Sky

By J. R. Caldwell

When Jamar Clark’s girlfriend leaves without giving any explanation, he retreats to Topsail Island, his beach haven in North Carolina, to sort things out for the summer and get his head together. Rather than an end of a relationship, the move opens up a whole new world for the twenty-seven year old.

SKY is a story about a little girl who may grab your heart and not let go; a story of love lost and love found; a story of friendships, old and new, and how parenthood upends all that you thought life was about in your youth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J. R. Caldwell
• Release date: Jul 17, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463360996

J. R. Caldwell

In 2003, Jim joined a local writer's group for the enjoyment of sharing and critiquing his writing with others. Through various short stories, exercises and challenges, the experience led to the fulfillment of long held dream: to write a novel. He has since written four, three of which are published through Smashwords.com.Jim writes with his heart, putting on paper emotions that people experience, live and sometimes celebrate every day. He lives in Western Pennsylvania with his wife, two birds and a cat.

Book preview

Acknowledgements

Any author will tell you that as enjoyable as writing can be, there is an inherent need for support and help along the way. This book would never be considered finished in my mind without first acknowledging Kim, a treasured friend of my wife and me, for her eagle eye for typos, her editing skills as an avid reader (as well as sound advice on the Spanish words) and the patience to journey with me these months as each chapter evolved. My heartfelt gratitude. Also my thanks to Paul for his insightful suggestions.

A New Start

Chapter One

The office was spacious and modern unlike the appearance of the rest of the motel. Lounge chairs around a coffee table to the right in front of a large picture window. A trio of vending machines lined the one side; drinks, candy and toiletries a traveler may have forgotten, for sale. Half hidden between the third one and the adjoining wall was a condom dispenser, not fully visible to anyone but those looking for such items. A high, newly renovated counter with a nice sized desk behind it. And a furnished room behind that with a television.

"Holla, the stocky woman with large droopy breasts resting down on her rotund stomach said. And what can I do you for?"

I’d like to rent a room for a few months.

Hearing the long term request, the lady at once called a gentleman from the other room. Rudy’s the owner. He handles those kind of stays.

Fifty dollars a week, paid every Monday morning at the beginning of the week; no pets, no drugs and no prostitutes from the beach, said the proprietor, a short, stout, round-framed man, as he held the door open to the motel room for Jamar to enter. Following on his heels, Rudy peppered him with questions, trying to get a read on the potential renter.

College roadie down here for summer work?

No. I’ve been out of college three years.

Drifter passing through?

No. Just looking to do something different with my life.

Running from something or someone? It better not be the law!

Jamar didn’t want to give an honest answer but instead just grunted leaving his interrogator to assume that answer was also a negative.

The room had a queen size bed, the biggest item inside as it dwarfed the tiny table substituting for a desk to the right, a rank-smelling, mini fridge placed immediately beside it. The bathroom won no prize for space either as Rudy instructed him that he had to go completely into it and stand close to the commode without sitting before being able to close the door. The shower was a homemade one above an old fashioned tub.

We change the sheets and towels every week. As Azie said, my name’s Rudy if you need anything else. I own this motel. He propped up the clipboard that he had been carrying down by his side. Now I need some info.

Jamar stood attentive.

Name, again? You may have given it down at the office, but it’s not on this page.

Jamar.

No, first name first.

That is my first name.

It brought Rudy up short as he moved closer to examine the kid’s light brown skin he had mistaken for a decent suntan already for late spring. That sound’s like a black mama’s boy’s name.

It is.

Rudy circled him, inspecting every inch and sizing up the attitude on his face and in his voice. We normally don’t rent to your kind, but somehow you seem to be okay.

Jamar didn’t react to the blunt insult, but instead kept his cool smile. The comment wasn’t that unusual for 1998 in the South. Their prejudice, unlike the northern folks who often camouflaged it in wry humor, was worn openly on their sleeves and in their speech.

Oh well. I guess you’re okay. Last name?"

Clark.

Rudy registered confusion again. He squinted up to the six foot, twenty-some looking kid before him. Now that sounds white!

It is. Jamar calmly answered again. A Caucasian professor at a college who married another professor late in life. A black one.

The idea of educated parents alleviated somewhat the fear of renting to your kind.

Where you coming from? I have to put some sort of address.

Saegertown.

Now where on God’s green earth is that?

Up north. Little town in Northwest Pennsylvania. South of Erie.

Well, I’ve heard of that one, he grunted, because of the lake. One of the five. He laughed a hearty belly snicker that made his hunched shoulders shake. Probably the only thing I remember from geography at Hampstead High. He dropped the pen and bent to retrieve it, almost toppling down on his semi bald head.

Name of someone to call if there’s an emergency?

This one caught Jamar off-guard. He hesitated for a moment; turned and headed to use the bathroom. Sorry, I have to pee bad. Please give me a sec.

Well. Anyone? Rudy insisted on his return.

