier route and ended up at the Historic Southport Riverwalk. That too was as charming as he’d remembered.
Two for two!

Looking around, he noticed small white lights strung in all the massive oak trees and a gazebo in the center of the quaint little park. Inside the gazebo, a band was playing Carolina beach music, and people were either on their feet dancing or lying on picnic blankets enjoying the free show. Cullen took a seat on one of the many wooden swings dotting the sidewalk and listened.

In between songs he could hear the muffled voices of the adults and the laughter of the local kids running around the park. As the music started again, one little girl caught his attention. She squealed with delight as a man he assumed was her father picked her up, swung her around, and held her in his arms as he carried her onto the dance floor.

With a smile on his face, Cullen watched the little girl and her dad dance playfully until the song ended. She wrapped her little arms around the man’s neck and hugged him tightly as he took her back to their blanket and put her down next to a very pregnant lady.

He, of course, couldn’t hear what she was saying, but her little mouth was moving a mile a minute, and her mother was smiling broadly. The man sat down next to them, took the pregnant woman’s hand in his, and kissed it. He smiled at the little girl again, kissed her on the cheek, and lay back on his elbows and looked up at the stars. He pointed at the dark sky with one finger and said something to the little girl. She looked up and followed to where he was pointing. She said something else, and he moved his finger to another position as she smiled in wonderment.

Cullen watched the three of them for the longest time. When the band finally stopped, the man helped the pregnant woman to her feet, folded their blanket, and threw it over his shoulder. He scooped the little girl into his arms, and Cullen watched, still smiling, as the family walked away. For a second it actually warmed his heart to think God had blessed some people with pure love and happiness. And then his heart turned cold.
But not me.

Somewhere along the line, Cullen had decided that God had turned his back on him. God had taken away everything that had mattered to him, and now he was left to navigate his empty life. Alone. He stood, stuck his hands in his pockets, and walked back to his boat.

MOSTLY OUT
of habit, Cullen was awake and staring at the porthole in his cabin as the break of dawn breached the small oval window. He rolled onto his back and stretched. Unfortunately, he woke as tired as when he’d gone to bed. He sat up, swung his feet around, planted them firmly on the floor, and looked at the clock: 6:18.

He rubbed his tired eyes, yawned, and stretched again, half wanting to crawl back into bed and pull the covers up over his head. It had been a restless night. Cullen had been plagued with disturbing dreams, none of which he could remember at the moment. They hadn’t been nightmares per se, and they were teetering on the edge of his memory, but he just couldn’t recall them.
A run will help clear my head.

Cullen dressed and stretched his muscles. He stuck his earbuds in. Usually he listened to either NPR or some type of music while he ran, but today he needed to think. He wanted to clear his head so he could remember his dreams, and the morning news or lively music might interfere. So the only thing he heard in his earbuds today was the cell phone application that calculated his distance, as well as the calories he’d burned.

“Start your workout,” the app ordered.

Cullen ran down the dock, passed the marina office, and followed mostly the same route he’d taken last night. But instead of going past the restaurant, he took a left on Brunswick Street through a nice neighborhood that bordered the waterfront. He turned right on Caswell, and if he remembered correctly, Caswell eventually ran into the Riverwalk. Then he could take North Howe back to W. West Street and eventually to the marina.

As usual once he got into his groove, Cullen’s head started to clear. He remembered that his dreams had had something to do with Cole and Southport, but that’s as far as he got.

His thoughts were interrupted by a British woman’s voice in his ear. “Time: twenty-seven minutes and thirty-two seconds. Distance: three miles. Current pace: nine minutes thirty-two seconds. Average pace: nine minutes fifty-five seconds. Split pace: ten minutes and three seconds per mile.”

Wow! Three miles already.
The time had flown by, and he was just turning onto the sidewalk of the Riverwalk. He looked at his watch. It was nearing seven o’clock, but the park was pretty much deserted except for one man in the distance, sitting on a park bench with a book in his hand. The closer Cullen got to the park bench, the more detail he could see. It was not just a man, but a very handsome man. Strawberry blond. Almost a ginger. Close-cut beard. Probably blue or green eyes and very nicely dressed in a shirt and tie. Cullen was suddenly intrigued. But something was off. The guy’s elbows rested on his knees, and his shoulders were hunched over in sort of a defeated position. He was rubbing the top of his book and gazing out over the water. As Cullen approached he could see the man’s expression, and it was one of obvious desperation, or at the very least, deep sadness.

The sun was now above the horizon and well on its way to brightening the early morning sky when the guy just happened to move his book a certain way. It caught one of the sun’s rays, sending a reflection right into Cullen’s eyes. In that moment, Cullen knew the man’s book wasn’t just any old book. It was the Bible, and the sun was reflecting off of the gilded edges of the pages.

Cullen slowed his pace to a jog. He watched as the guy gazed out onto the open water and rubbed the top of his Bible, an expression of sadness and defeat on his face.
He reeks of desperation.
Cullen’s formal training took over with no conscious thought on his part, and he was suddenly contemplating his options.
Stop and see if he needs anything? See if I can provide assistance? Offer to call a friend or family member?

No, Cullen! Stop! This is no longer my line of work or my problem. I run a T-shirt shop now. Just keep the hell going.

But something was nagging at Cullen. He felt an odd kinship to this man. A total stranger, yes, but it was a feeling he couldn’t shake. He kept a close watch on the guy, who seemed oblivious to anything or anyone except his own thoughts. As Cullen approached the man, he told himself to keep on jogging.

