CAYMAN SUMMER (Taken by Storm) (30 page)

Water Condition:
it’s so hot I wish I was in it

Depth:
high and dry

Visibility:
into the future and it looks good

Water Temp:
it’s probably pushing 90

Bottom Time:
forever

Comments:

“So, Brother Walden, would you like to set a date for your baptism?” Elder Kitchen is from northern Arizona.

He was stoked when I told him I’m from Phoenix. “My I-don’t-know-how-many-great grandparents pioneered in Mesa.” They went south from Salt Lake when Leesie’s dad’s ancestors went north to Idaho. Elder Kitchen punched my arm and said, “Cool. I come all the way to Grand Cayman to teach a bro from Phoenix.” He grew up in Snowflake—tiny place, mostly Mormons, up on the UT/AZ border. They have winter there. Not sure why you’d want to live in Arizona where there’s winter, but Elder Kitchen loves it—misses the place like crazy.

I look from him to his companion, Elder Quincy from Ohio, to Leesie. She’s holding her breath, turning blue at the edges.

“Breathe, babe.” I reach for her hand. “You think I’m ready?”

Elder Quincy, who has only been a member for a couple years—and one of those was spent on his mission—rolls his eyes. “Dude, you’re a lot more ready than I was.” His family cut him off when he got baptized, but his ward—that’s a full size Mormon congregation—back in Ohio is paying for his mission.

Leesie sets our hands on her knee and places her left hand on top. Her ring catches the sun that streams in behind us. “The question is—do you think you’re ready?”

After the fourth of July holidayers left, business slacked off out at East End. It’s not as dead as it will be in August when hurricane season starts to heat up, but I’ve only been working one dive a day—sometimes not even that. Gabriel can instruct, too. He’s been taking all the students—training Alex. They want to buy a place, maybe over on Cayman Brac, and go into business together.

I’m the only guy the elders are teaching. They’d much rather teach me and eat free fish than pound on doors or try to talk to people on buses or the streets. Beach missionary work is against the rules. We’ve spent hours every day this month, except Mondays when they get a day to do laundry, write emails home, and play basketball and on Tuesday morning when they volunteer at a shelter, running the fans full blast on Aunty Jaz’s back porch, trying not to melt without A/C, and talking about Joseph Smith, Jesus Christ, Heavenly Father and what He’s got planned for me.

I close my eyes and look inside. Am I ready? Can I ever be ready? My eyes drift open. “I’m not done reading the Book of Mormon.”

Leesie pats my hand. “You’re close.”

Elder Kitchen leans forward with his hands clasped, his eyes serious. “Have you prayed about it?”

I nod.

Elder Quincy mirrors Kitchen’s pose and speaks with a solemn voice. “And you know it’s true.”

I swallow and look at Leesie. Her eyes are on my face. I whisper, “Yes. I do.” Those three words bring a powerful surge of warmth, a feeling I’ve come to crave.

A grin grows on both elders’ faces. Elder Kitchen sits up. “Then let’s set a date. When are you leaving?”

Leesie and I are lost in each other. Elder K’s question doesn’t register. Happiness makes Leesie glow. Joyful. That’s what she is. I know it sounds corny, but joy fills me up, too.

Elder Quincy clears his throat. “Are we in the way here?”

Leesie gets pink and turns to them. “We’re leaving the tenth of August.”

It was going to be sooner, but Gabriel and Alex are going to Cayman Brac to assess a dive operation that might be up for sale soon and convinced us to go along. Gabriel and I are staying with a friend of his who works on the Brac. The resort is comp’ing Alex and Leesie a room. Leesie made Alex promise Gabriel would not be allowed in that room before she agreed to go.

Leesie’s parents were disappointed at the delay, but they were cool about it. Her dad has been cool about everything.

I put my right hand on top of Leesie’s to complete the stack on her knee. “Could Leesie’s dad baptize me?”

Leesie leans her head on my shoulder. “He’d love, too. Call him.”

Elder Quincy’s face falls. “Oh, man. We wanted to dunk you.”

Elder Kitchen elbows him. “It’s okay, Elder. We’ll survive.”

I realize what they’re saying. If I wait until we go home, these guys who I’ve come to love like brothers, can’t be there. “I could fly them all here. Leesie’s family and Gram. I want Gram to be at the baptism—to feel this.” I put my hand on my heart.

Leesie lifts her head. “It’s getting close to harvest.” Her voice wobbles. “Dad can’t leave the farm.” I can tell she’s thinking that he’ll be doing it alone this year. No Phil to help. She turns to me. “I’d like to drive truck for him while we’re there.”

“Whatever you want, babe.”

