Lakeside Reunion

Lindsey waved away the apology. Tears scalded her eyes. “Don’t be. Not your fault.” She laughed without finding humor in the situation. “This day keeps getting better and better.”

Stephen grabbed a clean tack cloth and wiped it over the curved headboard of the red oak cradle. A puff of sanding dust sailed to his nose, making him sneeze. The Christian radio station blared in the background as he worked, competing with the noise of the rain pounding on the garage roof.

A gift for his soon-to-be niece or nephew, the cradle needed to be ready for Melissa’s baby shower next week. He’d promised Ma.

At one time, his promises were empty statements used to entice until he got what he wanted. But he was a man of God now—a man of honor who kept his word.

The cradle would be ready. Even if he had to stay up late to finish it.

Satisfied that the cradle was clean and dust-free, he ran a hand over the wood, checking for any rough spots. Finding none, he stroked the finish. Smooth as a baby’s cheek. Or Lindsey’s skin.

No, don’t even go there.

But thoughts of her were embedded in his brain. The pain and anger in her eyes as she told him to leave her alone sliced through him like a band saw.

Why hadn’t he apologized and kept on walking? Or at least kept his hands to himself? Seeing her again was like giving a thirsty man salt water to drink.

He’d keep his distance like she asked.

If only it were that easy.

Stephen ripped a section of a faded blue cotton bedsheet with more force than necessary, folded it into a small square and pulled on a pair of surgical gloves. As he uncapped the shellac, the acrid scent rose from the can like an escaping genie. It singed his nostrils and glazed the back of his throat. He took a quick gulp of lukewarm Mountain Dew to wash away the bitterness.

He applied shellac to the folded pad. Beginning at the bottom of the cradle, he slid the pad along the surface in long, uniform strokes, appreciating the way the liquid seeped into the wood and brought out the rich reds of the oak.

Tires crunched the gravel in the driveway.

Probably Dad bringing Tyler home.

Thunder cracked again. Soccer practice was canceled, so there was no rush bringing Ty home. With his bum arm, he may have to sit out the rest of the season. That would be the icing on the kid’s cake. He had aspirations of being the next Beckham.

A door slammed. Stephen paused, expecting to hear two doors, but the second one didn’t come.

Someone rapped on the door frame. He looked up. Oliver Kendall, his partner and friend, stood in the doorway, shaking rain out of his gelled hair. Kendall dried his hands on the legs of his jeans. “Hey, man. ‘Sup?”

“Working on the cradle. Waiting for Ty to come home.”

With the first layer finished, now was a good time to stop. He had to wait a couple of hours for the cradle to dry anyway before starting the next step. He dropped the used pad into a jar, tightening the lid so it wouldn’t dry out.

Stephen peeled off his gloves with a snap. Grabbing his Mountain Dew, he wandered to the open doorway to where Kendall leaned a shoulder against the jamb. “You can come in. Want a soda?”

Kendall shook his head. “No, thanks. Can’t stay. Amy and the twins are waiting for me to get home so we can head to Mel and Nate’s. Heard about Ty. Sorry, man. Just dropped by to check on things … and give you some news.”

“I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be? What’s the news?”

“Dude, don’t play me like that. You were engaged to the chick. You see her for the first time in five years and you’re fine?”

“How’d you hear about Lindsey?”

“Duh. Your sister is married to my brother? Remember that?”

“Right. What’s this news?”

“Fine. If that’s how you want to play it—”

Stephen held up his hands and shrugged. “What do you want me to say, man? Just as I was getting my life back on track, seeing Lindsey knocked me to my knees? Okay, fine. I can’t get her out of my mind. You know how that makes me feel?”

“Human?”

“My wife hasn’t been gone a year yet, and I can’t stop thinking about Lindsey.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong, man. You honored your wife. Cared for her deeply. But she’s gone. You need to move on.”

“So easy for others to say.” Stephen rubbed a thumb and forefinger over his eyes, and then realized his mistake. His eyes stung from sawdust. He sighed. “I miss Bethany’s friendship. You know? And Ty’s laughter. How long before my son learns to love life again? We’re taking it one day at a time. The last thing I need is being reminded of my past mistakes. Seeing Lindsey, thinking about her, brings all that back.”

“Stop beating yourself up over it. It’s in the past. God forgave you. Why can’t you forgive yourself? Are your standards so much higher than His?”

“No lectures, Kendall. Not today. Okay?”

“All right, man. Whatever you say. I gotta head out anyway. I heard a rumor that Lieutenant Delaney requested a transfer, so Chief Laughton needs to fill his spot in the next few weeks.”

Stephen shrugged. “You know I don’t go for rumors. I’ll wait until I hear something concrete. Or straight from the chief.”

“Delaney told me himself. Figured you’d want to know.”

“Are you applying for it?”

“You kidding, man? I’m nothing but a lowly corporal. Not enough seniority or street time. You’re the sergeant. With your Corps experience, you’re more than qualified to move up the ladder.”

That stopped Stephen. If this wasn’t just a rumor—something with substance—then maybe he had a shot. He’d have to talk to the chief first thing in the morning.

If he were promoted to lieutenant, then he’d be the first in line when Chief Laughton decided to retire in a few years. Becoming chief would show his family that he was an honorable man. Worthy of their trust and respect again.

“Why’s Delaney leaving?”

“Not my place to say. That’s Delaney’s story.”

“Fair enough. So why tell me about him leaving in the first place?”

“He said to let you know. I guess he knew you wanted to work your way to the top.” Kendall fished his keys out of his pocket and twirled them around his finger. “I gotta hit the road, man. Catch you tomorrow.”

Stephen nodded and lifted his hand in a wave as Oliver jogged through the storm to his yellow-and-black ‘67 Mustang. He guzzled the rest of his soda.

Water ran off the roof and gurgled into the gutters and down the eave spouts. Rain forced the heavy-headed sunflowers alongside the house to bow to its force. Bethany and Tyler planted them last summer before Bethany’s cancer forced her to bed. Death snatched her last breath at the end of October.

Behind him, a singer on the radio crooned about his stains being washed away when grace fell on him like rain.

Unfortunately, some stains were permanent. Forever. No matter how much of a wash they went through.