There are at least ten other empty benches, not to mention all the swings. If you stop and sit on
his
bench, it’s gonna look very suspicious. He’s gonna think you’re trying to pick him up or something. Just keep going, Cullen!

Cullen was within feet of the park bench and still undecided whether to stop or run like hell. He silently begged his legs to keep going, but it was no use. The damn things had a mind of their own and stopped right in front of the bench. As if that weren’t enough, his sweaty ass helped itself to the empty seat just inches from the guy.

Breathing heavily and not knowing what else to do, Cullen put his head down between his legs. He turned his head a little so he would be ready if the guy decided to hit him or something, but to his relief, no fist came in his direction. Still the guy immediately slid over to the opposite edge of the bench, looking genuinely startled. He eyed Cullen nervously, like he thought maybe Cullen was going to rob him.

Cullen spoke. “Sorry, I needed to sit for a second.”

The guy’s expression then morphed into one of concern. “You… you okay, man?”

Relief washed over Cullen. “Just a little light-headed,” he lied. “I guess I’ve been pushing it a little too hard.”

“Do you need me to call 911 or something?”

“No, no. I just need a few minutes to catch my breath.” Cullen sat up again and looked at the man’s Bible. “I’m really sorry if I’m interrupting your prayer time. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

The guy followed Cullen’s gaze down to the book in his hand and then looked up again, seeming confused. When their eyes met, Cullen held the man’s gaze.
Yep! They’re green all right. The deepest damn emerald green eyes I’ve ever seen. And his eyelashes….
They were long and a deep red with golden tips. In the bright sunlight, he resembled some sort of angel.

“Oh!” the guy said, apparently getting Cullen’s reference to the Bible. He looked back out over the water again and sighed. “Don’t worry,” he said sarcastically. “He’s not listening anyway.”

Cullen’s affinity to this stranger strengthened.
I know how you feel, man!
Without thinking he stuck his hand out. “I’m Cullen Kiley.”

The guy eyed Cullen suspiciously and stared at his outstretched hand.

Cullen pulled his hand back. “I’m sorry. I don’t usually introduce myself to strangers. But to be totally honest, I’m not really winded. I noticed you sitting here, and… well, you just looked like you needed a friend. Like you were struggling with some big life decision or something. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

The guy’s facial features softened some, but he didn’t respond. He turned and looked back out over the water, the same sad expression once again consuming his face.

“But… I—I was afraid if I stopped you might think I was trying to rob you or, even worse, come on to you.”

The guy snapped his head back in Cullen’s direction, and his eyes appeared to darken to an even deeper shade of green. “Are you?” he asked hesitantly.

Cullen laughed. “No! I was just running by, and… well, I’ve been trained to pick up on certain signs, and sometimes a person’s body language and ah…. As I said, you looked like you could use a friend.”

“Trained to pick up on certain signs or a person’s body language?” the man repeated.

Cullen looked down at the ground, wishing he’d chosen his words more carefully. “Yeah. It’s a long story.”

This time the guy stuck out his hand. “I’m Abel Weston.”

The two men shook. “Nice to meet you, Abel. So… are you okay?”

Abel seemed to be thinking over the question. “A little lost. At a crossroads, maybe. And feeling forgotten and left behind, but other than that, I’m just dandy.”

Abel was quiet for a long time, and Cullen afforded him the time he needed to gather his thoughts. After several minutes passed, Abel spoke again, his voice low and unsure.

“Do you ever wonder why God answers prayers for some and not others?”

Shit!
Cullen had no idea how he was going to reply to that one. He sure as hell didn’t have any answers when it came to God or unanswered prayers. He and the man upstairs had gone their separate ways over a year ago. “Look, Abel, I’m probably not the best guy to talk to about God. He and I are not on the best of terms these days.”

“You too, huh?” Abel looked at his Bible. “The problem for me is, well, God is my job. And it’s damn hard to preach about or counsel people on God’s love and his plan when you don’t feel it yourself.”

God is his job?
“Are you a member of the clergy?” Cullen was pretty sure he already knew the answer.

“Associate pastor.” Abel held up his Bible and nodded over his shoulder. “Southport Baptist Church. Just up the street there.”

Cullen nodded. “You look awful young to be an associate pastor.”

“I get that a lot.” Abel chuckled. “But I’m thirty-five. Just look younger, I guess.”

Cullen nodded and then another long silence ensued.

“Southport is a small town,” Abel finally said. “Haven’t seen you around before.”

“I just got here yesterday. I’m staying on my boat over at the Southport Marina.”

“Oh. I live just a few blocks from there.”

More silence until Abel broke it.

“Well… if you’re hanging around for a while, maybe you can come to Sunday service, and we can see about at least trying to mend
your
relationship with the Almighty.”

Cullen almost snorted. “I appreciate the offer and the effort, but you can take your pastor hat off when you’re talking to me. My relationship with God is… well, let’s just say over. With little chance of reconciliation.”

Abel frowned. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that. Habit, I guess. But I sort of know what you mean. It’s so difficult going to work every day, playing the part of an associate pastor and continuously doubting my calling. So when I can’t take it anymore, I come out here and just sit. It sort of renews me. For a little while anyway.”

They were both now looking out over the water, as if it held all the answers somewhere just under the surface.

“How long are you staying?” Abel asked awkwardly.

“Originally for the winter, but… my plans have changed.”

Abel nodded this time. “That’s too bad. You would like Southport. Small and sleepy but charming at the same time. I’ve been here about a year now, and it has really grown on me.”