A Shore Thing (10 page)

She fingered her collar and her eyes had trouble settling on one place. “You’ve been asking about our property along the sanctuary.”

I nodded. That familiar guilt wound through my gut. Was she about to confront me about my involvement in the opposition? Or would she finally tell me what was going on?

She clasped her hands and dropped them in her lap. “I may need your help. I know we don’t really know each other very well, Callie, but I’ve seen you walking through town many times. Oh, and your mother is lovely.”

She removed a floppy bag from one shoulder and placed it on her lap. Rifling through it, she pulled out page after page of documents and handed the array to me. As she continued to search her purse, I came across page one marked with the words, “Promissory Note.”

Her face reddened and her breathing became pronounced. My mind slipped back to my CPR training. I hoped I wouldn’t have to use it.

June’s bag deflated and I knew she had plucked the last of the papers from it. She dropped it on the floor and looked me in both eyes. “You mustn’t tell anyone about this.”

The urgency in her voice, her eyes, gripped me. “Of course. What is it?”

“It’s Timothy. He’s . . . he’s . . .” June glanced away. Pain shadowed her eyes. “He’s not well these days. He tells me things, and then forgets what he told me. Sometimes he denies he ever said what I heard.” She returned her gaze to me. “And I’m beginning to wonder if maybe we signed something we shouldn’t have.”

Dread began slithering in and around me. “What do you mean?”

She eyed the papers in my hand. “We needed money to help our daughter start a business after her husband lost his job. It was some time ago. I wanted to go to the bank and take out a small loan, but Timothy wouldn’t hear of it. He’d met a man who offered to loan us money against our home . . .”

“And?”

Regret saturated her voice. “We’ve been making the payments faithfully. I never thought . . . never knew . . .”

“What didn’t you know?”

She covered her mouth for a moment. “There’s a balloon payment due very soon, and we do not have the money to pay it.”

Luz tapped on the window, her stressed-out expression burning through the flimsy curtain. I ignored her.

“Oh, June.” I tried not to allow shock to permeate my voice. “Are you saying that you’re about to lose your house?”

Her palm flipped upward along with one pointy shoulder. “I think so. I don’t know.”

My mind raced. “Have you talked with your daughter?”

She waved both palms in front of her. “Oh, no. Her husband spent most of the money we gave her, and then left her and our grandchildren. She couldn’t handle this if she knew.”

Silence fell like a dark night between us. What did I know about this type of thing? “Have you looked into refinancing?”

She deflated more. “Timothy gets angry when I bring it up. He says we borrowed too much for that. What are we going to do?”

I reached out to still her shaking hand, its skin loose and thin. “Why did you come to see me, June?”

She pulled her chin upward until our eyes met. “Forgive me for making assumptions, but I’ve always observed you to be the justice seeker of this community.”

I shrunk back a little.

Those eyes were hopeful and searching now. “You may not think of yourself in that way—it’s not as if your name’s in the paper all the time—but I’ve seen you working behind the scenes on so many different causes. And that’s what I want, someone who is behind the scenes helping me figure this out.”

Would this be the wrong time to tell her I signed on to lead SOS?
I rubbed my lips together, trying to figure out my role in all of this. “Listen, June, my brother Jim is an attorney. He doesn’t normally handle this sort of thing . . .” I didn’t mention that never once had he been willing to help me with any of my causes. “But if you wouldn’t mind me sharing this information with him, then maybe he could advise you on what you can do.”

“Timothy hates lawyers.”

“I’ll make sure not to mention that to Jim.”

Her head had dropped forward as if from shame, then she peered up at me. “And you’re sure he won’t tell anyone else?”

I nearly held my breath. “I’ll make him promise.”

The resolve on her face pricked my heart. “Then I would be very grateful. Very grateful, indeed.”

