Spring Rain (26 page)

She shook her head. “I can keep my balance better if both hands are free.”

He jumped across the cleft a third of the way out and turned to shine the light for her. He reached across, and this time she took his hand. She jumped lightly over, and they climbed on.

Water hissed and coiled all around them, washing into all the crevices, rising ever higher. In the gleam of the flashlight beam algae expanded and contracted with the swells like green hair. Fat strips of seaweed rose and receded, floating on the surface on their air bladders.

Clay turned the light to the end of the jetty. “We’re coming, Bill!” he called as loudly as he could, hoping the boy could hear him over the clap and drum of the water.

“Careful, Clay,” Leigh yelled all of a sudden, pulling on his hand. “There’s a drop about here.”

Clay pitched the light down to his feet, away from Bill and a soggy Terror. The drop was just in front of them, and water swayed and bucked through it like a fast moving stream through a narrow culvert.

He eyed the distance and judged he could jump it without much trouble. He thrust the flashlight into Leigh’s hand. “Shine it for me so I can see where I’m jumping.”

“Take it with you. I’ll be okay without it.” Somehow they both knew she wasn’t going across this chasm.

He shook his head. “I think I’m going to need both hands.”

Nodding, she trained the light onto the far rock just as the waves spilled up out of the ditch and over the surface of the rock where they stood and the rock where he was to jump. They were wet to their ankles.

“Hurry, Clay!” she pleaded, her eyes on the shadowy silhouette of her son.

As if he needed to be told! He stepped back two steps, ran, and leaped. He landed with a splash. He spared a moment to glance back at Leigh and saw her nod. He turned back to Bill and cautiously slid his feet as he moved, feeling for bumps, edges, any danger hidden by the black wash of waves.

“Come toward me, Bill,” he called. “Can you do that?”

The water around Bill was now consistently knee-deep, and the swell of the waves reached above his thighs. Soon a big surge would lift him off his feet. The only good thing about the deeper water was that the waves weren’t breaking against the boy anymore. They were breaking against Clay himself. They slapped against his legs, but they didn’t worry him. He’d grown up around the sea, and though he had a great respect for it, especially when it was angry, he wasn’t afraid of it.

“Reach, Bill. Come on! Reach toward me!” The boy seemed frozen to his spot, unable to move.

“I can’t!” Bill’s voice was full of tears, but he yelled loudly. Still full of spunk in spite of his precarious position. “If I let go of Terror, he’ll jump. I need two hands to hold him.”

Just a few more feet, a few more feet. If only he could see where he was stepping! Leigh’s aim with the flashlight wasn’t the greatest, which was probably good since all he’d get if she shined it downward was a shiny reflection off the water. Understandably
she had it fastened on Bill. In its gleam where it streamed behind the boy, Clay could see the rumbling lather of a large wave bearing down on the jetty, breaking early and coming fast.

“Drop Terror and run!” Clay ordered, expecting instant obedience.

Bill, unlike the men under Clay’s command in the navy, balked. “No way!”

Clay knew there had to be a break in the rocks between his position and Bill’s. He just didn’t know where it was.

Help me, God! No broken bones or sprained ankles, please!

He leaped, coming down on Bill’s rock beside him and Terror an instant before the wave rolled through. He spun around, braced his feet, and held tight to the boy and the dog, making sure their faces were turned toward shore.

The wave slapped him in the back, causing him to sway, but not really endangering him. It passed over Bill at shoulder height, and it would have certainly lifted him off his perch. Clay felt weak with relief as he lifted the boy and dog into his arms.

“I knew you’d make it,” Bill mumbled as he burrowed close. He shivered convulsively, and Clay thought of hypothermia and hurried.

Slip. Slide. Pray. Slip. Slide. Pray.

After forever they reached the chasm where Leigh waited, water foaming about her shins.

“Can you stand, Bill?” Clay asked.

Bill stopped shivering and said, “Of course I can stand.”

“What are you going to do?” Leigh asked as Bill took his place beside Clay, Terror still clutched tightly to his chest.

In answer, Clay slid into the water-filled ditch, yelling as the frigid water hit his stomach and chest.