Elder Quincy stands up and puts his hands on his hips. “You call him then and set the date. We’re not leaving until you do.”

Elder Kitchen stands, too. “We want a wedding invitation, okay?”

Leesie releases my left hand, pulls her phone out of her pocket, taps “home” on her favorites. “Hey, mom. Is dad around? Michael wants to ask him something important.” She listens to her mom’s reply and hands me the phone.

I walk over to the far side of the porch, wait for Leesie’s dad to pick up, keep my back to Leesie and the elders. What am I doing? A voice that’s been gnawing at me for a week takes over my brain. I’m not religious. Never have been. Like my parents. We believe in diving. That’s it. Maybe this is all crazy Mormon voodoo. And that accident. I’ve waited and waited. Leesie’s still holding back. That fight. I shudder like I do whenever I think about it. I need to know about that fight. But I don’t want to know. If it was an innocent nothing, she would have told me every detail.

“Hello? Michael?”

The sound of her dad’s voice brings me back to my purpose. “Hello, Brother Hunt.”

“What did you want to ask me?” He doesn’t sound happy. There’s strain and sadness in his voice. Grief. How long did I sound like that? I still do sometimes. Maybe I always will. He probably thinks I’m calling to ask if I can marry Leesie. Does that make him sadder?

I close my eyes and rest my forehead against the porch post. “Would you baptize me?” My throat is dry. I croak the words.

“What?”

“When Leesie and I are back in August—will you baptize me?”

His reply shuts that gnawing voice up. “I’d be honored, son. Of course, I will.”

Chapter 34

CECILIA

LEESIE’S MOST PRIVATE CHAPBOOK
POEM #101, THE BRAC

A tiny plane,

a bumpy landing,

a crescent shaped skiff

of sand with nothing but

bat-filled caves, half-dozen

dive operations, one dirt road

that stretches from end to end,

diving my first wreck,

MV Capt. Keith Tibbits,

a Russian relic renamed

for us tourists,

snuggling on the beach

with Michael while he,

Gabriel, and Alex toss pros and cons,

ups and downs, hows and how-nots

into the inky sky dotted with pinpricks

morphs overnight into

Rain.

Winds.

Warnings.

Boats called in.

Airport shut down.

Hotel evacuation to the island’s

built-in shelter—deep caves

that won’t wash away in the onslaught

that’s only hours away.

The bats lining the ceiling don’t seem

to mind sharing their subterranean palace

with fifty human bodies wrapped in hotel

blankets and foil-lined emergency heat sheets

that crinkle when we move

and make me sweat.

I huddle with Michael in the mass

and sip bottled water.

“Are you scared?” He shakes

his arm that’s gone to sleep

holding me.

“No. You’re here.” I try to imagine

the last hurricane he faced. “Are you?”

He bites off a hangnail. “Terrified.”

“Did you hear this one’s name?”

“Cecilia.” His eyebrows draw

close together.

I touch his face. “Will she

haunt us like your Isadore?”

He wraps his arms back around me.

“We’re safe. Don’t worry. Cecilia can’t touch
us
.”

I cuddle in close and hand him my water.

The sound of the wind shifts to a new key.

His arms tighten. “Here it comes.”

I brace myself for storm surge waves,

sheets of rain, vicious winds

to swamp our dry hide-out,

peel back the roots and dirt

and smash the coral skeleton

that encases us in it’s embrace.

Nothing happens.

The sound mounts, echoes, screams,

but we are protected—barely even soggy.

Cramped, tired, trapped,

but safe. Michael prods

me to my feet and stretches.

We wander with refugees, careful

not to step on sleepers, meet up

with Gabriel and Alex, who’ve

decided not to spend his trust fund here.

“Did you hear if it’s hitting the big island?”

I’m worried about Jaz and Junior.

Alex shakes her head. “I don’t know.”

We hang out with them, laughing

and talking like this is any another night

after a long day diving.

Hours roll by. A lady from the resort

comes along with a big basket of cereal bars.

Michael turns his nose up, but takes a handful

“Guess we won’t starve.” He offers them to us.

I eat one, two, three. Finish off Michael’s water.

When the wind dies, I’m not sure if it’s day or night.

Michael and Gabriel venture to the cave’s mouth,

return to report. “Definitely the eye, mi cielo.”

Gabriel’s arm circles Alex. “You should

sleep in the stillness.” They slip away.

Michael and I find a quiet place to whisper.

I doze and wake to find him studying my face—

troubled. About our future together?

The giant stride he’ll take next week

into a brand new world with a soft woosh

of water in a baptismal font in Spokane?

Waiting a whole year to get married?