Sanctuary

By Peter A. LaPorta

The inhabitants of New Orleans thought they were safe. They had survived countless storms and were not about to evacuate. In those late days of August, 2005, they thought they could overcome. They were wrong. They put their homes, their property and their lives in the hands of a levee system. They gambled on the Bayou and lost when the levee broke, washing away everything they had. The only surviving aspect of the human condition was their faith.

Michael Scott watched his wife die in his arms as he struggled to save his daughter Trinity from the storm. When the Coast Guard rescued them from atop their washed out family home, they were forced to move on without her. Now, the widower is a single parent and must rebuild for the only family he has left. A new home, a new state and a new life await but he must first overcome his devastating loss. His wife was his destiny, his lovebird, his lobster and his forever love. In order to move forward he must put it all behind him. Can he ever find love again or is he destined to be washed away like the love of his life? Faced with challenges at every turn, Michael Scott hides in one Sanctuary after another to avoid the inevitable bridge that he will need to cross in order to find happiness once again.

Come along on this heartfelt journey as LaPorta explores the courage, resolve, and closure needed to possess as his characters look to the everlasting rainbow. Sanctuary will evoke human emotions; the depth of which you may never have experienced before. Life supplies us all with an infinite supply of love but you have to be brave enough to open your heart again to experience it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Dec 26, 2023
• ISBN: 9798823019606

Peter A. LaPorta

Peter A. LaPorta is the International Best-Selling Author of eight previous titles of Fiction and Non-Fiction. A former leader at Walt Disney World and Universal Studios, he is an award-winning speaker and leader heralded all over the world for his excellence and achievement. Through various mediums including print, television, and radio, his words have resonated to audiences around the globe. His breakout non-fiction book, "Ignite the Passion, A Guide to Motivational Leadership" was named by Amazon to be in the top 20 motivational leadership books of all time. He burst into the Fiction scene with "Normandy Nights", a finalist for Best Historical Fiction by Author Academy Awards. His follow up blockbuster, "The Card" was nominated for Best Thriller Fiction by Author Elite Awards. His suspense thriller, Turtle Master, A Passage through Time, brought audiences to the edge of their seats as they traveled the world with a serial killer. His latest work, The Widow’s Box- A Test of Time takes a more poignant turn as you travel through time and generations, promising to entertain you from this Master in Entertainment himself. For more information on Peter and his incredible journey visit http://laportaenterprises.com.

Book preview

2005

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"D ad, it’s time to go."

The young teenage girl shook her father gently on the shoulder. He was huddled against the wall, curled up in a fetal position as an endless cascade of tears soaked his pillow.

I can’t.

The young girl sighed. She knew her father was completely broken yet someone had to be the adult. She was angry at the situation and the world, but at the moment she had nothing but love for her father. She sat down on the side of the hotel bed and leaned against him in an attempt at comfort.

Dad. I know you are hurting. I’m here. I’ll always be here. It’s just you and me now Dad. I’ll take care of you and you take care of me. That’s the deal. We’ll get through this together.

Trinity paused just long enough to see if her father was going to break out into tears and start shaking again. When she was convinced he was slowly abating from his latest breakdown, she pressed on.

We are already late. The funeral director wanted us there by three o’clock and it is already 330. There’s a lot of people coming at 5 so we better get over there. We don’t want to screw this up for Mom.

Trinity Scott felt herself walk off the cliff on her final words. Like some cartoon character, she was just waiting for the ground to fall out. She knew it would only take a second for her father to break down again.

Ooh, Trinity, your poor mother…

His sobs shook him to the core as he buried his head in his hands. He turned and let his daughter hold him until the crying stopped. Not another word was spoken as he rose and entered the hotel bathroom. Trinity knew that her father would not shower or do anything to feel better at the moment. It was her job to get him to the Funeral Home and she was already way behind. People would understand. They could not blame a 16-year-old girl who just lost her mother for anything.

Ten minutes passed and she was about to go knock on the bathroom door when Michael Scott emerged in a black suit. His daughter had picked out his black shirt and white silk tie for the occasion and he was not about to argue the point. He barely knew what day it was in all of the chaos and he was not aware of what clothes they actually had left after the storm. The FEMA people had gotten them set up in the hotel room and the Red Cross had given them provisions and vouchers for more. Their lives had been reduced to a few bags of clothes and a stack of paperwork in the corner. Trinity was right. All they had left was each other.

You look nice, Dad. Are you going to be ok today?

Michael looked down at his left hand and grasped his gold wedding band. He turned it around so that the cross was showing on top. He nodded his head as he raised his puffy eyes to look at his daughter. I’ll be ok, kiddo. For you, I’ll be ok. It’s just another show, another performance and the show must go on, right?

