CAYMAN SUMMER (Taken by Storm) (22 page)

from him in two years.”

How sad. Poor Aunty.

If not for Michael—that could be me.

Estranged forever. But now I’m released.

“You should pray about it, Sister Hunt.”

I make a strange sound halfway

between a laugh and a sob.

“I already did. I’m ready now.

But, first, President, will

you give me a blessing?”

I need Michael to see this,

to feel this,

to know the power

he’s brought back into my life.

President Bodden blinks his eyes

to ease the water that fills them.

“I’d be honored.”

MICHAEL’S DIVE LOG – VOLUME 10

Dive Buddy:
Leesie

Date:
06/18

Dive #:
--

Location:
Grand Cayman

Dive Site:
Mormon Chapel

Weather Condition:
intermittent showers

Water Condition:
calm for now

Depth:
no longer flood stage

Visibility:
remarkably clear

Water Temp:
80

Bottom Time:
another half hour

Comments:

Leesie wants one of those blessings things like her dad and Jaron did back in the hospital before I take her to Aunty Jaz’s. All the sudden she’s moving in with a sick old lady. Aunty Jaz’s fish shack was my dad’s favorite place to eat on the island. A dump from the outside, but the best fish—spicy and moist. It’s sad she had to close the place. The woman’s a perfect stranger to Leesie. But the way her and President Bodden talk about Aunty Jaz, she’s close as a real aunty. Sister this and Brother that. I got used to that when I was in Provo before Christmas last year, but it still sounds weird. Especially, Brother Walden. That sounds the weirdest of all.

I don’t mind slowing down. Making sure Leesie thinks this through. If this blessing deal gives her a chance to do that, cool.

President Bodden invites a second dude to join us. This guy is short, sunburned, mostly bald with a buzzed blonde fringe. President Bodden wears a dark suit, white shirt and tie, but this guy’s got on tan Dockers and sandals with his obligatory white shirt and tie. He smiles at Leesie, runs his hand over his head. “I like your do.” He speaks with a British accent.

“This is Brother Clark.” Pres. Bodden’s eyes rest on my face. “He’ll assist.”

Brother Clark has a silver cylinder on his key chain like Jaron did. I feel totally useless. If he was here, he could do this for Leese—instead of these strangers—“brothers” or not.

Brother Clark opens the cylinder. “This is olive oil, like they had at the time of Christ, that has been consecrated”—he notices the puzzled frown creasing my forehead—“blessed for the healing of the sick.”

“She isn’t sick.”

The two men stand on either side of Leesie’s chair. President Bodden grasps the back of it. “Physically, she is well. But spiritually … ”

Leesie whispers, “I’ve got a long way to go.” She closes her eyes.

“Can I stay?”

“Please do, Brother Walden.”

Brother Clark puts a drop of oil on Leesie’s head. He and President Bodden place their hands on her head, too. Brother Clark says a few rapid words I don’t catch, their hands lift off Leesie’s head a beat and then rest down again.

“Leesie Marie Hunt.” President Bodden’s rich Caymanian accent fills the room. “By the power of the Holy Melchizedek priesthood which we hold, we place our hands on your head and give you a blessing… . ”

The rest is intimate, personal, holy. I don’t feel right writing it down. I couldn’t if I tried. He blessed her with health, strength, and the power to conquer temptation. Does that mean me or just sinning with me? I get a strong impression that it doesn’t mean me.

He says stuff about the accident and Phil. Her family loving her. God loving her.

And then he says, “You’ve found the love of a valiant son of God. Cherish that love. Build upon it. Eternal happiness can be yours.” My first thought is he’s talking about Jaron. Dump this jerk and get home to your destiny. Then a powerful force hits me in the heart, and I know that it’s me. President Bodden is calling me that. A son of God. Valiant. Me?

I don’t recall anything else in the blessing after that.

Leesie can be eternally happy with me? I didn’t think that was possible. I thought I was against all the rules—even if we got married.

I can’t marry you if you’re not a Mormon.
How many times has that echoed in my mind since I proposed the first time, and she threw my ring back at me? That’s not fair. She cried. It hurt her as much as it hurt me.

What’s changed now?

What’s so different?

That power speaking to my heart whispers—

You.

Chapter 25

JAZZED

LEESIE’S MOST PRIVATE CHAPBOOK
POEM #96, AUNTY

Michael drives me to a world

I didn’t know existed on Cayman.

Narrow roads, no sidewalks.

Cinder block walls, corrugated

metal roofs, wire fences.

Fat chickens and skinny dogs.

Laundry outside drying on lines

strung from trees, baking

in the hot Cayman sun.

No manicured resort lawns

and tropical gardens. No beach,

no sand, no ocean.

Jungle-like growth encroaching

each habitation, green upon green

punctuated by scarlet bougainvillea

in rampant profusion climbing

telephone poles, fence gates,

houses and engine-less cars

rusting in the front yards.

Dusty black children play

in dirt yards.

Aunty Jaz’s fish shack is truly

a shack. Vines entangle the tiny

structure as if they’ll pull it apart.

President Bodden told us she lives

in rooms behind it.

Michael parks in front.

“Are you sure, babe?”

He looks up and down the street.

“This part of the island

isn’t what you’re used to.”

A rooster struts across the road.

“I come from a farm full of pigs.

My grandma had chickens.”

He frowns, uncomfortable.

“But every body here is—”

“Poor?”

“A different color.”

I frown right back.

“Those cute kids over there

don’t scare me.”

His hand rests on my head.

“I’m not leaving you here

until I know you’re safe.”

I lean over and kiss him.

“Deal.”

I climb out, and a small boy

with a huge dog calls from across

the street. “Aunty Jaz is sick.

No fish, lady.”

I cross the street and pat

the mutt’s head. “Hi, I’m Leesie.

I’m Aunty Jaz’s friend.”

The kid’s lower lip juts out.

“How come I never see you before?”

The dog growls.

I recall my hand. “I’m a new friend.”

“I thought so.”

Michael won’t unload my bags

until we check things out.

We pause in front at windows

closed with heavy wooden shutters

painted yellow and purple.

And a locked pink door.

“Around back,” the boy yells.

“Keep behind me.”

Michael shields me with his body,

quietly creeping, in case

we’re attacked by—

the two large, laughing women

we find on a screened porch.

“Don’t make me laugh, sister,”

a gray-haired one shrieks,

“it hurts my foot.”

“Laughing hurts your foot?”

“Everything hurts my foot.”

They see Michael and stop.

“Aunty Jaz?”

She frowns. “The restaurant’s closed

young man.”

I step out from behind Michael.

“President Bodden sent us.”

Her hands flap up and down.

“Mercy, where’s my manners?

You’ll be Sister Hunt?”

I can’t help but smile back at her.

“Leesie, please. Can I call you

Aunty Jaz?”

“Only if you come right here”—

she holds open her arms—

“and give this old soul a kiss.”

The other lady opens the screen

door wide, beams and nods.

I go right up to Aunty Jaz,

lean over, kiss her sunken cheek.

She hugs me to her expansive bosom.

Her eyes move from the ring

on my finger to Michael and back

to me. “I bet you got a good story for me.”

“Leesie’s a poet.”

Michael stands in the doorway.

“You don’t say.” She moves

over so I can sit beside her

on the sagging couch.

“I’ll be having that after dinner then.”

A void in my soul makes my head drop.

“I can’t. Michael saved some rough scraps, but all my good stuff is lost.”

Aunty Jaz’s shoulders heave up and down.

“Write me more then—after dinner.”

“Excuse me.” Michael disappears,