I suppose I can give you the name of one of my sisters, but I really don’t have a phone number for either one of them. Haven’t seen nor talked to neither of them for three months since my dad’s funeral. There’s fifteen years between me and them. I’m the ‘mistake’ they didn’t approve of in the late second marriage. He emphasized his sarcasm with air quotation marks.

I’ll leave it blank for now, but if your intention is to stay the whole summer, I’ll need some sort of contact. Rudy rocked back and forth on the balls of his stubby feet. Had a summer roadie a couple years ago bitten by a shark. No kin given and the hospital … well with the insurance and us and all. I’m telling you, it was a mess until he came around from the shock. I determined that we should always have a number up front. You staying the whole summer season?

Most likely later than that.

Then I best need something.

I’ll get you something by tomorrow. I’ll call information.

Rudy handed him the key. Cash only, son. We don’t accept checks from college temps. We have too many in the drawer that have bounced higher than any super rubber ball.

Jamar handed him a fifty.

One bill and one bill only.

Rudy caught sight of a full wallet.

This also calmed his fears, thinking the kid might be responsible. At least he had a few greenbacks left over. It wasn’t like many others, whom he watched empty their billfold to pay for the first week only.

You want to pay for a couple weeks upfront?

Not wanting to offend him by saying that he hoped not to stay here long but get a better place after a couple paydays, Jamar was coy. No, I’ll go week to week.

At the outside door again, Rudy pointed down the corridor of the numerous motel rooms. Someone’s in the office daily from nine to nine, seven days a week. There’s a pay phone should you need to call someone, but try not to hog it with long conversations. There’s only the one phone for all these guests. He waved his arm down the way.

Understand, answered Jamar.

You speak white, Rudy remarked, none of that Ebonics stuff. I’m feeling okay with you. But remember: no whores or drugs. If you find a good clean girl to lay, that’s different and understandable, but none of the stank girls of the night. He grinned as he grasped his elbow. It’s more for your protection than ours. Too many roadies get robbed of their pennies or other possessions in the search of a few minutes of pleasure. He poked his index finger into his gut. You strike me as too smart a kid to take stupid chances and let crabs at the beach get in all the wrong places. His hardy torso bounced with laughter at his intended pun. If you know what I mean. Ten steps later, he shouted over his shoulder. Enjoy your stay.

Inside, Jamar moved the large jammed backpack he had laid on the bed to the side table; stood staring at himself in the tiny, oval mirror hanging above it and heaved a deep sigh. The only decent looking piece of furniture was the cream colored loveseat by the window. It appeared new, a recent purchase to replace, perhaps, one that was as worn out as the bed.

Although the room sported a wide open closet, not even a cloth curtain on a rod hanging down, he had nothing to be put on the wire hangers. Underwear, tees and shorts were sufficient until he could get established with a job and some steady income. For now he could work off the twenty-five hundred he profited by selling his dad’s ‘95 Pontiac Sunfire that he inherited.

His head pounded from not enough sleep. The two hour bus trip from Saegertown to Pittsburgh, the twenty two hour ride to Wilmington, hitchhiking early this morning with the fruit peddler bringing his produce up route 17 to his road stand just this side of the swing bridge; and finally the nine block walk down S. Shore Drive to the Shifting Sands motel had him exhausted.

Removing his sandals, he stretched out on the bed to rest before filling out the application that he had downloaded up north for the store up near the Surf Pier. It creaked with worn out springs of countless guests and the doings of one night stands. I better set the alarm on my watch, he thought, I’m tired enough to sleep a full twenty four hours or more.

But it wasn’t so.

He couldn’t do anything except thrash his head about on the ultra thin pillow. It was food he needed more than sleep that caused the headache. He was hungry; nothing but a granola bar and M&M’s on the grueling road trip.

Grabbing his wallet, Jamar removed a good portion of the remaining cash and stashed under the mattress way towards the middle and left just a normal amount for buying lunch. Walking the last leg, he had spotted a burger place only two streets away, near the public access to the beach.

Two chili dogs, a plastic pint of ice tea and a bag of potato chips and he felt the pressure in his temples subside. Although the seasonal hours had not begun, and the stores weren’t that busy, Mr. Tralis at Wings said he couldn’t meet with him until almost closing time at eight o’clock. Feeling better about coming here, Jamar strolled up the steps and over the wooden walkway, stopping to breathe in deep the salty smell of the ocean and feel its constant breezes.

He heard it.

The interminable roar of the waves.

The screeching of the sea gulls, the tweet calls of the sandpipers and sterna.

His favorite place in all the world, holding tons of summer memories when both of his parents were still alive.

He descended down to the soft sand tumbling over the top of his sandals and filling the space between his toes. Slipping them off his feet, Jamar set them alongside the steps beside someone else’s flip flops.

The very experience of all his senses assuaged the bulk of the tension in his neck and shoulders as he pulled his shirt off and stuffed a top handful of it into his back pocket.

He was here.

Topsail Island.

Good morning, said a salt-and-pepper haired woman clad in a long flowing, flowered dress and swinging a large brimmed hat at her side as she swished past Jamar while he stood at the water’s edge.

