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Prologue

It’s late evening, mid-October, the day after the southwest monsoon withdrew from the entire nation of India, ending monsoon season. The vast greenish-blue water surrounding the port of Kochi slaps against the Disillusioned Illusion’s hull. DR—Dr. Ray to his colleagues—lounges alone on the stern’s lower deck.

The sun clings to the darkening horizon as voices and the scent of food from a nearby restaurant fill the air. The ocean’s soothing rhythm pulses through his senses like a heartbeat—one with an expectation. Another magical night begins to set in while the sun relinquishes its hold on the horizon’s end, nature’s big show and his refuge vanquished as a crescent moon winks of the night’s possibilities.

With his hopes for a romantic adventure, possibly a woman to love now in question, DR exhales, grabs the back of his head with both hands, eyes closed, and roughs up his hair. Only weeks earlier, he’d thought it too soon for romance, but now, it’s all he can think about.

Has he blown it?

“Why is romance so hard for me?” he asks aloud, knowing the answer. His is a life full of days where you can see the sun and moon at the same time, where promises dim or flicker out so trouble can shine through. And evenings like this give him too much time to contemplate the past, supposing the inevitable is going to happen—again.

During their first conversation ten days earlier, after the others left to go on a tour, she’d stayed. While they discussed the ship’s security, her eyes took delight in searching him, but he barely noticed, only knowing she pleased his.

“I’m here to get on with my life. It’s time for a new adventure, and who knows… maybe love.” Debbie had returned her focus to the sea and then back to studying him. She’d sipped her coffee while leaning toward the railing, the early morning sun reflecting in her eyes. “It’s been five years. I’m ready—No, no, I need to live again.”

Somehow, even lacking the finer romantic skills, he’d known she was trying to convince herself as well as him. She’d held her pert chin so high, the sunlight caressing her simple beauty, the breeze blowing her perfume.

Shifting now, he swallows hard. Oh, how he remembers her perfume, its magical lasso drawing him that morning, and now too.

That stupid rule. Why now?

Laughter and voices drift from the marina and his pool up front, travelers and his passengers enjoying an evening filled with sangrias and fun, getting to know one another while he lingers, stuck in an all-too-familiar place. His thoughts and hopes of a new love rising and falling faster than the ocean’s tide. Even in this exotic setting with hopes of romance, he shivers as that place fixed in time draws him like an eddy in the current.

Why me? Am I a bad person? Was it my fault? Or did God forsake me?

Some people say God takes a bad thing and uses it to make things better, all things working together for good. He snorts. “Try telling that to someone who has experienced a lot of ‘all things.’ They don’t always see it that way.”

He didn’t. Once he loved God—but things change, people change.

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Chapter 1

Eleven years earlier…

At Dukes School of Archaeology in Madrid, DR had his first run-in with Gail Kelly. The school, located in the heart of downtown and offering many other sciences, boasted a pulse so quick and electric it drew thousands of young adventurous students every year. So she should’ve blended in. She did not, and again, he found himself approaching her as they received their scores for the latest test.

“You’re so used to getting your way, always being first. Are you an only child?” He cocked his hip against the desk beside her and pushed his sandy hair back from his eyes.

“So? What’s it to you?” She huffed, then returned to her desk, and slunk down beside her best friend.

“It’s nothing to me.” But he spoke just loudly enough to make sure she heard it. Yeah, crybaby.

As coincidence or fate would have it, they shared the same major, archeology. Already, they were sharing classes. Their studies pushed them together, and their competitive natures clashed. Didn’t matter how much the girl impressed him—no way was he willing to settle for second place, which apparently further fueled her dislike of him.

“See how smug he is? He’s a know it all. That’s what he is.” Her lip curled under, and her scowl deepened while she glared at the second-place marks on her test score. “We’ll just have to study harder—that’s all. Great. More nights and weekends in the library. Probably not far from Mr. America.” She shuddered.

“You mean you’ll have to study harder. I’m not in your friendly little competition.” Her roommate’s snicker carried to DR. “I’ve got a life.”

When Suzette picked up her books and strode away, leaving the steaming Gail behind, DR headed over to the feisty redhead.

“Why are you so hateful toward me? I haven’t done anything to you. I can’t help my test grades are better than yours.” Or that, even though she was Miss Cold as Ice, he found her attractive. Who could help but love her long curly red hair and porcelain skin sprinkled with just enough freckles to make her look real and alive? It must be one of those fatal-attraction things. “Besides, I didn’t travel to Spain to get bogged down by a disappointed local.” He flopped down at a desk closer to the professor’s than hers, and the chair slid noisily on the tile floor before he picked up and inspected a stapler, lost in thought.

“Ohh. You make me so mad.” She reached out, snatched the stapler, and slammed it on the desk, then stormed out.

“So mature,” he called after her. “Why don’t you go home to Daddy? He’ll fix everything.” Oops. The words escaped unchecked, unintended. Hopefully, she didn’t hear them.

Her dad, her deadbeat dad, though Irish, lived in America and wouldn’t fix anything. Rumor was he’d run out on her mom when he learned she was pregnant, leaving his father’s house in Dublin for his mother’s house in Boston. Not a word in twenty years. Which explained why Americans were on her do-not-resuscitate list.

DR stayed in the class, waiting for the smoke to clear. Around six feet tall with a slight muscular build, he’d become the mark of flirty lovestruck European girls. “Handsome and Michigan strong,” his mom often said.

“DR, you sure have quite the way with the ladies.” The professor reentered the class, passing a fuming Gail on the way in.

“I know.” DR spread out his hands. “It’s my gift.”

One of many. He ducked his head down. He only came to Spain to study because he thought, if he could get away from all the local do-gooders, then he could find that elusive state of mind—peace—once-and-for-all. Of course, the fact that it would take three years or less, instead of the six it normally took in the States to get his doctorate didn’t hurt.

“If it’s peace you wanted, I don’t think that’s the way to find it.” The professor often laughed about their competitiveness. “But your competition just might help you two become my best and brightest students.”

* * * * *

Starting with summer school three years later, before Gail’s second-to-last year and DR’s final year at the Dukes, Gail began meeting him in the afternoons to discuss the classes they shared. Their competitiveness had eased into a sort of friend-helping-friend situation. Or so she let him believe.

“Are you going to study this afternoon? I’ll save you a spot at the window if you want.” Kicking at a weed growing through the sidewalk under a huge elm tree near the language laboratory, DR flashed a smile.

She snagged his Italian thesaurus for her next class and winked. “I’ll be there.”

She shook her head as DR sauntered off. Where’d the guy think she’d be? They’d been meeting every afternoon, after all. At first, it was just studying and classwork. But…

Her roommate walking alongside her nudged her shoulder. “I thought you didn’t like him. What’s changed?”

“I don’t know. I mean I know I didn’t like him. But there’s something different about him. It’s kind of like I sense a destiny.” After straightening her half tee around her shoulders, she hugged his thesaurus to her side. Too bad, it wasn’t him. “I feel different around him. I like who I am with him. Is that crazy?”

“Maybe.” Suzette shrugged. “But I gotta admit he’s easy on the eyes.”

Gail laughed. “I know, right? I love his dimples and… Well, I’m very attracted to him.”

“The other girls know he’s off-limits.” Suzette’s dark eyes flashed with suppressed laughter. “They can read your body language—even if he can’t. All those languages you guys are learning, and you can’t seem to communicate.”

“I’ve been putting out little feelers, but he’s not adept at the girl thing. So all my attempts have been unsuccessful.” She’d have to talk to her mom this weekend about the introverted, handsome American who shared her same loves. Like DR, she loved the sea, having lived just a short walk from the Mediterranean.

In Madrid, festivities abounded right on the streets, especially in August, yet when afternoon came, here she remained—stuck in the library. She tapped her pen against her textbook, the dusty drapes failing to block the vivid August sun from casting a glare across her pages. She sprang up and moved them aside. Funny how hard it was to be indoors in the sunshine, so easy to remember playing on the shore with her mother and Kayleigh.… She swallowed hard, hurting over losing Kayleigh when she was eight. They’d never even learned what killed her, blood clots or a brain aneurysm or something.

“Mom said to give him a push. Well, here goes.” Drapes aside, she spun around.

DR closed his textbook. A shock of blond hair fell over his brow as he tilted his head at her. Michigan Strong his mom called him. A good description. “You okay?”

“Yep.” She plopped back into her seat and resumed clicking the back of her pen.

“You know that’s annoying, right?”

“I do.” She didn’t stop. If that’s what she had to do to get his attention, she’d do it.