GAGE

“GAGE MITCHELL FOR RICK Knutson. I’ll hold.” Suz set a second cup of coffee in front of him while he waited on the phone. The acid was bad for his stomach, but he could not do without the caffeine.

“Rick here.”

He jolted forward and set his long arms on his desk. “Gage Mitchell, returning your call.”

“Ah, Mr. Mitchell, the architect.” Knutson’s voice barreled on. “Good to finally meet you. How are you, sir?”

Gage rolled his eyes to the ceiling. What was this guy trying to sell? “Fine. What can I do for you?”

“Not into preliminaries. I appreciate that. Let’s see now, oh right, I called you about the Kitteridge property, didn’t I?”

Gage stayed quiet and pictured Rick Knutson’s blindingly white teeth on all those realty signs.

Knutson cleared his throat, and after he did, his voice sounded deeper than when he had begun. “My client asked that I pass along the news to you that everything is on schedule to take over the property within thirty days.”

Gage’s forehead bunched. “Take over?”

“Acquire.” He cleared his throat again. “What I meant was
acquire.
Now, I’ll need you to get this information to your client ASAP. The planning commission has been breathing down my neck on this one.”

“You’re telling me the city government is actually asking for these plans?” Gage had never heard anything so ludicrous. Planning departments were notoriously slow about issuing permits. He’d known many architects who’d crossed the line with personal gratuities just to light a fire under the process.

Knutson’s voice rose again, fired up. “I’m telling you that this project is hot. No one’s been able to touch this property for years and the community is itching to see something state-of-the-art built there. You, my man, will be a hero.”

He doubted that. His own aspirations for growing his own independent and eco-conscious firm aside, communities weren’t usually gracious about prime property going to development. Case in point: Callie and her pals.

Gage leaned back against his squeaky chair and cringed. “I appreciate the information, Mr. Knutson.” He couldn’t imagine why the realtor had called him in the first place. “But I’m still waiting on the survey so we’re only in the schematic design process at this point. Once the survey is complete, we can move into design development and begin taking bids from contractors. It will be awhile until the drawings will be ready to submit to the city planner’s office.”

“Huh.”

Gage’s eyebrows both shot up. “Is there a problem?”

“Well, it’s nothing really.” Knutson’s voice oozed with arrogance. “Except that I’d heard you were the best and, frankly, I’m beginning to wonder now. Surely you understand the high cost of delays.”

Who did this guy think he was kidding? Realtors, or at least this realtor, had no idea of all the hoops necessary to create plans that would pass muster with fickle planning departments. A dart of pain pierced his right temple. Gage wasn’t sure if this guy was a mole or just stupid. Then again, this was the second time today he’d been told to get on something ASAP, and did he want to bite the single hand responsible for feeding him and his family? The answer to that tumbled through him like bricks.

Gage drew in an even breath, taking his time to respond. “Certainly I am aware that delays mean money, Mr. Knutson. Be assured that my company will do everything in its power to provide the best design in a timely fashion.”

Knutson’s voice rose again. “Now we’re talking.”

Gage fixated on that blank wall outside his window. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll sign off.”

“I’ll be in touch.”

Gage hung up the phone, sensing that Rick Knutson most certainly would keep in touch and more than he cared to imagine. The idea of future phone calls from that guy turned his stomach—almost as much as groveling.

Chapter Ten

“Sleep on
my
side!”

“No, sleep over here by us!”

Who knew that the church group I had to split up would decide to send only one female counselor? Half of their girls had to move into the game room for the weekend, and without an extra counselor, I had been elected—drafted—into duty.

It meant:

Tight quarters.

Schlepping outside to use the restroom.

Little to no sleep.

“Night, girls!” I smoothed my sleeping bag on the creaky bunk in the middle of the room amidst a choir of groans. “There.” The mattress sagged and the coils squealed when I slid into it. As the girls settled into their spots for the night, I lay awake awhile, contemplating this hectic day and how tempting a night in my own soft bed sounded. I whispered a prayer of thanks that J.D. had checked in on Moondoggy tonight, and began to shut my eyes.