“Here, Bill.” He held out his arms. Bill stooped and fell into them. Clay twisted and held him out to Leigh. She stuffed the flashlight into a pocket so that the beam shone wildly up into the air. She held out both hands, grabbed her son under the arms, and pulled. Between Clay’s push and her pull, Bill, still clutching Terror, was soon standing beside his mother. They moved cautiously back to make room for Clay as he put his hands on the rock and lifted himself out of the water.

“The Grand Canyon,” Bill said, teeth chattering.

“What?” Both Clay and Leigh looked at the boy.

He pointed at the chasm. “That’s what Mike and I call it.” Clay nodded, and doing his best to ignore how miserable he felt with the wind slapping him, he put one hand on Bill’s shoulder and grabbed Leigh’s free hand. Leigh shone the light ahead of them, and with care they picked their way until they were beyond the water’s reach.

“Put Terror down now, Bill,” Clay said as the dry rocks lay before them.

“I think I’m frozen in position,” Bill said as he slowly opened his arms. “I’ve been holding him so hard, I can hardly move.”

Terror gave a yip, hopped down, and made a straight run for the beach, the dunes, and home.

“The least he could do is say thank you,” Bill muttered as a great shiver shook him.

“Come on, guy.” Clay reached for the boy and picked him up. “Let’s get you home and warm.”

Weary and cold, Bill didn’t even protest being carried. He wrapped his legs around Clay’s waist and his arms about Clay’s neck, resting his head on Clay’s shoulder.

Leigh walked slightly ahead of them, the light shining on the ground, as the three of them went home.

H
E SHRANK BACK
into the shadows as they walked past. The last thing he wanted was to get caught in their flashlight beam. Not when everything was going so good. And it was going good. It was. It was. It was.

After they passed, he walked onto the beach and down to the water’s edge. He stared at the waves curling almost at his feet, but he was careful to keep out of their reach. No wave was eating him, no siree.

He sighed and tried to figure out how he felt. Emotions raged inside him, but they were so confusing! It bothered him that he got so mixed up, but it was nothing new. He often thought two different things about someone or something, and it was hard on a man. At least it was hard on him. It gave him a headache. Like thinking Johnny was his best friend, but Johnny was slime.

His plan had worked tonight. He was happy about that. He had shown Leigh-Leigh that he meant business. He wanted that treasure, and she’d better give it to him or else.

But his heart was still beating too hard from fear. At first he’d just been nervous. What if it didn’t work? Then the kid came running down and out onto the jetty, and he’d been so excited. It was working just as he planned. He called Clay on his cell phone and waited.

He hadn’t counted on the tide coming in so fast or being so mean. Not that he trusted the ocean to cooperate, but he hadn’t expected it to try and eat the kid. He didn’t want the kid to drown. He didn’t even want the dog to drown. When he stole it from its chain in the backyard, the little pooch kissed him all over his face like he was its best friend or something. He grinned at the memory and touched his cheek where he’d been kissed.

He’d always wanted a little dog just like Terror when he was a kid, but he never asked because he knew they’d say no. They always said no. They never gave him anything he wanted, and they gave Stanley everything. All Stanley had to do was look at something and it was his. Stinkin’ Stanley. It was probably good he didn’t have a dog back then because Stanley would have killed it. But he liked little dogs a real lot, and he really liked this one.

So he didn’t want to hurt the dog any more than he wanted to hurt the kid. They were just supposed to get wet and scare Leigh-Leigh so she’d give up the treasure real easy.

He shivered even though he was toasty in his black jacket and cap. It was inside he was cold. It was like he was almost a murderer. It was like he was almost as bad as Stanley! It was enough to make him puke.

But he wasn’t like Stanley. He wasn’t! He didn’t
mean
for the kid to be in so much danger. Stanley always meant every nasty thing he did.

He’d tried to make it as easy for the kid and the pooch as he could. He’d tied the dog with a knot that was easy to undo, the knot his mother used to tie him up with when he was real little. He didn’t know where she’d learned it.

Once, twice she wrapped the rope around his middle. Then she made him sit on the ground and wrapped it twice around both him and the tree by the garage. Then loop, loop, loop. Almost like magic the knot appeared.