“Gail?” Anderson, a classmate, approached and jammed his hands in his chino pockets. “I was wondering if you’d like to go to the festival Friday?”

“Would I ever!” Just not with you. Wow, what impeccable timing. Since she began studying with DR, she hadn’t dated, finally admitting to herself she didn’t want to go out with anyone but him. She just never told him so. Watching DR out of the corner of her eye, she gushed. “I’d love to go.”

Never wavering, he kept reading his book. Seriously? Didn’t he care at all?

“Great.” Anderson rocked back on his heels, bouncing a bit as he beamed. “Man, I’ve wanted to ask you out for a long time, but I wasn’t sure, you know? You’re always with DR, but you guys aren’t dating, right?”

“Nope, we’re not dating.” She kept her tone even, her gaze on DR. Did his ears redden? Was he embarrassed people thought they were a couple, or was he upset by something?

“We’ll have a blast.” Anderson pulled his hands from his pockets and rubbed them together in a let’s-get-at-this gesture. “Pick you up at four?”

“I can’t wait. I didn’t think you would ever ask. See you Friday at four.” She smiled, even stooping to bat her baby blues—anything to get a reaction from DR. Nothing. Maybe “Michigan Strong” meant he was like stone. Had she really agreed to go to that festival, Virgen de La Paloma? Yuck. With him, double yuck.

Anderson sauntered away, whistling before a librarian shushed him.

Gail flipped her red hair over her shoulder and clicked her pen again. Okay, fine. If that’s how it had to be, that’s how it had to be. She gave herself a firm nod. She was ready for romance, ready for love, and if DR wasn’t going to be the one, then she’d better get to it. Her mother had almost missed her chance at love. It had taken Gail’s prodding to push her into the arms of the man who became her stepfather. If she could do it for her mother, she’d better be just as good at doing it for herself.

“I hope the weather will be good Friday.” She tossed the pen on the desk. “What are you going to be doing?”

“I don’t know,” he mumbled, his American twang stronger than usual, the way it got when he thought he was going to flub a question in class. “I guess I’ll be here, studying like usual. Besides, I came to Madrid to get away from religion. The last thing I want to do is go celebrate a virgin saint.”

“Well, suit yourself. We study every day. Sometimes, I want to let my hair down.”She shook said hair around her shoulders, holding her head up, biting on her upper lip. What was wrong with him, anyway? Didn’t he care about her? Why couldn’t he have sprung to his feet and told Anderson,“No. No, she won’t, not Friday or any other day—she’s my girl!”

No. Not gonna happen. Mr. Michigan Strong just sat there, miserable, as if their little world wasn’t changing one tiny bit.

* * * * *

Friday afternoon, Gail’s big date came as DR sat studying, alone, in the library. Well, almost alone. Everyone in town seemed to be enjoying the festival, especially the nonreligious, except him and Sierra, the girl stuck working the evening shift. She leaned against the desk, staring off into space, a thousand miles away. Probably wishing he’d stop being a stick-in-the-mud and leave, so she could go to the fair and meet her boyfriend.

Hands behind his head, he clawed his fingers through his hair and tousled itas if trying to wake up, an unbroken boyhood habit. He closed his eyes and whispered to himself. “Why can’t I tell Gail I’m falling in love with her? Why is love and all the things that go with it so tough for me? I love everything about her, how she holds her head back and just laughs and how she winks at me. Why?”

He pulled at his hair, tugging at its roots. “Our entire family is outgoing, confident. My little brother’s going to be a DJ, and here I am, for crying aloud. I can’t even share my feelings with my dream girl.” His voice became louder. “Yes… yes, Gail is my dream girl.”

Jamming back his chair, he sprang to his feet. “What am I doing in this library all alone? I’ve got to go get my girl!”

Sierra snapped her head up and flashed a smile. “Leaving, DR?”

The phone rang as he nodded and strolled past.

“I’m sorry, honey.” Sierra’s giddy voice followed him while she answered. “He’s left. No one’s here except me, and I’m closing up. I’m so ready to be at the festival.”

Over at the festival, he couldn’t find Gail. After what seemed like hours, he spotted Anderson with his friends around a table one of the pubs brought out onto the street. They were playing a game archaeology students called Bones.

“Anderson.” DR waved his hands above his head from a narrow roadway leading to the main celebration. Streamers stretched across the road while guitar music and disc jockeys vied for attention as raucous partiers and reverent worshippers alike packed the streets, ready to celebrate well into the hot August night.

Folks in traditional chulapo costumes lined the way, laughing and dancing. In the center of the square, a stage had been built atop a fountain where a band was playing the authentic Spanish flamenco.

Ducking in and out, past the traditional procession of firemen and well-dressed maidens and gentlemen, he ran. He veered past a float toting the festival’s main purpose, a nearly life-sized gold-framed painting of the virgin saint, said to have healed the son of King Charles IV, at least according to the king’s wife, Maria Luisa de Parma. Then after nearly tripping in the street before the float, he cut behind the bar to avoid fighting through the lines of colorfully dressed partygoers.

“Anderson. Anderson, where’s Gail?” Hands on knees, he sucked in air. At least, he finally had Anderson’s attention.

“She called this morning.” Anderson cracked the top of his Coke, fizz bubbling free before he gulped it. “She said she was going to her parents’ home tomorrow and had to make an early night of it.”

DR straightened up. She hadn’t gone out with him after all. His core shivered. The festival now took on a different meaning. Christians were blending in, no preachers in sight. Of course, wasn’t that always the way?

Anderson’s face contorted as he readied for his turn in their game of Bones. “I wish she’d just said no like I expected. Then I could’ve gotten a date with that pretty little blonde, Martha Ralese. And I wouldn’t be stuck here with a couple of guys.”

“Hey!” They shook their fists.

“Sorry.”

Dice bounced across the table.

“Great.” DR slapped his classmate’s back, then winced. “Um, I mean… I’m sorry to hear that. Hope you still have some fun tonight. Looks like you rolled a winner, though. See you guys later.”

Anderson might’ve said something, but in his haste, his heart beating so fast, DR didn’t hear. All he could hear was the pulsing in his head, each whoosh saying, “Call her, call her, call her.”

He was in love and knew it now. It wouldn’t—no, couldn’t­—wait until Monday.

He reached into his pocket for his phone while jogging toward Gail’s room. Ah, there was Martha with her parents, or at least he thought they were her parents. “Martha,” he shouted. “Anderson’s over by the bar near the main stage and wants to talk to you.”

He stopped just long enough to call Gail’s room. One ring… two… Whew, she answered. She hadn’t left yet. “Gail—”

“Bzzt.” Someone made a buzzer noise. “Wrong answer, jerk.” Suzette, her roommate, spoke up. “Gail left for Malaga around four o’clock. She was pretty upset and ugly crying—probably shouldn’t have been driving. You two have another fight?”

“No, not a fight. I was just blind. That’s all. Thanks, Suz. I’ll see you.”

He hung up and headed to his room. It was too late for the five-hour drive to the coast tonight. “Why, why, why—why hadn’t I seen it? How could I be so blind?”

The next day, he reached her hometown around noon. His grip tight on the steering wheel, he craned his neck toward the marina on the way to her family’s bungalow. The Mekenzie-Gail, MG, was still docked. They hadn’t taken it out for a jaunt like most weekends. Whew. His shoulders relaxed. He drove to their home, heart pounding and palms sweating.

Parked out front, he sat there and took slow breaths. What kind of coward was he? Surely, he wouldn’t wimp out after driving five hours. He shoved himself from the driver’s seat and strode up the redbrick sidewalk he’d help Nicolas lay. His hand shook as he knocked and waited.

The door opened, and blue eyes peeped up at him from the face he loved. She stood frozen in the doorway, then half ran, half jumped into his waiting arms, and wrapped her legs around his waist.

“I can’t believe it.” She spoke between the kisses she planted on his face. “You came all the way here… for me?”

It was now or never. He drew in a deep breath and pushed out equally deep words. “I’m… I’m in love with you. After last night, I couldn’t wait to tell you. I’m so glad you didn’t go out with Anderson.”

He held his breath now. Would he hear the same?

“I love you too!” she shrieked. “I just wanted to give you a shove.”

Her mom, Mekie, now standing in the front room, began clapping. Gail’s stepfather joined her. “Well, it’s about time.” Hands on her cheeks, she teared up, then put her arm around Nicolas.

