The Writer (21 page)

My brief time with Bella Stone left me with one certainty regarding the manner of her death. She deserved better.

Recently, I visited the still burned-out husk of Bella’s store with Calista. She said nothing to me as we looked over the remains of what had been Bella’s later-in-life work. Then Calista gave a knowing smile and declared it would be rebuilt in Bella’s honor. She had already spoken of the plan with Decklan. They intend to buy the space, construct a new store, and call it,
Bella’s Deer Harbor
. She was especially excited at the prospect of having college kids come to work at the store during the busy summer months and asked me if I might know of anyone at the university who would like to do so.

I told her I most certainly did. I’m looking forward to being one of her first employees, knowing that Calista will make a wonderful boss.

Two weeks after that visit, I returned to the islands for a private service for a man I had come to love and respect during the intense and all too brief time I knew him. Delroy Hicks, longtime and loyal-to-the-end friend of Decklan Stone, passed away from cancer shortly having helped to save Decklan’s life. I wondered if Delroy had always known he needed to remain alive long enough for that very purpose. I wouldn’t put it past him. He was a truly remarkable human being. I was told Delroy maintained his wry humor and general fearlessness until nearly the very end. His last few days were spent inside a small room at the Friday Harbor hospital drifting into and out of consciousness. Decklan recalled for me how during the morning before Delroy passed, he took Decklan’s hand and squeezed it with his own and then gave him a quick wink. A moment later he asked Decklan if he would, “…fetch me my fedora from the closet, yeah?” Decklan was happy to oblige him and when he asked Delroy why it was so important he wear his hat, Delroy grunted and then pulled the brim down low over his eyes and declared, “A gentleman should always wear what suits him, Decklan, and this fedora is as much me as I am it. I was wearing it when Old Jack and I managed to pull you out of the water. If that doesn’t qualify it as a good luck hat, I don’t know what would!”

As always, there was a subtle yet undeniable wisdom to Delroy Hicks’s words.

Three hours later, Delroy, still wearing his beloved hat, drifted off to sleep again and never woke up.

Decklan, newly redeemed in the eyes of the island community, spoke at the service, but did not use the occasion as some so often do, to prove himself a man of many words with little meaning, but rather a man of few words and great meaning. He stood up in the little church that overlooks Roche Harbor, and spoke in a way befitting the remembrance of someone he no longer had the opportunity to enjoy. It was a struggle for him to form each word so that it could be understood. Initially he didn’t want to speak out of embarrassment over the slurring that persisted, despite his great effort to overcome it. It was Calista who reminded her husband of his obligation to Delroy, and once that was made clear, Decklan quickly pushed his own embarrassment aside, feeling greater shame for having entertained that embarrassment in the first place.

“I don’t have the luxury of calling many my friend. Delroy Hicks was that very thing. If not for him, I would have drowned in my own pain a long-long time ago. He was a good mentor, a better man, and I hope to live my life in such a way that I earn the second chance he gave to me. Goodbye, old friend.”

At the conclusion of Delroy’s service, a still-living ghost of both Calista’s and Decklan’s shared past, made her way to them. Roche Harbor hotel owner Tilda Ashland’s feelings for Calista, and her long-simmering hatred of Decklan for Calista’s supposed death, was, and likely remains, a complicated affair. I don’t know what was said between them, but I do know it ended with a long hug between the two women, and a brief handshake between Tilda and Decklan. I can’t say for certain if all was forgiven, but it did appear that healing was finally underway.

The now internationally-known story of Decklan and Calista’s tale of love lost and love found has made Decklan Stone a bestselling author for the second time in his life as sales of
Manitoba
have
subsequently skyrocketed. For weeks his publicist urged Decklan to do interviews, book tour signings, and other promotions to more fully take advantage of his newly rediscovered fame.

The author finally relented, but true to Decklan’s nature, it was on his terms.

He did just one book signing at Suzanne Blatt’s
Island Books
in Friday Harbor. Decklan’s publicist shipped a thousand copies of
Manitoba
to the bookstore for the signing. They sold out in just four hours.

Decklan, still undergoing his physical therapy sessions, sat in a chair behind a small wood desk and in his quiet, unassuming way, proceeded to sign every copy. Calista stood near her husband, protective, beautiful, and stunningly dignified. I was amazed by her transformation from the thing that emerged out of that cellar, to the elegant, silver-haired woman who watched over Decklan with glimmering eyes that so clearly communicated the kind of love worth fighting for.

When the copies of
Manitoba
ran out, Decklan remained to take photos with fans, like Bill Baldwin. Decklan signed Bill’s old copy and shook his hand, an act that left the restaurant owner stammering with gratitude. And though Decklan’s speech had not fully returned, he was no longer ashamed of his struggle to form words. He didn’t have to be. The words that sprung from his mind were more than enough. When a reader told him how much they loved
Manitoba
, Decklan would smile, look directly into their eyes, and tell them in his hushed, slightly slurred voice, “Thank you.”

