Before the Storm. Diane Chamberlain

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      We walked a short distance onto a spit of white sand nearly surrounded by water. The ocean was on our right, the New River Inlet ahead of us and somewhere to our left, although we couldn’t see it from our vantage point, was the Intracoastal Waterway. The falling sun had turned the sky pink. I felt as though we were standing on the edge of an isolated continent.

      “My favorite place,” Jamie said.

      “I can see why.”

      “It’s always changing.” He pointed toward the ocean. “The sea eats the sand there, then spits it back over there,” he moved his arm to the left of us, “and what’s my favorite place today may be completely different next week.”

      “Does that bother you?” I asked.

      “Not at all. Whatever nature does here, it stays beautiful.” Neither of us spoke for a moment. Then Jamie broke the silence. “Can I tell you something?” For the first time since we met, he sounded unsure of himself. A little shy.

      His arm was still around me and I raised mine until it circled his waist. “Of course,” I said.

      “I’ve never told anyone this and you might think I’m crazy.”

      “Tell me.”

      “What I’d really like to do one day is create my own church,” he said. “A place where people can believe whatever they want but still belong to a community, you know?”

      I wasn’t sure I understood exactly what he meant, but one thing I’d learned about Jamie was that there was a light inside him most people didn’t have. Sometimes I saw it flash in his eyes when he spoke.

      “Can you picture it?” he asked. “A little chapel right here, full of windows so you can see the water all around you. People could come and worship however they chose.” He looked toward the ocean and let out a sigh. “Pie in the sky, right?”

      I did think he was a little crazy, but I opened my mind to the idea and imagined a little white church with a tall steeple standing right where we stood. “Would you be allowed to build something here?” I asked.

      “Daddy owns the land. He owns every grain of sand north of those houses. Would nature let me build it? That’s the thing. Nature’s got her own mind when it comes to this spot. She’s got her own mind when it comes to the whole island.”

      The aroma of baking greeted us when we walked into Terrier. Jamie introduced his parents Southern style as Miss Emma and Mr. Andrew, but his father immediately insisted I call him Daddy L. Miss Emma had contributed the gene for Jamie’s full head of wavy dark hair, although hers was cut in a short, uncomplicated style. Daddy L was responsible for Jamie’s huge, round brown eyes. They each greeted their son with bear hugs as if they hadn’t seen him in months instead of a day or so. Miss Emma even gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek, then held my hands and studied me.

      “She’s just precious!” she said, letting go of my hands. I caught a whiff of alcohol on her breath

      “Thank you, ma’am,” I said.

      “Didn’t I tell you?” Jamie said to his mother as he helped me out of my leather jacket.

      “I hope you’re hungry.” Daddy L leaned against the doorjamb. “Mama’s cooked up a storm this afternoon.”

      “It smells wonderful,” I said.

      “That’s the meringue on my banana pudding you’re smelling,” Miss Emma said.

      “Where’s Marcus?” Jamie asked.

      I hadn’t met him yet, but I knew Jamie’s fifteen-year-old brother was something of a bad boy. Eight years younger than Jamie, he’d been a surprise to parents who’d adjusted to the idea of an only child.

      “Lord only knows.” Miss Emma stirred a big bowl of potato salad. “He was surfing. Who knows what he’s doing now. I told him dinner is at six-thirty, but the day he’s on time is the day I’ll keel over from the shock.”

      Jamie gave his mama’s shoulders a squeeze. “Well, let’s hope he’s not on time, then,” he said.

      An hour later, we settled around a table laden with fried chicken, potato salad and corn bread. Marcus was not with us. We were near one of the broad oceanside windows and I imagined the view was spectacular in the daylight.

      “So, tell me about your people, darlin’,” Miss Emma said as she handed me the bowl of potato salad for a second helping.

      I explained that my mother grew up in Raleigh and my father in Greensboro, but that I lost them on the cruise ship and was raised by my aunt and uncle in Ohio.

      “Lord have mercy!” Miss Emma’s hand flew to her chest. She looked at Jamie. “No wonder you two found each other.”

      I wasn’t sure what she meant by that. Jamie smiled at me and I figured I could ask him later.

      “That explains your accent.” Daddy L looked at his wife and she nodded. “We were trying to peg it.”

      Daddy L helped himself to a crisp chicken thigh. He glanced at his watch, then at the empty chair next to Jamie. “Maybe you could talk to Marcus about his grades, Jamie,” he said.

      “What about them?”

      “We just got his interim report, and he’s fixin’ to flunk out if he doesn’t buckle down,” Miss Emma said quietly, as if Marcus could overhear us. “Mostly D’s. And it’s his junior year. I don’t think he knows how important this year is for getting into college.” She looked at me. “Jamie’s Daddy and I never made it to college, and I want my boys to get an education.”

      “I love going to UNC,” I said, although I was really thinking that she and Daddy L had done quite well for themselves without a college degree.

      “I’ll talk to him,” Jamie said.

      “He spends all the time he’s not in school on that surf-board,” Miss Emma said, “and then is off with his friends on the weekends, no matter what we say.”

      “Boy’s out of control,” Daddy L added.

      I’d been in the house only an hour, but already the primary Lockwood family dynamic was apparent: Jamie, despite the long hair and the tattoo and the motorcycle, was the favored son. Marcus was the black sheep. I hadn’t even met him and I already felt sympathy for him.

      We were nearly finished when we heard the downstairs door open and close. “I’m home!” a male voice called.

      “And your dinner’s cold as ice!” Miss Emma called back.

      I heard him on the stairs. He came into the dining room barefooted, wearing a full-length wet suit, the top unzipped nearly to his navel. He had a lanky, slender build that would never fill out to Jamie’s bulk, even though Jamie had eight years on him. A gold cross hanging from his neck glittered against the tan that must have been left over from summer, and his hair was a short, curly cap of sun-streaked brown. He had Miss Emma’s eyes—blue, shot through with summer СКАЧАТЬ