Even with her parents watching, DR couldn’t help stealing another kiss, and they held each other so tight. It was the best weekend ever and a day he’d never forget. After that, their confessed love grew to consume their world. Once Gail graduated the following year, they married in October and began their travel and life’s work.

As newlyweds, they joined a team of four fellow archaeology graduates from the Dukes School. Their exploration began on the coast of India, where no matter how close they were, it wasn’t enough. Desires and need burning wildly.

“Why would another village do this?” DR kicked at a broken bolt.

“They want our land for a factory or something.” His eyes downcast and his body slumped, Chief Mnortarmillc leaned against a stone entranceway.

“Thank you, Chief. Gail and I are well versed in India’s antiquities law passed in 1978. We assure you everything will comply with the law and your village will get its rightful share if we find anything.” DR slid his arm around Gail, and they walked back to the village’s main street and checked into their rented room.

“Did you see how sad the chief was? They are desperate.” Gail pulled off her tan canvas work vest and hat, shook her hair out, then flopped back on the bed, stretching. “Bed’s a little hard.”

Smacking the mattress to feel the firmness, he laughed. “Maybe we should just sleep on the floor. I guess it’s all in what you get used to.” He stretched out beside her, leaned on his right elbow, and slid his left arm across her belly. “Tomorrow, let’s search around the village’s south side. Then we’ll move clockwise until we cover the perimeter.”

“Okay.” She touched his face, and her finger traced a path along his jaw to his mouth. “But we can only stay a month, so we don’t want to waste any time.”

After several weeks, their friendship and grace were rewarded. Chief Mnortarmillc, the elected Pradhan, whom this village simply called chief, embraced their exploration, even sharing his village’s historical documents and landmarks.

“You just don’t get these types of intricate skills… not without a wealthy past,” Gail insisted as she watched the local women making pottery, weaving baskets, and piecing together clothing for sale. “The richness of their crafts scarcely suits a people living in abject poverty.”

So, they kept at it.

Today, DR paused to stretch his back, his fond gaze lingering on his wife. What had Mom always said to him and his brothers? “When you find that special girl, remember to leave her special. Don’t try to change her.” He’d lived by that, and as they most often explored Gail’s ideas, his radiant bride shone even more brilliantly. Her confidence grew, and so did her love for him.

“Tired?” She nudged his shoulder.

He raked a hand through his sweaty hair. “Maybe a bit—hungrier, though.”

No longer running from the do-gooders, not looking over his shoulder, he’d relaxed in this country so far from his own culture and focused on their future, wherever that would take them. And the hardness of their plight made their passions burn even more.

“Funny, we’re all hungry here, you and I and the locals. But there’s something more than the hunger in my belly.” Her blue eyes shimmered. “I feel it, DR. It’s here. The discovery, just out of reach, and I’m so hungry for it I might faint.”

That was his Gail, such passion. He looped an arm around her waist and drew her closer. “You believe it’s here. No one but us believes in it.”

“It was the hunger that drove the rest of the team away long before we reached this village, not just the personality conflicts. I do wish Clyde McMillen stayed. He lasted the longest, a year over the others.”

“Living on mainly fruits, vegetables, and the occasional treat of meat, with tremendous money pressures, hasn’t been easy.” He shrugged. “I don’t blame them for giving up.”

She tucked her head against his shoulder. In their time exploring India, they’d learned to do more with less from the locals they visited. Their appreciation deepened for the less fortunate who often shared their skimpy meals.

DR loosened his grip on her. In the sunlight beyond a warehouse, a young boy was playing with something shiny. From this vantage point, it looked like a silver fish. He let go of Gail and ran toward the boy. “Hey, boy. What’s that you have in your hand?”

The startled child dropped the medallion on the ground, then bent, and picked it up, about to run. But seeming to realize he couldn’t escape, he ducked and covered his head.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.” Exhaling to calm himself, DR lowered his voice, crouched over the muddy street, and rested a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Can I see what you have?”

When he took the item from the boy’s halfway extended hand, the boy kept cowering.

DR lifted it to the light—a small silver medallion hammered into the shape of a fish. “Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you. Where did you get this?” He pushed his vest open and took out a handkerchief to wipe his brow. “Can you show me?”

At the boy’s nod, DR laughed aloud over what he’d discovered and waved his wife over. “Gail, come quickly.”

By the time she reached them, he’d talked the boy into taking them on a hike up the valley to where he found the medallion. Gail chattered in excited bursts as they walked through a gorge cut by monsoon rains. Flooding had pulled down trees and left boulders strewn about like pieces of a board game. The vegetation was matted down and mired in mud where he’d found the piece, leaving only a stone here or there visible. Watermarks circled the trees still standing upward of fifteen to twenty feet off the ground.

Gail leaned in close to DR. “He found it on village lands, and what a stroke of luck! The floods removed the silt, overgrowth, and debris but spared the tombs. These burial grounds must be at least a thousand years old.” She pointed at the exposed stone parts of different burial chambers.

Sweat and dirt streaked her face after they scraped mud and debris off one of the exposed stones. She pushed a handful of hair out of her face, laughing. DR handed the boy his cell phone and asked him to take their picture.

“You were right, baby. You were right.” He hugged her and spun her around and around until her legs stuck straight out. Then he kissed her, dirty face, and all, as they celebrated.

The chief celebrated. The village celebrated.

The monsoon rains had caused major damage further down the valley. But the burial chambers were deep enough that the floods only unearthed the grounds with minimal damage. Although several smaller tombs were washed open—probably where the silver fish medallion came from.

Their friendship being such, the chief allowed them to begin their work on the ancient burial grounds after contacting state and national authorities.

They promised to respect and care for the dead buried there. It took them and their Indian counterparts a month of digging to enter the first chamber, one of six former chief entombments. The first chief uncovered had taken a vast part of the wealth the village once enjoyed with him—at least he tried. His extravagant entombment claimed a prominent position on the grounds, so they started with it.

They brought in reliable teams recommended by the Dukes School and Itasham, their former professor, to work with Indian authorities. Then they also taught several tribe members how to preserve treasures found in the tombs of a few other elders and sent teams to dig with the tribe in those tombs too. The grateful chief allowed them to remove most of the artifacts, as the tribe was well compensated and needed the money, but removing the artifacts also protected the find from rival villages and thieves.

As the archaeology world hailed them as heroes, offers of grants and support from major corporations and universities poured in. Everyone wanted a piece of the action, including a now-desperate Clyde McMillen.

They set up a laboratory not far from where DR had grown up in Michigan. Mainly because of grants from a major supporter of ancient history. With that, they promised to give the village near Kolkata a large sum up front and help build a museum to house the pieces covered by the Indian government’s antiquities law.

Soon, they were buying their house on Wall Lake near their lab in Delton and taking advantage of the nearby university to catalog the enormous find.

* * * * *

Along with the crates of artifacts from nearly eight thousand miles away came winter. Malaga’s balmy temperatures in the forties made it a tropical paradise in comparison. Gail had made it clear she’d prefer to go back to Malaga as she moved to Wall Lake. But as the lows hit minus seven in February those first two winters, DR’s heart warmed when she took up snowboarding and loved it.

“Baby.” She nudged his shoulder now, her cheeks still atingle from the cold. “You’ve got to try it. It’s such a rush, feeling the cold air on your face as you come down the slope.”

“I’ll give it a try.” He tugged at her knit cap. “But I won’t look nearly as good in the bibs.”

She planted her cold hands on either side of his face, smirking when he winced. “As long as we’re on the slopes together. No reason I should be the only one freezing in this land of yours.”

She looped her arm through his, then jammed a cozy hat on his head. “C’mon, baby. Enough work for one day.” She dragged him from their lab into the bright sunshine and hauled him to Marcie’s Place, where they brewed her favorite coffee.

“Hey, Pauline.” She released him and patted the older lady’s arm as he kicked the snow from his shoes and rubbed his hands together. “Ignore DR. Sometimes he thinks he’s an artifact that can stay under glass in that lab. One of these days, I’m going to catalog him and put him on some old shelf. You girls got a story for me today?”

“Don’t let her sit down, ladies.” DR puffed warm air into his cupped hands, then winked at the well-groomed ladies, their thinning hair tinted silvery blues or henna reds. “She’ll be here for hours, picking your brains on local history, and we’re headed to the slopes, apparently.”

Gail gave the girls a wave. “Say hi to Willie for me when she pops in.”

Like him, Gail loved their work, spending hours documenting every item at their home and lab. Their house on the east side of Wall Lake was ideal for outdoor living and boating, but the open sea had begun calling their names.

