The Sunset Witness (12 page)

Frank asked what I'd been up to since he saw me
last.  I told him I'd started plotting the novel I hoped to write.  He said he
didn't read fiction, because he was never sure which part was true.  He
preferred to read magazines and to keep up on current events in the world. 
Then he laughed at himself.  "For all we know, most of what they print in
magazines is fiction, too."

He asked what my novel would be about.  I said my
theme was that love is so powerful, it destroys everything in its path and is,
ultimately, self-destructive.  He thought that sounded pretty negative coming
from someone as young as I was.  Then he said I should read Corinthians.  It
says love is long suffering and kind; is not easily provoked; rejoices in the
truth; and does not fail to endure, hope, and believe.  He agreed love is
powerful, but not that love destroys.  He asked me if I was talking about love
or passion.  I suppose I'd unconsciously concluded Frank was old and feeble and
in need of my help.  I'd not have guessed that we would have a conversation
about love and passion.  While there were many things he could no longer do, I
realized he was still intelligent.  When I didn't answer his question, he
continued.

"You wouldn't know it to look at me now, but I
once had my pick of the best-looking girls in Seattle.  Except for Donna's
mother.  She wouldn't give me the time of day."  Frank laughed.  "I hope
this doesn't embarrass you."

"No.  Please go ahead."

"I had a lot of dark hair then.  And I was in
real good shape.  A guy's got to be in good shape to be a longshoreman.  When I
wasn't working on the docks, I was a groundskeeper at the country club.  I'll
never forget the first time I saw Roxanne.  She was a stunner.  The gals were starting
to wear slacks then.  Boy, could she fill out a pair of those.  Before I
started going with Roxanne, my friend Edgar used to say she was built like a
brick outhouse."  Frank laughed.  "That sounds pretty odd now, but it
was his way of saying she had a nice figure.  Or, he'd say, 'Roxy's built to
last,' and we'd both whistle.  It's kind of embarrassing when I say it out
loud."  Frank's hand shook as he picked up his cup and took a sip of the
coffee.

"Go ahead, Frank.  I'm not laughing.  You're very
interesting."

"Well, as you might have guessed, we finally got
married.  We didn't know each other very well, but we knew we liked the way we
felt together.  If I couldn't see Roxy for some reason, I was miserable as
hell.  We didn't have a shotgun wedding, but we had to get married.  We felt
too strong for each other to wait.  That's what I'm calling passion.  I don't
think I loved Roxy yet, but I needed her.

"Bob was the first to come along, and then we
had Donna.  By that time, I could be in the same room with Roxy and still
concentrate on something else."  Frank laughed.  "We didn't disagree
too often, but one night we had a big row about something.  I can't even
remember what it was.  I left the house in a temper and went to a neighborhood
bar with Edgar to shoot off steam.  When I got home, it was after midnight.  I
knew I was in trouble, because the porch light was on.  Roxy was sitting in the
living room knitting when I walked in with my tail between my legs.  She put
down her knitting, wrapped her arms around my neck, and kissed me.  She told me
she was afraid I wouldn't come back and she'd be lost without me.  That's when
I knew I loved Roxy.  She could've said, 'to hell with him,' and gone to bed. 
Or she could've given me hell for making her worry.  But she didn't pout or
make me feel bad.  That's what I'm calling love.  She was kind, not easily
provoked, and never failed to endure, hope, and believe in me."  Frank
wiped his eyes with his napkin.

"That's beautiful, Frank.  Have you been alone a
long time?" I asked.

"Roxy passed within the year after we left
Seattle.  It was the low point in my life.  I felt claustrophobic in eastern
Montana after a lifetime on the coast.  I had to learn a new way of making a
living.  Donna refused to see me.  And I lost Roxy.  A guy can take one or even
two hits, but those were major blows all at once.  I hope I never have to go
through a time like that again.  The cancer will probably see to that."

"I don't want to pry, but I'm wondering if you are
in any pain or need any help because of it."

"It's not so bad.  Some days are worse than
others.  I'm fortunate they can control my pain.  I don't need much, but I sure
appreciate knowing you offered.  I'll let you know if I need help.  It's nice
to have someone to talk to besides Dennis."  He laughed.  "I'll tell
you about Dennis sometime.  Right now, I'm tired."