Morning, he replied with a side glance.

The water felt exhilarating, washing the soft sand from his soles and replacing it with the darker, mushier kind. The waves were calm today. The tide on the way out. A short distance down the beach three older looking gents cast rods as they waded out a few yards into the Atlantic. And the sky! The sky was crystal clear from north to south in the panoramic scene except … except for the far horizon where the water drops out of sight. If this were a painted picture instead of reality, there was a good inch of solid black cloud cover between the open blue sky and the edge of the ocean.

A metaphor of what’s happening in my life right now. Leaving the darkness way out there to gradually disappear over the brink.

There was a scattering of vacationers, The ones without young kids as most of the schools were not out yet for the summer, or the retired couples who spent their time walking or sitting with a novel. These folks were not the beachgoers who dug with colorful shovels to sculpt sand castles.

As Jamar stared across the water, eyeing an early afternoon fishing craft bobbing about a half mile out, another familiar sound of days gone by on this shore roared from left to right: a training session in a helicopter from Camp Lejeune. One time when he was seventeen, sitting on the beach with a summer fling, he talked of a naval career to impress her. But it soon frittered away back home when his folks declared that he attend Edinboro University on a free ride because they were faculty there.

Meandering in the shallow ripples and caught up in the swash sounds of the waves as they slapped his ankles, he reached the steps at Surf Pier.

The pungent odor of caught fish being filleted attacked his nostrils as he ambled out the wooden structure. As a kid, the smell bothered him until he experienced his first hours with his dad fishing from the far end of the pier. Over time, he grew used to the stench in favor of being with his father in his favorite vacation activity. The two never kept their fish. Howard Clark was a strong proponent of catch and release.

Why? He thought as he peered into the vast body of water all around him at the rounded edge. And where is she? No one just ups and leaves without a reason or an explanation? That is the hardest part to understand. I have no clue whatsoever. No note left behind; no I’m-not in-love-with-you-anymore tearful good-bye; no I-need-some-space plea. Nothing!

Strolling back past a few of the town’s folks fishing off the side railing, he stopped to watch a number of amateur surfers practicing their moves to catch a wave at the right time and height.

He walked, kicking the dry sand.

He weaved and shuffled in the shallow waves.

He stopped and searched to see if the dark portion of the sky had finally disappeared.

It had not.

Jamar passed a young ashen blond girl with the same hairdo as Nicole and had a flashback to walking hand in hand on Lake Erie’s shores.

He scuffed the surf out of frustration.

He blinked as though there was something in his eye rather than have that same bubbly morning greeter, coming back down the beach, see his tears and biting his lip.

Distracted and lost in his melancholy, Jamar tripped over a tiny blue bucket beside a middle aged woman stooped down and studying the shell in her hand. Her day’s collection spilled out onto the beach.

Ooops, he blurted, I am sooo sorry. I wasn’t paying attention. Jamar bent to retrieve the contents and shove them back into the container.

Look at this, she said with a big smile, not bothered at all that he had knocked over the plastic pail. I have been looking for one of these for weeks. Didn’t find one all of last year. She displayed a small black shark’s tooth intact.

Wow. That’s awesome. Jamar said. For weeks? Are you local or do you have a lot of vacation time?

She laughed. I live here now. Moved down five years ago after the company I worked for in Ohio closed. I’m a realtor for Suncrest Realty renting condos. This is my day off.

As he remembered, most if not all the people on beaches near the water are pleasant and easily converse without ever knowing your name or your story.

The sun bathed his face but it did not ease his heart.

The breeze caressed his coal black, curly cropped hair but it did not clear his confused head.

The water cooled his feet but it did not heal the hurt.

After two and a half hours, he crossed back to the town and his new digs.

As he approached room one-ten, he saw the orange folded note tacked to the door under the number: Phone call for you about an hour or so ago. Said his name was TJ. 724-32-----.

Jamar sighed, recognizing his best friend’s number.

Chapter Two

You all in and settled, Chico," the same heavyset lady in her sixties at the front desk said with a flair, as a couple holding a toddler passed Jamar on their way out. From her darker skin, her nasal accent and greeting, he surmised her to be of Mexican descent if not an immigrant.

He nodded in response. I need to use the telephone, please.

There you be, she sang as she pointed to the wall phone in the far right corner, a semi-private area if you whispered.

Handing her a five, I need change, please.

"¡Ay, caramba! Aren’t you a polite one. Every sentence ends with a please." Everything she said had a joy and a smile attached.

Jamar waited through the four rings before: Hi. You’ve reached TJ. Not here right now. I’m out at some store trying to convince them where to stock our Lays Potato chips for best product placement. If this is a complaint, or better yet, an order, I will call you back the minute I return unless it is too late. In that case, first thing in the morning. Wait for the beep.

"How did you know where I --? What’s a matter with me? Stupid question. Of course you figured it out from all the times growing up when you came here with me and my folks. I need to go apply for a job now. Call you early tomorrow morning. I’m pretty sure Wings won’t open before ten if they hire me tonight. Summer