“What do you say we try a different area next time?” DR asked, sipping his wine later that evening. “I’m getting worn out on the Indian Ocean thing.” He savored the sweet red’s sensation on his tongue. Nicolas, his father-in-law, sent them a case of his favorite the other day.

“I know you are.” She pouted, sharing her huge blue puppy-dog eyes. “But I just love our friends. I want to see some different places too. Maybe we can take one more trip to Kolkata? Afterward, we can sail up the coast of Portugal and around to Bilbao. Nicolas loves it there and said we’d have a fun trip. Then we can go further, maybe France?” Leaning over, she kissed his lips, then winked.

“Why do you do that to me?” He took her hand, closed his eyes, and shook his head as if to shudder. “You know I can’t resist your kisses or your winks.”

“Why do you think I do it?” She giggled and kissed him again.

They sat on their deck for hours planning their next big trip to India, a dream they loved undertaking. Soon, they began telling everyone they’d be returning to the sea. “You can only hold back the desires of the heart for so long.”

“The Dream Maker Express is calling. ‘Adventure is out there.’ ” DR smiled as he stole a line from Ellie, a character in a movie, and pointed toward the lake, making Gail laugh.

Gail was his confidant and he hers. They shared the same thoughts, the same heart. There was only one thing he didn’t share with her, not knowing she also didn’t share one with him. Soon, it would raise its ugly head. Among the things they had shared most was how much they abhorred Christian fanatics. Gail would say, and he agreed, “They are nonintellectuals searching for something that’s just a fantasy, a way to justify their failures.”

* * * * *

But Gail had a secret. She’d started to change a year earlier, and she’d never discussed it with him. On several trips back to Malaga, she began questioning faith or rather her lack of it. She’d seen so many pass into the “afterlife,” what she called death, having rummaged around in burial grounds digging people up for science. She saw a peace at Christian funerals she couldn’t describe or explain, but not so much for nonbelievers. There was no hope of anything for a nonbeliever, just the end. Hope was something she wanted and something she needed. Then she began wondering.

Today, she hunted through her purse for her keys, her friend bracing a shoulder against the front doorway as she waited. “Willie, I should be the happiest woman alive. I love my life. But something is missing. When I went to Malaga, I saw how horrible one of my mom’s friends’ funeral was. Then at another, there seemed to be a peace. I don’t even know how to explain it, but I felt different at the believer’s funeral.”

“Believers have a future. The others do too, just not one to look forward to, so sometimes you can see their regret as they die.” Willie scooped Gail’s keys from the dish in the hall and dangled them before her until Gail groaned and held her hand out for them. As a DJ, Willie shared the Morning Drive show with DR’s brother, Mike, at WREAL Christian radio station in Delton. “Funerals are a bad place, no matter, but when there’s no hope, the spirit gets heavy. Maybe that’s what you feel.”

“I’ve heard all about that, about becoming like a child and all. But how would I begin to tell DR, even if I want it, and I… Well, I still don’t know.” Gail pulled on her flats to go over to the Hammer Throw. Hopefully, they still had those gray pillows for the bedroom.

“The important thing is that you understand, not just the precepts of Christianity, but the gospel of Jesus Christ, what it means for you—no matter what DR thinks. You have to decide, you alone. No one else will answer for your decision, not me, not DR, and if that’s what’s making you feel empty, mind you, it won’t just go away.” Willie slung her sweater off the entryway hook and pulled it on, then took Gail’s arm. “Okay, we’re ready.”

Gail shut the door and started down the steps. “If he finds out I’m talking about God, he’ll go plumb off. He ran halfway around the world to get away from all that. If he thinks, I’m a believer.…” She shook her head and unlocked her Jeep by remote. “Let’s talk about this later. I’m ready to spend some money. DR’s going to laugh when he sees more pillows.” For sure, but nothing a glass of sweet red wouldn’t smooth away. Well, sweet red and maybe a kiss.

Willie shared Gail’s love for the outdoors and the lake. They’d been spending hours and hours together, and with those new pillows in place, they soon migrated to Gail’s back deck. They discussed faith and things they both enjoyed.

They’d met at Marcie’s. Willie didn’t talk about the laws of the Bible. Rather, she shared the gospel and her love with simplicity, and as they whiled away the days, DR buried himself in the artifacts they’d unearthed.

He usually came home tired, seldom asking how Gail spent her time away from the lab. Today was no different. She and Willie halted their conversation as the back door swung open and DR stepped out onto the deck, waving his phone to display a picture and alight with an endearing boyish excitement. “Sweetheart, you’ve got to see what was in today’s work. There are pieces I would have never suspected. You were right. Those people had some serious skills. Oh.” He lowered the phone. “Hi, Willie.”

“I’d better be going.” Willie slid to her feet, and DR dropped into the seat she’d occupied.

* * * * *

Then the seasons of life changed again. After only three blissful years in Delton, Gail died, struck down by a pulmonary embolism. Her passing was much like Kayleigh’s, so sudden and too soon. It left DR shaken to the core and Mekie and Nicolas crushed.

Without her, he stopped cataloging their find. He stopped almost everything, including living. He was simply breathing in and out, existing. Their beautiful home on the lake had become its own tomb of memories.

After the memorial, DR stayed in Malaga for six months, living with Nicolas and Mekie. They adored him and he them. He stayed busy reading and studying, still having his books from the Dukes School.

Then he spent another six months at the school brushing up on his language skills, while his home, along with the crates from India, sat untouched. Money wasn’t an issue any longer. But he still had a lot of work to finish their Indian dig, and crates kept arriving weekly. His Indian friends were counting on him, so he took Clyde McMillen on to wrap it up. McMillen had asked to work on the artifacts with the local university, helping document and assess each piece some four years earlier. He was happy to share in it now, and he needed the income and lab practice, being an archaeologist.

He was left to box up their memories, their possessions.

One final evening before the new adventure, he left home and went to the coffeehouse to meet his brother and Willie. He arrived a little early. Rubbing cold hands together, he slid into the corner table overlooking the backyard and kept his head down so Pauline and her coffee cronies wouldn’t try to talk to him.

Finally, the bell dinged over the door, and Mike, six feet tall like DR, ducked inside and shoved his coworker forward. Mike reached to hug him. “You know Willie, don’t you?”

“Sure, we’ve met a few times.” Remembering her from his deck with Gail, DR outstretched his hand and shook hers. “Willie, how have you been?”

“It’s good to see you.” She flashed an uneasy smile and slid in beside Mike.

“So, DR, are you ready for the big trip? Have you made all your plans for your new adventure?” Mike surveyed the crowd, then apparently not seeing anyone familiar, sat down.

“I have appointments to inspect a few yachts. I’m interested in one, but I’ll see. Depends on the price.” DR sipped his coffee and glanced out the window. “Plus, the interviews for my crew. I have good prospects for my first mate. The first week or so will be hectic, but I’m up to it.” He offered Mike the creamer.

Willie planted an elbow on the table and propped her chin on her upraised palm. She tapped the table with her other index finger. “Mike said you were going back to where you and Gail made your discovery. You must be looking forward to seeing some of your old friends again.”

“Yes and no.” He let out a heavy breath but couldn’t release the memories holding his chest. “I cherish my memories, but I’m not looking forward to confronting them. Anyway, we’re stopping in other cities first. So that’ll be fun.”

“So…” Mike spread out his hands, then glanced at Willie for a go-ahead nod. “We were wondering how you might feel about sharing your adventure with our listeners on the Morning Drive show. We can keep it at about twenty minutes, and our listeners would love to hear about it.”

“Hmm.” DR blew the heat off his coffee before sipping. “That sounds interesting. What do you have in mind?”

“What do you think?” Mike nudged Willie. “Maybe a question-and-answer session?”

“Yeah, of course. We could come up with the questions ahead of time to keep the flow smooth and friendly.” She extended her arms toward DR. “Are you game?”

“Sure. Why not?” He flattened both palms on the table. “Let’s give it a shot. We can talk about it after I get everything smoothed out in Marsala.”

Willie swirled her coffee around in her cup. Her long delicate fingers glided over the cup in a steady rhythm. As if feeling his gaze, she raised hers. Large brown eyes, luminescent now, blinked at him before she ducked her head and refocused on her coffee. Curly black hair tumbled across her cheeks, falling just above her breasts as it framed her oval face.

He winced. He shouldn’t be noticing things like that, should he?

He sank back against his booth and braced an arm across the leather seat. “This is nice, guys. Thanks for getting me out.”

“Yeah.” Mike swigged the last of his coffee. “Sharing a meal or a drink helps encourage friendly discussions—you and I, seems we get at each other’s throats too often.”

