Read Online Sweet Waters by Julie Carobini - Free Book Online Page B

antsy if I weren’t straining to hear the conversation playing out between Josh, Nigel, and Peg. What I do know is that, occasionally, Josh glances at me and each time, a cool wave rolls over my ribs.
    Mikey, who’s been hanging back and watching me work, looks like he has a question on his mind. “So that was kind of you to fix up a couple of rooms like that,” I say to him. “Do you volunteer regularly?”
    He shifts. “Yeah. A whole bunch of us from church try to do stuff like this. Josh does the most, though.”
    â€œReally? I wonder how he finds the time.”
    â€œCan’t always. When he’s staying at the firehouse he can’t come, so most of us just wait around until he’s back home.”
    â€œWell, you sound like a great group of people.”
    â€œYeah. Hey, you could come to church. It’s pretty awesome. You know where it is?”
    Back behind River Lane . . . I shake away the random thought. “Hm, no, I don’t think I do.”
    â€œIt’s over on Pines Way. You take Stone Creek to Willows, then you’ll make the next left and you’ll see it back behind River Lane.”
    I look up. “What?”
    He searches the counter, finds a pen and a brochure. “Here, let me write it down for you.” He doesn’t see that my hands have begun to shake so much that I’ve clasped them behind my back. How did I know his church was back behind River Lane? My mind churns, trying to spit out the source of that memory, but all it comes up with is a jumble of meaningless words.
    â€œ. . . so it’s real easy once you get the hang of the turns up there near the ridge.” Mikey holds his notes out to me.
    â€œThanks. I’m not sure when I’ll have the chance to stop in, but now I’ll be able to find it.” I pause. Maybe I should tell him that I have a random memory of the address. Then again, I don’t want him thinking I’m one of those people with mental powers, like Eliza seems to have at times. Instead I accept the brochure, and glance over to see that Josh has just given Peg a hug, and she is turning to leave—but not before assessing me one more time. Her mouth is a thin line, and yet her brows knit together, making her eyes look afraid. Did I sound that intimidating? I cringe. Someday I’d like to learn how to get my point across without drawing blood.
    Surprisingly, though, Nigel wears his same benign expression, and I’m beginning to wonder how and why he does that so well. I turn back to Mikey. “What’s the name of your church, by the way?”
    â€œCoastal Christian.”
    Somehow, I knew he’d say that.
    THAT NIGHT CAMILLE AND I take a walk along the boardwalk that snakes its way along the edge of the coast. While I keep gnawing on difficult-to-recall memories of us as a churchgoing family, Camille chatters on about the drama at the diner this morning. Peg’s sudden reentry into the place had sent both crew and customers scattering, according to Camille, who stayed put to eat her pumpkin-bourbon muffin.
    â€œYou should’ve seen her, Tara. She was barking and banging pans and shouting out words like ‘muesli!’ and ‘brie cheese!’ Oh it was the funniest thing of my life. One guy came in the door, heard the racket, and turned right back around. But poor Holly kept on twisting her hands together and glancing at Jorge and then at me. I was glad to be there for her this morning.” She stops. “Look!”
    My gaze searches the darkness for what she’s found. “I don’t see anything.”
    â€œTwo surfers out there in the dark. Can you believe they night surf?”
    A month ago my mother was still in the United States, I was waiting for an elusive engagement ring, and traveling to California was still in my “someday” mental file. Now . . . I’d believe anything. I nod, and we continue walking along the wooden