When the last of the fans finally left the bookstore, Decklan Stone stood up, turned to Suze and gave her a hug. The bookstore owner was both stunned and deeply grateful for the gesture. I had shared with Decklan that Suze had told me she never believed Decklan was responsible for Calista’s death. On that day I was able to see how much those words really meant to Decklan.

Calista stepped forward with an immaculate, hardcover version of
Manitoba
. She handed it to her husband who then gave it to Suze.

He held up his right pointer finger, took a short breath, and then with careful focus, proceeded to say:

“First copy, first edition—it’s yours.”

Suze’s mouth fell open. The reaction made Decklan’s face light up with a warm smile. He gently gripped the bookstore owner’s shoulders and reaffirmed just how much he valued her belief in him.

“Thank you for believing in my better nature.”

I remained inside the bookstore with Suze as we both watched Decklan and Calista Stone make their way into the world that awaited them outside. They held hands as they did so, older in years, but still very young in their affection. In a way, they were beginning all over again.

Earlier that morning, I had asked Calista if she regretted the loss of so much time. She sat quietly considering the question and then we both heard the sound of an old typewriter, the very same typewriter upon which
Manitoba
had been forged decades ago. Decklan was writing again, his muse having finally returned to him.

Calista tilted her head and grinned. She clearly enjoyed the sound of her husband at work.

“I would be lying if I said I didn’t entertain such regret. But then I consider that, though we lost those twenty-seven years, we’re not yet sixty, still relatively young. I’m determined to have more than another twenty-seven years together. I thing we’re owed that much.”

I recall looking across the kitchen table at Calista and seeing her staring at me as she raised and then lowered her coffee cup. The look in her eyes indicated the kind of determined resolve and confidence that would no longer allow anything to be taken from her again, particularly something as important as time.

“In fact, I won’t accept a day less.”

Decklan and Calista Stone had lost each other once, and had no intention of ever doing so again.

That kind of love would have it no other way.

Many years later…

A young family was enjoying their time on the pristine San Juan Islands waters. The small, scuffed, twenty-seven-year-old cruiser was far from the newest or most attractive boat moving about the islands, but it was theirs.

Two children rested upon the vinyl bench at the rear of the boat, their heads poking out from orange life jackets like a pair of grinning turtles. The young wife looked up from her book as her husband steered the little cruiser toward the picturesque entrance to Deer Harbor.

The son shouted and pointed to the sky where a pair of eagles flew overhead. It was a summer in the San Juan Islands. Only those who have experienced it, can understand its unique gifts.

It is truly a place like no other.

“How’s the book?”

The wife glanced at her husband and nodded a few times.

“It’s pretty good. Started a little slow, but now I’m hooked.”

The husband glanced at the book’s cover and noted the title.

Manitoba.

The daughter made her way to the helm and stood between her parents. The girl stared at the small, tree-lined island that served as a natural navigational marker for boats coming into the harbor.

The father could hear his daughter mumbling something but couldn’t quite make out the words. He leaned closer.

“Look at the people on the cliff.”

Both he and his wife looked to where their daughter was pointing, and soon their son looked, too.

An older couple sat holding hands as they sat in two wooden chairs overlooking the side of a cliff. They could easily look down onto the small beach area below and the waters beyond. Several tall evergreen trees framed the old man and woman. The cliff directly underneath their feet was a combination of sea-darkened sandstone and granite that jutted outward several feet before dropping to the rocky shore below.

“Those two look pretty happy up there.”

The husband gave a quick nod in agreement. It was an image that made him think of the kind of future he would like to share with his wife, the woman he had fallen so madly in love with, the woman who had made him a father, and ultimately, a better man.

“Maybe that’ll be us someday.”

The young mother looked at her husband with eyes squinting from the bright sun overhead, and gave him a radiant smile. The sound of seagulls echoed across the harbor and intermingled with the soft, lulling song of the water as it slid down the small boat’s hull.

“Yeah, I think I’d like that. This would be a great place for you to focus on your writing. Although, you’ll have to sell a lot more books before we could afford a place like that!”

Their son started to wave at the couple on the cliff and soon the whole family was doing the same.

Just before the boat moved past the idyllic little island, the old couple lifted their hands in unison and waved back. It was a gesture of greeting and good-bye, and a gentle reminder to the young family to appreciate that most precious of all human commodities.

Time.

-----------------

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D.W. Ulsterman lives near his beloved waters with his beautiful wife of 22 years, and their two teenage children, along with two cats and two dogs.
His interests, beyond the always-present task of writing, are music, film, boating, an often infuriating golf game, respectable BBQ skills, and sampling various wines from around the world. He is blessed to share his days with the love of his life, and watch their two children grow into the remarkable young adults they have become.
Many of D.W. Ulsterman's personal interests are reflected in his works, including a love of America, classic rock, and working to make the world a better place for the next generation.
His writings include the bestselling military action adventure Mac Walker series of books, including the epic tales
DOMINATUS
and
TUMULTUS
, as well as the mystery-thriller Bennington P.I. collection.
He is also the author of the western bestseller,
The Irish Cowboy
, and most recently published his new RACE WARS series, all of which are available
HERE
  at Amazon.com