Right. Christianity. DR’s shoulders stiffened. Still, even here, an uneasiness always hung over them. They didn’t have much to talk about. Something had stolen their common ground while he was young.

Blenders whirred. Someone laughed. Pauline’s group hadn’t tried to hound him or even cast pitying looks his way. DR stretched out his legs. He could do this. He could even like it.

“Well.” Mike drummed his hands on the table. “I’ve got to get home to Alyssa and the kids, but we gotta do this again, bro. Your stories—man, you sure know a way to spin a tale and whisk a guy off to faraway places. Wish I’d had half of your adventures. It’ll be exciting doing the show with you.”

As Mike got up to leave, he patted Willie’s shoulder. “I’ll see you in the morning. Don’t keep my brother out too late.” Then he grinned at DR. “It’s been fun. Let’s get together again in a day or so?”

DR stood to man hug him. “Sure, we’ll do something.”

Mike edged around a family of five jostling to the only remaining table. Must be near on dinnertime with the way the place was filling up.

“Is everything okay?” The server, Rachael, stopped by their table. “Can I get you something?”

“Do you have any of those world-famous éclairs left, the ones with the custard-overloaded centers?” Willie slipped her hair back over her shoulders. “I missed dinner.”

Sounded good actually. “I’ll have one of those too.”

Then Willie did the unthinkable. “I’m so sorry Gail passed. She was my best friend. We spent a lot of time together her last year. I can’t imagine how terrible it must be for you.”

“It’s been a nightmare.” He rubbed the sudden thrumming between his brows. “For her mom and dad too. I didn’t realize you’d known Gail so well.”

“Indeed.” Willie waved a hand. “We often prayed Mekie would make up with her grandmother in Ireland before she passed on. Gail wanted to meet her family. It’s so sad.”

His head snapped up at the word prayed.

Rachael returned with the eclairs and the checks.

Clenching and unclenching his fists under the table, DR restrained himself. But really, who did Willie think she was? Gail never prayed one day in her life. Gail laughed at people who prayed.

“How do you know about Mekie?” Good. Somehow, he kept his tone calm. “Did Gail talk about her? She was a private person when it came to her family.”

The chatter in the coffeehouse was getting louder—or perhaps his patience was growing thinner. Willie plucked the overloaded éclair from its delicate paper doily, closing her eyes in apparent delight as she bit into the creamy concoction, not paying attention to his changing attitude. She held up her hand as if to say, “One minute, please.”

He shifted in his seat. The leather bench felt sticky, trying to hold him somewhere he didn’t want to be. Sure, Gail and Willie spent time together, but this? Couldn’t have been. Gail’s conversations about believers were always snide and cutting. But that had been a while. Had things changed?

“I’ve been around enough people with your simplistic worldview to know they say God only hears from believers, except the sinner’s prayer. So, God wouldn’t hear her anyway.” He crammed half the éclair in his mouth and mumbled around it, not caring if it was rude. “She hated everything about God, so let’s change the subject.”

Finished with her eclair, Willie fixed her gaze on him. She didn’t seem to notice that he was getting mad. She whispered something as if talking to someone he couldn’t see. But that didn’t make sense. Unless she was praying?

Then she flicked her hair behind her shoulders again, squared those shoulders up, and met his gaze like a professor about to give a lecture. “I promised Gail I wouldn’t say a word to anyone until she worked it out. We know that never happened, so here goes. Look in her journals. She wrote in them every day. We talked about it a lot. We talked about her feelings of emptiness. Even though she adored you and your life together, an emptiness kept coming back on her, like something was missing. She wanted to talk about faith. I never pushed her.”

Tears welled up in her dewy brown eyes. “She became the friend I’ve always wanted. She was so full of life, you know. It wasn’t children she missed, although she wanted them. It was much deeper.”

Willie let out a deep breath. “The last time she visited her mom, she started wondering about her lack of faith. She knew her grandmother was a woman of strong Christian faith. Even though faith had let her mom down, Gail wondered if that was God or the human element in faith. You know how she liked to dig beneath the surface, never one to settle and believe what we could see, always searching to find out if there was more to it. So, we started talking about it.” She stabbed a finger against the table twice. “Right here.”

He held up his hand to stop her, but she pushed it to the side and down and threaded her cold fingers through his.

“Gail meant so much to me.” She squeezed his hand, then released it, and got a tissue from her purse. “She planned to tell you at the right time. You know the rest. I want to leave it to Gail, to her journals, to her words—read them, DR. She found the peace she was missing, and when she died, she was the happiest woman on earth. She adored you, so don’t get mad at me or her.”

He stared out the window, unseeing. Heat pulsed through his veins, his insides churning faster than that blender smashing ice. He couldn’t lose control right here in the coffee shop.

No way would Gail ever become one of those, those Bible thumpers—no way. Unless somebody stole into her confidence and brainwashed her. That’s what they do. Did Gail have a weak moment? Did Willie brainwash her?

“I’ll get this. It’ll be my treat.” She picked up the checks.

“Did you brainwash her?”

“Read her journals. It was her decision to make, not mine, yours, or anyone else’s. Read her journals.”

“Is that all you people know how to do—lie?”

Willie pushed up from the table, ready to speak.

But he grabbed her arm.

“You—keep your hands off me!” She shook herself loose. “Go home. Read Gail’s own words. Everything’s in her journals. Good night, DR.”

He slumped back into his seat. This couldn’t be happening. “Why would Gail become weak? Weak was never in her description,” he grumbled to himself. “No way.”

Head in his hands, elbows on the table, he sat there. This evening was just a terrible lie, and that was that.

He pushed from the booth, nearly plowing over Rachael as she sidestepped. He strode to his Jeep, then took the long way home to calm himself, driving recklessly on the narrow roads, ugly thoughts twisting through his mind. Good thing he didn’t meet anyone. Dusk on the lake was peaceful, a time he enjoyed, but not tonight.

He wouldn’t read her journals. They were her private thoughts. There’d be no second-guessing how she lived with him or within herself. He’d remember things the way they were, a dream come true.

He parked, headed straight to the kitchen Gail designed, and poured a tall glass of chardonnay. One of her favorites, other than Nicolas’s sweet red. He took his drink to the deck, to the settee. She’d picked out the overstuffed cushions and what must’ve been every pillow the Hammer Throw had. He plunked one in his lap now and caressed the canvas material. He’d laughed so hard that day carrying them all in the house. She’d had great taste. A hint of a smile tugged at his lips.

The wine began calming him, but one was his limit. He always teased Gail that he was a cheap date. Alcohol put him to sleep. He twisted the glass in his hand, its smooth crystal soothing. His gaze slid toward the house, toward their bedroom, his mind opening the drawer he’d left shut. He had sworn he’d never look at her journals, and he didn’t want anyone reading his.

The crisp breeze picked up as if eager to remind him this was Michigan in late September. Not that he’d forget. After all, he grew up just an hour away in Albion. Tonight seemed eerily familiar. Nights like this from his childhood haunted him. The night and all its evilness changed the course of his life, the dreamwalkers, what some evangelicals called God’s spirits, beginning to affect hundreds, maybe thousands of lives through him.

He ground his teeth. He’d shielded his two younger brothers like a shepherd looking out for his flock—with a wolf nearby. To this day, no one except Mom and Dad knew why he was so mad at God, not even Gail.

He’d turned nine that summer. Mike was four and Timmy two. His God-fearing parents taught him and his brothers to love the Lord.

That summer, their church held a revival in the town’s ballpark. Though their farmhouse was a good drive, they’d come to pray for new converts each night. And he loved playing with his friends behind the big tent during those long, languid nights.

Funny how everybody remembers those as “the good times,” times of football and cookouts, revival, and transformation. Most for God, but some not. Still, a time many couldn’t forget.

His life was transformed too. On the last night.

He sank back in the settee, sinking back into the past. A voice drawing him in…

“Stevie, how would you like to make a dollar? Help me load the chairs on my truck, and I’ll give you one.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll stay, if Dad doesn’t mind.” In Albion back then, a dollar was a lot.

Fred, the evangelist, asked DR’s dad if he could stay behind and help. Dad agreed as long as the preacher promised to bring Stevie up by the house when they were through.

DR closed his eyes, bringing the cool glass to the throbbing at one temple, still hearing those words like it was yesterday.… Had he ever been so happy again? All because he was going to earn a whole dollar.