Frank sank into his chair as soon as he was home
again.  I went into his bedroom to get his pills and a glass of water.  I was
startled by the photo of Frank and Roxy on the nightstand.  It was their
wedding day.  He did have wavy, dark hair and deep blue eyes.  He probably
could have had any girl he wanted.  He reminded me of Michael.

I was walking toward the beach house when I saw Twyla
on the landing above the stairs to the beach.  I waved at her, and she waved
back, signaling me to join her on the landing.  She was going for a walk and
wondered if I had time to go along.  We commented on the lovely day and how
fortunate we were to live at the beach.  I told her I was surprised to see the
tsunami warnings and that I'd been afraid of the ocean my first night in the
house.  I hadn't realized I'd strike a nerve with the comment.  Twyla asked if
I'd have been nervous without the warnings.  I told her I was afraid of the
ocean in the dark because it sounded so close.  I did think the warnings
prompted me to have an evacuation plan, but it was ultimately the tsunamis in
Indonesia and Japan that stirred my imagination the most.

Twyla told me she'd lost a buyer for the vacant lot
next to her restaurant because of the tsunami warnings.  The buyer planned to
build a small inn.  She said although Sunset looked like it was not very well
planned, there was a restriction on the height of buildings on Main Street. 
Her tea room was allowed because it was over a century old.  The proposed inn
would have to be no higher than her tea room.  The buyer backed out after a
trip to Sunset that April.  The tsunami in Japan was still in the news and the
country had recorded another earthquake.  That was the first time the buyer had
actually visited the area, and he was turned off by the warning signs
everywhere.  To make matters worse, he was eating lunch when the siren sounded
to test the emergency warning system.  He believed people would be uneasy about
staying so near to the water in a building without higher floors.  On top of
that, a few outsiders were carrying placards announcing the end of the world in
May.  Twyla blamed the combination of events for putting a damper on
investment.  The inn would have been a boon to Twyla's restaurant and to
Sunset.  Twyla said Sunset was evacuated after the earthquake in Japan, and the
residents spent a few hours in Hoquarten before the warning was downgraded to a
watch.

Twyla asked me not to mention it to anyone else, but
she was having a hard time making ends meet and might lose the restaurant.  In
the past, customers stood on line to get in and Twyla stayed open on Sunday. 
Now, people were not spending money as freely.  She couldn't stay open to serve
the locals.  A motel or hotel to bring in tourists would have made all the
difference.  She promised to keep me on as long as possible, but she thought I
should know my job might be in jeopardy before I set down roots in Sunset.

While I was reassured about staying in the beach
house, I was sorry for Twyla.  She worked hard to make the restaurant something
special.  She was a good employer.  She seemed very strong and independent, but
I wondered if she'd always been alone.  She was attractive and ambitious. 
Possibly, she'd not found anyone who meant as much to her as the restaurant.

I wished my writing satisfied all my needs.  I
actually believed it did until I met Michael.  My attraction to him was so
strong.  I thought Twyla might ask if everything in my life was still all
right.  Perhaps, she'd not noticed my eyes, or she was waiting for me to ask
for help if I needed it.

Joel was back at the restaurant Thursday evening.  He
said Breanna was doing well, and he did not have to be there all the time.  He
asked how I got along on my own at Twyla's.  I told him I was sure everyone
would be glad to see him.  I thought I did all right considering my lack of
experience, but I felt reassured having him there.  I told Joel I wanted him to
have half of my tips from Monday night because I thought the customers
sympathized with Joel and knew I was on my own.  He insisted it wasn't necessary. 
I could tell it'd not crossed his mind.  I took $150 from my purse, folded the
bills, and tucked them into his shirt pocket.  He kissed my cheek and thanked
me.  Until then, I never had a male friend who was not part of a couple.  I
felt as if Joel's kiss sealed our friendship.  It was a nice sensation, without
the tension I felt around Michael.  I wanted to ask Joel about him, but I got
busy with preparations in the kitchen and never found the right time again.