“Stop your whining, you little creep. I’m tying you up for your own good. You’ll wander off while I’m busy if I don’t. Stanley’ll let you loose when he comes home from school.”

Then she’d go in the house with her latest boyfriend, and he’d wait terrified, certain Stanley would hang him. For some reason he never did. Stanley liked to use his hands, not the rope.

One day as he sat tied to the tree, he’d gotten hold of the end
of the rope. She never tied his hands tight or anything. She wasn’t that mean. He just reached his hand out and picked the end up. He was just playing with it when the knot started coming undone. Just like that. He pulled harder, and the next thing he knew, he was free. He crawled behind the garage and hid until dinnertime. Then he put the rope back in the garage. Nobody knew he could get free, and he never told. It was his secret, his way to beat Ma.

But he never forgot that knot. After all, he seen her tie it—loop, loop, loop—enough times. He used it for Billy because he was
not
like Stanley. He wasn’t even like Johnny, the slime. He was a
nice
man.

He stared across the inlet at the lights of Atlantic City. They were so bright and beautiful. He wanted to go over there so much he could taste it. He couldn’t wait to have the treasure.

L
EIGH WALKED OUT
of the apartment slowly. The sun was bright today, the wind brisk but warm. A perfect shore spring day. A perfect vacation Monday.

She stopped just outside her door and looked toward the beach. In the light of such a glorious day, it was hard to believe last night’s horror actually happened. She shuddered as she thought of Billy out on that jetty in the dark with the tide advancing, and fear sank its talons into the soft tissue of her heart and drew new blood. She knew she’d have nightmares for years.

And it wasn’t over.
He
was still out there, whoever he was, demanding the treasure.

Her eyes closed.
Oh, God, the fear is still here. You’ve got to help me deal with it. I’m terrified something will happen to Billy that I can’t fix, that he’ll be badly hurt or killed. He came so close last night. Help me to trust You! And please, help me figure out what the treasure is!

She opened her eyes just as Clay opened the back door to put Terror on his chain.

Clay saw her, smiled, and waved as Terror barked a happy greeting. She nodded, solemn as she watched him. What would she have done without him last night? He had been wonderful, going after Billy without a second thought. With his greater height and strength he had moved over the jetty so quickly and easily. And he had handled Billy so well.

“You’ll be okay in no time, pal,” he’d said as they reached the apartment door. He gave the boy a hug and set him down. “A warm bath and some hot tea and under the covers with you. You’ll be warm before you know it.”

Billy nodded and started for the steps, though without his usual panache. He was so weary he could barely move. He stopped and turned. “Thanks, Clay. I may have saved Terror, but you saved me.”

Leigh nodded. “You did.” Her voice cracked with gratitude and emotional exhaustion. “How do we ever thank you?”

“You don’t.” He smiled and touched her cheek with a knuckle. “I’m just glad I’m here.”

He’d shivered then as a gust of wind rushed across the yard. “I’ve got to go follow the same advice I gave Bill.” But first he looked at her, concerned. “Will you be all right?”

It was the second night in a row he’d asked her that question. “I’ll be fine. Now.” She went up on her toes and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thanks again.” And she rushed upstairs, amazed at her temerity.

Now in the bright light of a new day she shivered at the memory, at the memories.

She walked to the beginning of the path through the dunes and sank to the bench Julia had put there to sit on when you dumped sand from your shoes. Mama, majestic in her dismissal of the barking, tethered Terror, walked over and hopped up beside her, curling into a ball in the warm sun. Absently petting the huge cat, Leigh stared at the sliver of beach and sea visible through the dunes.

He’s nice.

She tried to ignore that thought, but it kept percolating to the top of her brain no matter how hard she tried to squash it.

He’s very nice.

Nice is what you say when you can’t think of anything else to say. It means nothing. Blah, bland. Nothing.

Nice is when you’re kind and concerned and helpful and considerate and put yourself in danger to help another.

Yeah, well, he just happened to be here for a change.
She had to fight against the feel-good emotions. She had to.
So he helped. Big deal.

He’s helped several times, hasn’t he? He’s nice.