He hoisted Stevie—a young DR—up into the truck’s passenger seat, then walked over to the church’s pastor, calling over his shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”

The men’s voices drifted through the cab’s open window while Stevie refolded the dollar bill lengthwise, pressing it crisp. “Well, Brian, we’ve had another great revival. You’ve got a good group of converts, maybe even a few tongue talkers. God willing, maybe we’ll do this again next year.”

“Bless you, Fred. Have a safe trip home. Thanks again for preaching.”

“Yes, sir. Momma says Jesus loves us.” Stevie looked straight ahead to watch the line on the road pass by.

“Yes, He does, and don’t you ever forget it.” Fred reached over and patted Stevie’s shoulder. “I’m parched. What do you say we stop and get a bottle of pop?”

Pop? What a treat! Stevie grinned, working his tongue around a loose molar. “Sure, sir. Can I have a Moon Pie too?” They rarely had money for extras like Moon Pies and pops at home. “Pastor, what is a tongue talker?”

“You know… I’d like a Moon Pie too. Let’s see. Hmm, how can I explain tongue talker? They speak God’s language, and He hears them. Some can sense the spirits too, dreamwalkers the old-timers called the spirits. Those that are good, God shows them, down in here.” He patted his stomach.

“You see, we live in a world at war. There are dreamwalkers, good guys, and then there’s powers and principalities, demons, the bad guys. The good guys are God’s helpers, who we know as the heavenly hosts or ministering spirits, along with the Holy Spirit, who is God too. We know the Holy Spirit wins, but the bad guys, the demons, and satanic forces, are trying to steal our souls to keep us from heaven.”

Confused, Stevie pulled a face.

And the pastor laughed. “That’s probably more than you can understand now, but I’m loving your enthusiasm for God, son. So you just keep learning and trusting God more, okay?”

“Yes, sir. I like hearing about the angels and God.” And thinking about the Moon Pies and Pop.

Fred drove for another minute or so, smiling, coming to Mrs. Grilton’s country store.

“Yep,” DR whispered. “I can see it even now.…”

The store’s paint had almost faded into oblivion. There, on the back roads of Albion, that seemed to be the way then. The economy was slowing from its boom days. Factories shuttered, moved south or to China, away from the union labor in the north. Still, some parts of Albion were booming like the local college. Their enrollment increased every year. The downtown businesses thrived on the students. Still did…

Mrs. Grilton came out of the back when they entered her store. Apron pockets full of string beans, she slid her feet along the floor, and her gray-haired head bobbed with the motion. “I heard it’s been a good week at the revival.”

Fred nodded and reached for the pies.

“Somebody said over eighty-two people came up. That right, Pastor?”

After Fred had gotten them both a Moon Pie and an RC Cola, he put the money on the counter and winked at Stevie. “Yes, ma’am. It’s been a good week. The Spirit was moving, choosing, and calling. Ninety-one souls. The church will do a great job helping them too. Pastor Brian, he’s a real man of God.”

“You’ve done a good job, Pastor.” She scooped up the money. “I attended a few nights. I hadn’t seen that many people saved in years.”

“Thank you, but it was all the Holy Spirit. He put the fear in them. All I did was throw in the line where He showed me.”

“I guess you’re heading home now. Well… you be safe.” She shuffled toward the back, stopping at the back-wall sink to get something.

They went over to a table by the checkerboard positioned near one of the two large potbelly stoves she kept burning. As they sat and enjoyed their snacks, they watched Butch and Bernie, the Griltons’ cat, and dog in the nearby corner. Bernie, an old hound dog, stretched out on the sagging wood floor, wagging his tail. Each time his tail crashed to the floor, the noise seemed to gong for another of those hundred years the dog must’ve lived. Butch, their orange tabby kitten, slapped at that tail and now and then pounced on it. He put his head down, stuck his tail high into the air, and after shaking it sideways a few times, bounded straight up, trying to catch the dog’s tail. Stevie and Fred laughed until their sides split.

The front door opened with a squeak, and as Bill stepped into the light where he could see well, he nodded to Stevie and Fred.

Looking back, DR could guess what Bill had been drinking at the Snuggery, a little hole-in-the-wall more like a shack. You could get bootleg whiskey if you were a regular and local. It was cheaper and got faster results. The Snuggery bought it by the barrelful, a gallon jug at a time, bringing it up from the foothills of Virginia. It was Franklin County ’shine, “finest in all the land.”

“Well, hello. Fancy seeing you here with the preacher man. Where’s your dad?” Standing a good distance from the preacher, Bill scuffled his feet like someone feeling guilty.

“Hi, Uncle Bill.” Stevie waved with his RC. “They all went home. I helped Pastor load his truck. Guess what? He gave me a dollar—a whole dollar—and bought me a Moon Pie and a soda!”

“Well now, that is a treat.” Bill eyed the preacher, and his voice dipped into a grumble, barely audible. “They normally don’t give, do they? Only take, take, take.”

“Okay, Stevie. That was a good snack, but I’d better get you home before your mom and dad start to worry.”

“Yes, sir.” Stevie hopped off his stool, looking back at Butch and Bernie as his uncle lumbered to the counter. “Thanks for the pop and snack. It was fun.”

“You’re very welcome. It was my good pleasure, especially for such a fine young helper.” Fred clamped a hand on Stevie’s shoulder. “I look at you, and I see such promise in your eyes. God’s going to you use you mightily.”

Bill paused at his words.

Saying goodbye, they descended the cracked and crumbling cement steps.

“Be careful, watch your step, and don’t fall,” Fred instructed, and Stevie took them one at a time.

“Mrs. Grilton says she’s been putting off repairs. Her husband has the gout, and she don’t know how long they’ll stay open anyways.” He skipped the last two, landing on his feet. “They’re the only store this far back from town. And business isn’t what it used to be, Dad said.”

“True enough. A few years and maybe they’ll be a thing of the past too.”

Fred had parked over by the air pump because of the size of his truck, so he and Stevie had a good walk across the dirt and gravel parking lot.

As they walked, Bill exited the store, waved his arms, and shouted. “You know, Pastor, I’d be more than happy to take him up with me. I’m going to see his dad. Makes no sense in you driving it too. Besides, it’s getting dark. If you don’t know the roads up there, you could get lost.”

Fred tipped his head to one side, looking Uncle Bill up and down, then stretched out a hand with a grin. “That’s mighty thoughtful of you. Stevie, are you okay going with your uncle, or do you want me to ride you up there?”

He mustn’t have been able to smell the booze on Bill.

“Aw, sure.” Stevie slid his hand into his pocket, still tasting Moon Pie and cola. The dollar bill crinkled beneath his fingertips.

“Alrighty then. Thanks, Bill.” Fred hugged Stevie, then tousled his hair. “I’ll see you next time I come through, son.”

With a nod at the evangelist, Stevie scrambled toward Bill’s car. Once red, now the thing could only boast a shade of pink. He yanked the door open, quick to climb in before slowing his uncle down. He gave one last wave to Fred before the man of God went bouncing down the back roads.

Stevie settled into Bill’s car, crinkling his nose at the reek of cigarettes and alcohol, losing the wonderful flavor of the night’s excitement—Moon Pies and pop and kittens and hound-dog tails. The old Caprice’s interior, worn and filthy, appeared like someone was living in it.

When Stevie held his nose, Bill chortled and slapped Stevie’s back. “Now, it’s not that bad, is it?”

“Uncle Bill.” Stevie lowered his hand from his nose, craning his neck as Bill made the turn from the lot. “Why are we going back to the church?”

“I left my jacket. Someone might get it if I don’t go back for it now.”

The drive lasted forever. Stevie scooched as close to the door as he could, but his uncle began reaching for him, trying to love on him. Stevie was trapped with nowhere to go, so Bill would get his way.

The daydream always ended, still, many years later, with a flood of tears cascading down his cheeks. No one else knew about it. He’d never told anybody except his daddy, but his mom knew too.

Stevie told his dad the night of the first attack. But Dad never did anything about it. Stevie overheard him talking to Mom.

“I don’t want people to hear about Bill or Stevie, especially at church,” Dad had said, not knowing Stevie was listening outside their door. “What would they think about Stevie—or us?”

“Mike, he attacked our son. He molested my boy. You’ve got to call the police. You gotta do something. What’s wrong with you? Don’t you love your little boy?”

“You know I love Stevie, but I can’t. No, I just can’t. Now let it go, Tammy Rae. Leave Bill alone—you hear me? It’s something I’ll have to live with, so that’s all I want to hear about it. Do you understand? And this will have to be our secret, you hear me?”

Nothing would be done. Not now, not ever.