As I was balancing the cash drawer, I heard someone
tapping on the window of the restaurant.  There was no street light, and the
man's face was shadowed by the small lamp attached to the front of the
restaurant over the tea cup sign.  The inverted bowl of the fixture was
parallel to the walkway.  Most of the light fell on top of the man's head.  I
was startled to see someone looking back at me, and gasped before I realized it
was the scruffy-looking man who'd asked me for gas money to get back to
Portland.  He asked me for more help, and I told him I wasn't authorized to
give him money from the restaurant.  He asked me to get the owner.  I told him
she'd retired for the night, and he'd have to leave.  He hung around, pacing
back and forth for a few minutes.  Then I finished tallying the deposit and
left the front counter to put it in the safe.  When I returned to the counter,
he was gone.

Friday, June 10, 2011

The first thing Friday morning I tossed out the roses. 
They were black and wilted like my relationship with Michael.

I still had not heard from Sarah.  She must know I
realized she lured me to Sunset under false pretenses.  What had she seen?  I
did an online search for
murder in Sunset
and found an article about the
murder written a few days before.  Detective Gannon told the reporter there were
no witnesses.  She must be trying to shield Sarah.  Perhaps, that explained why
I'd not been bothered again.

The murder victim, Ryan Nichols, was twenty-five
years old and an unemployed computer programmer from Portland.  He was seen
around Sunset and Hoquarten as he surfed and applied for jobs.  He had no known
friends in the area.  The Agate County Sheriff's Department had not found the
weapon and was not releasing details of the murder.

The article was accompanied by a photo of the
victim.  I was struck by the resemblance.  I'd heard everyone has a double, but
the likeness was uncanny.  Possibly, I saw Nate Russell in Ryan Nichols because
I'd been plotting my novel, and his image was easily accessible.  Then I
realized even their names were similar.  The victim was unmarried and was
survived by his parents in Bend.  His mother said she always worried about her
son drowning while he was surfing, but she never dreamed he would be murdered. 
Everyone he met liked him.  The family was offering a $25,000 reward for
information leading to the murderer's arrest and conviction.

After closing the article, I pulled up my plot
outline.  Across the top of the page I'd typed my theme:  Love is powerful,
destroying everything in its path, and is, ultimately, self-destructive.  After
my conversation with Frank, I could not proceed with the story until I
considered his comments about love and passion.

I found my Bible in the box of books I usually
schlepped from one place to another.  Then I found Corinthians as Frank had
suggested.  Chapter thirteen was concerned with charity, or Christian love,
which was defined as showing kindness to and having love for one's brethren. 
Christian was defined as being like Christ, or following in the example of
Christ.  Charity endures, hopes, and believes.  Chapter thirteen ended with the
admonition to act with faith, hope, and charity, realizing charity is the most
important of the three.  The attitudes to which Frank referred had to do with a
kind of love that was not the subject of my novel.

Passion was defined as a compelling feeling.  It is
part of love, desire, hate, anger and fear.  If circles labeled with each of
those emotions overlapped with each other, the common area of all the circles
would be labeled passion.

Love between a man and a woman was defined as tender
or passionate affection.

It seemed to me Frank and I were not talking about
love versus passion but about two different loving relationships between
people.  His attraction to Roxy began as passionate love.  He was obsessed with
her physical attractiveness.  Later, as they lived together and became more
familiar, he might have had a more charitable, tender love for her.

Frank was right.  Love in itself is not destructive. 
Likewise, passion in itself is not destructive.  A passion to end suffering out
of love for one's fellow man can lead to a lifetime of good work.

So, if it is not love or passion that is destructive,
what is?  If we love, hate, or fear and do nothing about it, no good or harm is
done.  If we are compelled by passion to act, our love can be constructive or
destructive.  Possibly, what makes any emotion seem destructive is the passion
to act opposite of the emotion itself.  Acting hatefully destroys love by
replacing it with hate.  Acting without courage destroys valor by replacing it
with fear.  Acting displeased replaces pleasure with anger.  In each case, it
is the action and not the emotion that causes the result.  The action requires
an actor.  What motivates someone to act without courage or to act with hate or
displeasure?