In the dim glow of a night-light, a girl named Angel hung over the top of her bunk and stared at me upside down. Her long hair dangled like a privacy screen between me and one side of the room.

“Psst.”

I peered at her with one eye, hoping to convince her I was already half-asleep. I’d been waiting for most of the day to contemplate the ramifications of June Kitteridge’s surprise visit from this morning and didn’t want another distraction.

She wiggled. “Are you sand or rock?”

I pulled my chin out from under the flap of my sleeping bag. “That sounds like a silly question to me.”

“Really?” She flopped her arms over the rail, and I feared she would tumble out of the bed and onto the hard floor. “’Cuz that’s what they asked us at camp meeting tonight.”

Great, of course it was. I should have been aware her question was related to the camp’s theme. Could they see my cheeks burning in the dark?

Another face appeared in the near darkness, this one small and round with a voice to match. Her name was Bailey. Apparently she and Angel had decided to double up above me. “Anthony got on the sandy side because he likes the beach.”

I relaxed against my thin pillow, embarrassment averted. “He sounds like a man after my own heart.”

A chorus of “ooohs” sprang up from inside the cabin.

Angel kept talking. “At the meeting tonight, they told us to choose sides. We went to the
rock
side, but it was kind of silly, I think.”

Another voice, this one from Taylor, carried from the bed beyond the foot of mine. “Yeah, who cares if you want to sit on rocks or on sand? I didn’t get it.”

Some counselors relish times like this with their campers. Joy buoys their voices the next morning after they’ve had the opportunity to discuss deep, theological things with kids late into the night. Others find discussions like these terrifying. “Hmm, really?” I contemplated which camp I fell into. “Well, I missed all that tonight. Why don’t you tell me about it?”

“I will, I will.” Angel hopped down from her bunk, shuddering the cabin walls as she did. I slid my legs behind me as she plunked herself into my bunk. Two other sleepy girls dragged themselves over, probably unable to sleep with all this excitement. They sat on the floor in their pajamas.

“Okay.” Angel showed no sign of the sleepiness that came with responsibility. “First we sang this song ‘I Am the Light of the World’ a bazillion times.”

“I liked it.” Bailey continued to peer at me from above.

Angel gave her a daggered look. “I did too. I was just sayin’ that we sang it like a hundred times. So anyway, after that we talked about the devil.”

Bailey shut her eyes and recoiled as if she’d been given peas for dinner. “I didn’t like that part.”

Another voice piped up. “I thought that was cool.”

Angel sighed and started again. “Squid . . .”

Another chorus of “ooohs” went into the air. Angel gave me a knowing glance. “They all think he’s cute, and I just think that’s dumb.” She shook her head. “So anyway, Squid talked about how sometimes we think things that aren’t right because it’s the serpent’s job—he’s the devil—to lie to us. If we follow those lies, we’re listening to the wrong guy!”

Bailey nodded. “So we have to listen to God. Is that what Squid was saying?”

By now Taylor had slipped out of bed and joined the circle around mine. “I think so, but we’re just kids. How would we know how to do that?”

Squid’s words from this morning sprang into my consciousness.
If it’s God’s will, you’ll know it, Callie.
I weighed his statement in my thoughts. What earth-shattering bits of wisdom could I impart to these fertile little souls sitting before me? At that moment, my respect for camp counselors everywhere grew tenfold.

I pulled in a silent, deep breath. “You know, it says in the Bible that the angels of little ones can always see God the Father’s face. Somehow I think it might actually be easier for you guys to listen to God.”

Angel’s mouth sprung open. “What? So you don’t hear God anymore?”

I sat up and bonked my head on the bunk above me.

“Oh-oh.” Bailey’s mane of upside down hair swished from side to side. “Maybe God was saying you should watch your head, but you weren’t listening.”