Stevie leaned against the wall outside their bedroom, crying, afraid Bill would come back. Stevie would no longer be himself. He’d heard it all, and it seared into his memory. He’d never told Gail or anyone, just his dad. Mom wanted to call the police but had to act like she didn’t know anything.

Bill came by their house again two years later when Steven was eleven. His mother was outside picking tomatoes and cucumbers from the garden, and Steven was alone watching his brothers. His dad had never gone to the police. Steven made sure no one touched his brothers, even hiding them to protect them. Each time, something inside told him when and where to take them.

“Better not tell your dad again, or it’ll be your little brothers next time. Besides, your dad doesn’t want to ruin his good Christian name,” Bill threatened, laughing about the tongue talkers and dreamwalkers as he left.…

The wine helped. Now, DR could sleep.

On the plane, he daydreamed about Marsala, about his adventure. Too bad, Nicolas and Mekie weren’t coming along. He could be himself with them, but he felt like an outsider in Delton.

The skyway to the luggage area was open, and the salty scent of the Mediterranean awakened his senses. With the skies clear, things were looking up as he was met with the longest, tightest, and warmest hugs he could remember. Ever since he’d followed Gail to Malaga and confessed his love for her, her parents loved and supported him.

Monday morning came too fast, but with Nicolas’s help, DR put the rest of his plans, once just a dream, on paper. Now he had to execute them. Should be easy enough.

“Do you really want to add that rule? I don’t know.” Nicolas shook his head, checking out the passengers’ photos DR had copied to send to each of the passengers so they could familiarize themselves with the others. Along with contact information and the rules, which included the soon-to-be dreaded “no romancing the passengers,” DR also sent a list of housekeeping duties they could select to volunteer to help with during the cruise.

“Yes. There has to be some order on board. Otherwise, male egos and tempers might get involved. When Gail and I joined the team after getting married, I watched the eyes and attitudes of the other men. Their jealousy helped separate the team.” He shuffled the pictures and lists into manila envelopes, ready to mail.

The next day, they drove DR to the airport, and he was on his way. He loaded his luggage in the airport cart, and while the porter rolled it away, he reached for his in-laws with both arms. “I wish you guys were coming along.”

“We will see you soon. We love you.”

“I love you both too.”

Boarding the plane, he found his seat beside a young lady with a baby. Great, there’d be no sleeping on this flight, but maybe the baby wouldn’t be a crier. At least it was asleep now, but what were the odds a baby could sleep the entire way?

With the baby nestled on her shoulder, the mother introduced herself as Kim Ricci, an American who’d moved to Marsala five years earlier after marrying a local. She shifted the kid lower on her navy tank top, her shoulder-length curly brown hair bouncing over the baby’s face. Her skin, tanned a deep bronze, made her brown eyes seem even darker. “It’s nice to have this one sleeping more than twenty minutes at a time finally. The first six months, all you do is focus on them. Now, I can relax and enjoy some adult conversation.”

Probably good that he and Gail never had a kid. DR eyed the boy’s long lashes against pudgy cheeks. He’d never be able to take care of one of those little guys by himself.

“We’re heading back home. My husband’s been tied up at a conference the last four days, so I went over to see some of my girlfriends. It’s the first time I’ve taken Corey. It’s not quite as easy traveling with him, but the girls all loved making over him. How about you? Have you ever been to Marsala before?”

“No. It just happened to be the best place for me to start my next venture.” He twisted halfway around in his seat to talk to her.

“What type of venture?”

“I’m putting together a cruise to India and other places I used to explore with my wife. We’re starting out in Jeddah and then stopping in a few of India’s port cities.”

“Oh… So you’re in travel and hospitality? Is your wife coming too?”

“Actually, I’m an archaeologist. I’m just switching gears, taking others with similar backgrounds and passion to see some of the wonders I’ve experienced.” He peered out into space. “My wife won’t be coming. She passed on over a year ago. We loved sailing and exploring, so I’m following some of our plans and striking out again. I may start exploring, digging, in the future, but for now… Well, I just want to travel, to sail the seas.”

“I’m so sorry about your wife.” She ducked her head and tucked her boy’s arm back into the snuggly. “Well, it all sounds like fun. We love sailing too. If I can help in any way, I’ll be glad to. My family knows a lot of people in and around the area. My Marco may be able to help—he has friends and connections in the major shipping companies around Marsala—and some of the society ladies in Marsala may want to help you. They seem to know just about everyone or everything that goes on in the city.” She waved a finger at him and raised an eye suggestively. “But that can bring its own set of problems, especially for such a handsome widower.”

“Thanks, Kim. In America, it helps to know someone, but in the European and Middle Eastern countries, it can be a lifesaver.”

Their three-hour flight was already ending, and Kim was rising, shifting her now-waking son to her shoulder again as she slung her carry-on over her other shoulder.

“It’s so nice to meet someone from home and be able to talk.” She held out her hand. “I miss Houston. Life’s so different here, but I love it. We’d enjoy having you come visit with us so we could hear more about your adventure. We’re always looking for something different to try. Maybe Marco could help connect you with some of his friends.”

“That would be sweet. I’d love to get together.” Standing to the side, he moved his carry-on to make room as another passenger squeezed by.

“I’ll check with him first. I never know when his schedule might change.” She jostled her son as the boy started fussing. “Marco’s days are straightforward unless they have luncheons or dinners.”

“That sounds great. I’m already looking forward to meeting him. Here, let me carry that.” He scooped the shoulder bag from her before it dropped, then balanced it while he scribbled on a business card. “Here’s the number I’m staying at. I’ll be in and out, but you can always reach me on my cell phone.”

He helped her to the chauffeured car before returning her bag, then strolled a short distance to the taxi stand. On the ride to his hotel, he was able to stretch out his legs after the cramped airplane seating. Maybe this would all pan out. Kim seemed social, but maybe it was too good to be true—who knew if a word she said was factual anyway.

The taxi driver eyed him in the rearview mirror. “American, yes?” A grin stretched out his already wide mouth when DR nodded. “Welcome to Marsala—most beautiful beaches in the Mediterranean, yes? It lives up to the name the Moors gave it so many centuries ago—Port of God, Marsa Allah. Such a rich culture we have here, sir. A vibrant Arab influence woven into society, history, food, and architecture. Oh, yes, good sir, nowhere will you find a port like Port of God.”

“Great.” DR craned his neck to take in the city’s busy seaport located to facilitate commercial and private traffic. “I’ll be able to find the yacht I’m looking for here.”

The words Port of God whispered around him.

As he twisted back around, his thoughts slid to his Tuesday-morning appointment to inspect an Italian vessel named the SiCillian Summer Escape, a 140-foot yacht. Would it be as promising as it looked online?

* * * * *

Even as DR organized his rendezvous of past discoveries with an adventure on the sea, in Hollywood, more deadly plans were being made to bring down the US president. He wouldn’t be allowed to win another four years, no matter the cost. Worlds would collide soon as dangerous plots by some of the world’s elite could set a new course, a new destiny. DR’s hopes, dreams, and adventure, along with months of preparation, soon to be trashed.

* * * * *

When DR rang the bell on the front desk, Luigi Cancio, the marina’s manager, and oldest salesman, came forward to shake his hand. Apparently, he’d been waiting for their appointment. “Welcome, welcome, senor!” Luigi flicked back a hunk of once black hair, now graying. His blue eyes had also faded after years of Mediterranean sun. “I hope your travels have been well, sì? We have wonderful yachts to show you today, including the SiCillian Summer. But first, let me show you the Italian Retreat. It’s docked right here at the marina. This thirty-meter vessel has all the bells and whistles.”

Though its size wasn’t enough, DR let the man guide him through it, considering all the luxury items Luigi rambled off, before DR pointed out its shortcomings. “I’d rather have too much, than not enough.”

“Yes, Mr. Ray.” Luigi bowed, his obsequious manner making DR wonder. With the guy’s long history at the port, surely not all of it was good. “I’m afraid I must agree. Let’s take the golf cart for a short ride to see your prize.”

“Please, call me DR.” DR bent himself and tucked his long legs into the cart. “I hear Mr. Ray, and I’m looking around for my dad.”

“Very well. As you wish… DR.” Luigi pushed down on the cart’s fuel pedal. It leapt forward, and after about five minutes of friendly conversation and enjoying the sights, they arrived where the SS was docked. Having permission to tour the yacht, they climbed aboard.

Heart racing, DR wanted to pinch himself. “She’s incredible, well worth the golf-cart ride.”