His daughter nodded as she stepped forward to embrace her father. She knew it was not just another performance. He would not be waving his baton in front of yet another group of musicians. There were no solos and no crescendos. He would have to face his most challenging audience ever as he gave the eulogy for his wife. It was time to bury Trinity’s mother and there was not a street in New Orleans left for a brass band to lead a parade.

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T he Blue Bayou Funeral Home and Crematorium sounded more like a jazz club than what it actually was. Trinity had thought that it was fitting that her father chose such a place but the reality of the situation was that in all the destruction there were very few funeral parlors still operating and none were burying the deceased. If you chose not to cremate your loved ones, they would need to go into storage or be transported out of the area. Most cemeteries were still under water and those that were not were in no shape to bury anything. A mausoleum was a possibility but again, most were in areas that were still flooded. Cremation was the only real option at the moment.

Trinity and Michael Scott entered the funeral home and were greeted at the door by the Funeral Director and his assistant. They were a husband and wife team yet most guests that passed through their doors were not the wiser. In the lobby, a beautiful bouquet of lilacs sat on a table beside the guest book and prayer cards. On the easel was a picture of the deceased and accompanying information.

In Loving Memory…

Jennifer Scott

1967-2005

Celebration of Life…5pm

Lilacs were her favorite…

Trinity held her father close as she nodded in agreement. They know Dad. That’s why they have them there. I’m sure there will be plenty of lilacs for Mom.

Mr. Scott. As you know you have our deepest sympathy and support. We will do everything in our power to make your wife’s final celebration of life respectful. You still have a short while until we let guests in. You and your daughter can go into the Chapel and have some time alone with your wife. The service will be open casket as requested. Take all the time you need.

Michael Scott choked back his words but nodded in acknowledgement as he and his daughter held each other closely. He had been married to his wife for seventeen years but would only have a few hours to say goodbye to her. Once she was returned to ashes and placed inside the urn, he would see her face only in pictures and in memories. Whenever their flooded homelessness ended, the ashes would come to their new home and not sit in a columbarium.

Father and daughter entered the chapel and stood in the doorway looking around the room. There were sofas in the rear and side of the room, but the other chairs were lined up in rows facing the podium in the front. In a short period of time, the room would be filled with friends and neighbors that could attend, along with many co-workers.

The temporary casket that displayed the late Mrs. Scott was adorned with lilacs, school photos, and a bible. The photograph over the casket, like the one in the lobby, was donated from the school where she and Michael worked. All other personal photos were washed away in the flood waters when the levees broke. Memorabilia of loved ones would be very scarce in the New Orleans area for many years to come.

The pair slowly walked up to the casket and approached it with trepidation. At that moment, it was Trinity that began to shake as a wave of emotion gripped her. Her father tried to hold his daughter as her knees gave out. He guided her to the kneeler in front of the casket. Reaching out, she grasped her mother’s hand as her strong resolve crumbled into a daughter’s grief and suffering. The burden was now shifted back to Michael to be the rock and patriarch to care for his daughter. The two were still kneeling at the casket when the Director came in later to announce the arrival of guests.

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B y 5:30pm, the Blue Bayou looked more like a school assembly than the solemn building it actually was. People from far and wide filled the seats and there was nothing available except standing room only by the time Father Derek took the podium. For once, the high school children did not need to be silenced. They had gathered to say goodbye to one of their favorite teachers.

Dearly beloved. On behalf of Michael and Trinity, we thank you for coming out tonight to celebrate the life of such an amazing person, our sister in Christ, Jennifer Scott. In the past month, I have officiated over far too many celebrations as all of our lives have been devastated by Hurricane Katrina. There are no words that can explain the nature’s wrath we have all endured and it is far too easy to seek blame in our moments of despair. As I am certain Jennifer would be standing at food lines assisting FEMA to feed others, she would want you all to come together and celebrate her life, her shining light, in music and prayer, and not dwell on what has been lost.

Father Derek paused for a moment to collect his thoughts and look around the room at the many loving faces staring back at him. Clearing his throat of emotions, the priest continued.

"I first had the opportunity to meet and work with Jennifer many years ago as she came to me after a Sunday service and introduced herself. With the humblest approach, she offered to share her musical background with the congregation in order to give something of herself to the church. As an accomplished cellist and music teacher, she wanted to fill the halls of the church with beautiful sounds that would make the Angels smile down upon us. In her kind, loving way, she was letting me know that our current music program left something to be desired. I was blessed to be humbled in such a way.