“She is, sir—DR. Her price is also, um, shall we say incredible? But she’s worth every cent. When cruising through the Suez Canal, her size of forty meters and power will be an asset. Her four decks are all custom designed, and the antenna and satellite deck over the helm is ideal for a water cannon. As you know, special attention to security always pays off in the Indian Ocean and the canal. Even if you never, God forbid, come under attack, the peace of mind far outweighs saving a few dollars.” Luigi stretched himself taller. “The SiCillian Summer is the only vessel in the area for sale that can deliver everything on your must-have list.”

DR breathed in the salty Mediterranean air. The dock was much nicer here in the high-rent gated community. No small yachts or homes, only the wealthiest of the wealthy. So it would come with a price, which Luigi soon confirmed.

“The price… um, is twelve million euros. You had a different budget in mind, sì? Most do, but where you’re planning to travel is particularly active now. Just last month, terrorists attacked a smaller vessel in the Red Sea.” He patted the vessel’s stainless steel Sub-Zero refrigerator. “Besides, look at her. She is one in a million.”

Unfolding his arms, DR ran an admiring touch along the galley’s cherrywood finish. The builders spared no expense, for sure, choosing only the best materials and top-of-the-line appliances. He followed Luigi along the plush passageway to the captain’s quarters, turning in a circle to see it from all angles. The airy space offered a pleasing grandeur, and oversized port windows allowed for excellent views and natural light.

“Yes, I heard about that incident too.” He tilted his head back to study the recessed lighting.

“We didn’t use to see such things happen much. But the pirates are getting desperate—and bolder. The US-Iranian sanctions are cutting the pirates and terrorists off from money.” Luigi rocked back on his heels, his portly belly jiggling. “So, they have to steal more to feed their plots.”

“I’m hiring a security firm to equip my vessel, but I want to speak to Marco Ricci first. He may have inside information and connections with the best company.”

“Ah, yes…” Luigi’s Italian accent dragged the words out as they rounded the top step and entered the bridge. “You know Marco. Well, why didn’t you say so? He is a friend of ours and helps us very much. Maybe I can do something extra for a friend of Marco’s, yes? So how do you like the bridge? She has all of today’s modern electronics.”

“I don’t know Marco. I mean… well, I’ve met his wife on the plane here. Kim invited me to meet Marco. She suggested he might be able to help me cut through some red tape. You know what it’s like getting through the canal, how knowing the right people and procedures can get you through much quicker.” DR slung himself into the plush leather captain’s chair. “I love the bridge. The whole vessel’s top shelf. A little more than I want to spend, but maybe you can help me?”

“Of course, we’ll get their best price for you. It’s what I do.” But Luigi’s sideways glance had DR wondering. “Yes, and I know Marco. He is a good man. If his wife likes you, he will like you too. Someone was looking over you when you sat beside Kim on that plane.”

After a two-hour tour of the vessel, they trundled back in the golf cart to the marina. Luigi looked DR over, obviously still trying to sound out his thoughts.

DR shifted uneasily. Indeed, why was all this falling into place? Every time things started to go well, something knocked it off track. Still… As Luigi stopped at the marina, DR stayed in his seat rubbing his jaw. “I… I’ll have you work on the price for me. I think she’s the one.”

“Excellent. I’ll get that number for you, and remember, when you decide she’s the one, you can have her immediately.” Luigi tossed the cart key in its key slot, then reached to shake DR’s hand. “So, I’ll go get that price and let you know the exact amount. Check back this evening.”

DR strode toward his one-o’clock appointment with another first-mate candidate. With the passengers all lined up, now all he needed was his crew. Dressed in jean shorts, he’d told Gabriele to come dressed casually too. Who needed formality in interviews? After all, they’d be on the Disillusioned Illusion for long periods of time, and he was all about building relationships. The sun shone over his shoulder as he strolled the ancient stone walkway.

* * * * *

In Delton, Willie ground her teeth as Mike leaned back in his chair and drummed his hands on his desk in rhythm with the rain pounding at his window. The chill was on—and not just outside.

“You know DR blamed me.” Red mottled Mike’s face. “He said I never should’ve left him alone with ‘that woman.’ He ranted for fifteen minutes about you.”

Mike glared at her. “He told me you were supposedly a friend of Gail’s, more likely a pushy liar that had better keep ‘her goody-two-shoes attitude’ away from him. Do you know how long it’s been since DR and I had a good conversation like that?” He shoved away from the desk. “Now you’ve destroyed the whole evening. You never know when to quit.”

The side door opened, and Giggles, the station’s manager, stepped in between them—again. “Guys, tone it down a notch, okay?” She gave them each a look. “You’re my A-team. As you’re my hosts for the Early Morning Drive show, I need you to be a cohesive pair. Especially now that the broadcast institute’s ratings are coming out. So come on, puhleeese. The station needs the highest ratings possible to maintain our advertising purposes.”

Mike nodded as Giggles walked away.

Willie crossed her arms. She didn’t need to be treated like a novice. They all knew every review was money and WREAL, although Christian, was a commercial station, not donor-driven. The ratings could make or break their year.

Giggles, the owner’s daughter, had stepped in between them before. Willie… Well, sometimes she just didn’t know when to stop. Didn’t mean she’d apologize for it.

“I don’t get it.” Mike raked a hand through his hair and faced Willie, keeping his voice low. “I’m warning you—let it go. He doesn’t want to hear it, and neither do I.”

She jammed her hands on her hips, fighting the urge to, well, fight. Then her lips quirked. “You’re pretty headstrong too.” Seriously, God, the jerk still thinks the success of the morning show is because of him.

She winced as a twinge of conscience reminded her they both should know to give God the credit, being a Christian station. Sorry, God. I guess arrogance can pop up anywhere—doesn’t mean I’m ready to apologize yet.

“Years ago…” Mike’s shoulders deflated. The color drained from his face, and the heat seeped from his voice. He rubbed the pinched space between his brows. “I asked Dad what happened to DR, why he hated God so much. Dad only stiffened his jaw, and that was that. But it’s not, Willie. There’s something there. DR doesn’t even like being called by his given name anymore. Somewhere, something turned him—and I warned you before we went in the coffeehouse not to push anything.”

“I get it.” She came around to the other side where Mike sat. She almost reached to touch his arm, a peace-offering gesture he probably wouldn’t accept right now. “I do. But you gotta see my side too. I’ve seen your brother through Gail’s eyes—a man who was faithful, supportive, and above all, capable of loving a woman the way she needs it… and the way I’d want it.”

Pushing a pile of advertising brochures to the side, she leaned against his desk. Did I really say that?

“What in the world are you talking about?” He twirled around in his chair to get a better look at her. “Have you lost your mind?” His lips flattened as he leaned forward to grab his cup of cold coffee left over from breakfast.

“See? I do know him. Gail told me all about their courtship, how he wasn’t chasing after the girls like all the other boys, how he was her friend long before becoming her lover.” She slid her hip onto the desk. Where am I going with this? “A man like that, a man who can celebrate the woman he loves—he’s just got to be…” But she shut up.

Mike eyed her, then looked down inside the coffee cup, and set it on the far side of the desk. He spread out his hands and motioned for her to continue.

Knowing where this was going, she slumped back off the desk and bit her lip. No way would she say more.

DR was even more handsome now at thirty-one, his sandy hair still so crazy thick, and his eyes deep enough to search your soul. Face it, girl. You’re attracted to him like no other man you’ve ever met. Maybe it was because of his great physique and dark tan, his inner man, or did Gail plant a seed? Whatever it was, these feelings—these inconvenient desires… Well, she just had them. Is it futile?

“You can lay off, Mike. It’s not like I’m gonna see him again or speak to him. I get it. I was too forceful in declaring my message, but it felt like God was pushing me too. I know I’m too headstrong.” Would God let her find that true love she so wanted and needed? Had she saved herself in vain?

Mike softened, stood, and pulled her into his arms, slapping her back in an awkward man hug. “Sorry. No reason to let this squabble be the end of a successful friendship.”

He smelled like DR. She scooted back as if burned. No, God was a rewarder of those who seek, who knock, and who ask. She wasn’t going to start losing faith now… or its hope. But did God have another way for her, and she just missed it?

At twenty-seven, she’d never known a man. Her desires for DR were starting to drive her thoughts to places she’d rarely been. God, You’d better give me the grace.

The interviews Mike set up with DR would begin next Tuesday—if DR didn’t change his mind. They’d set the calls for once a week. The planning had to begin now since DR would be on the high seas.

Without Willie—of course.

---

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