In the time that followed, Jennifer was true to her promise. Our stumbling music program flourished under her direction as she and Michael developed talent all around them. Sunday services were looked forward to not only to receive the holy Gospel but to enjoy the wonderful music. Her infectious smile was transferred to all as every note radiated the soul and rose the congregation to float amongst the Heavens…"

The words that followed became a blur as Michael drifted in his memories to all the services they played for before. The church and all the people would disappear as he would gaze into his wife’s eyes, playing the piano as he peered beyond the lyre and the sheet music in front of him. Their eyes would meet and his fingers combined with her bow strokes set off on their own journey together. What was left was the two of them; escaped in the moment. One breath; one heartbeat; one with the music.

He was brought out of his memory drift as the funeral home came alive with music. The organist was playing the intro to Amazing Grace, which Michael always found whimsical since it amounted to just two chords, F and C major, played in sequence. When the funeral attendees started to sing, the collective mood was elevated. Instead of attending the final services for their friend, co-worker, mother and wife, the music brought smiles and memories of Jennifer resonating her bow from frog to tip, echoing in the hall of the church. She loved to play this piece at weddings and funerals alike and it was one of her favorite selections to offer from her extensive repertoire.

When the music came to a stop, all voices became hushed once more. The funeral director said something to the crowd in attendance but Michael was still lost. In that moment he wondered if he would ever be found. Jennifer was his guide post. She was the one who dragged him away from his piano to eat. She made sure he did not simply get lost in lesson plans and concert planning. She was his rock and without her at his side he was certain to float away into oblivion.

Michael...

How can I go on without her…

Mr. Scott?

She is my everything….

Dad, they are waiting for you.

Wait, what?

The eulogy Dad. It’s time for you to talk about mom.

Oh…. I’m so sorry, I guess…

It’s ok Dad. Just go ahead.

Michael Scott stood on wobbly legs and walked cautiously over to the podium. He cleared his throat and then drank from the cup of water that was handed to him from somewhere. Water. So much water. That’s the whole reason we are here…

Thank you for your patience. My apologies. This is all very surreal.

Michael took another sip of water before continuing. Every tear filled eye in the room was upon him. He had performed in front of every size crowd imaginable but this would be the most difficult performance of his life.

"My wife…Jennifer. I first met my wife, Jennifer, when we attended the same university. I was walking past a practice hall and I heard someone playing ‘Macarthur Park’ on piano. I stopped to listen but it was clear the beauty that was playing the keys was not in her comfort zone. I was smitten to say the least. She struggled in the bridge and I entered trying not to startle her. She stopped playing when I entered and apologized because she thought she had booked the practice room for the whole hour. I assured her that was the case but I had stopped to offer assistance. I told her if she switched to first inversion in the beginning of the bridge, she would transition easier to the key change that followed. It’s funny how I remember that conversation as if it were yesterday. I remember her telling me that her main instrument was cello but she had to learn the piece for her piano class. It was as if destiny had put her in my path. This beautiful young woman with sparkling eyes was in need of tutoring and I, the piano player, was in need of a beautiful woman to teach. The path of destiny was sealed.

I won’t bore you with the details but as you all know, we graduated together and both became music teachers. Somewhere along the line, I convinced her to become my wife and the rest is a musical masterpiece that has lasted seventeen years. Together we played our music and together we taught our music. Somehow, we created the most beautiful thing in the world and Trinity was born. Becoming a father was akin to me trying my hand at playing reed instruments. Somehow sound comes out but you cannot really call it music. In fatherhood, the words always came out and I tried to be a good father but it was always Jennifer who was the parent. I’m not sure Trinity would have ever grown to the beautiful woman she is today if not for her mother…"

The tears came on suddenly as he looked over at his daughter. She had been a rock for him for so long but now she had succumbed to the moment. It was time for him to be strong for his daughter. He took a moment to wipe his tears and drink more water before continuing.

"…we always loved New Orleans. It gave us heart and soul no matter what music we were playing. You all know that the cello does not fit in well with the Zydeco music of the area, but we made it work. People are united in music as long as they feel it in their soul. We played so many different classical pieces and never once did the blues from Bourbon Street spoil the melody. New Orleans loved us and we loved it right back. It was this love that made us stubborn and not wanting to leave when the world was telling us to run.

The first warnings of Katrina came through and like all other natives we laughed at them. We were not going to be scared about a little wind and rain. Nothing was going to drive us from our home. We were protected by the levee. It was just a tropical storm then and we had been through countless storms like that. Jennifer and I were confident that the storm would hit Florida as usual then bounce out to sea. On the 25th of August, we were happy that it had done just that. We picked up our picnic chairs and the few flower pots that had blown over on the porch and we thought the worst had passed. We really thought…."

The tears choked him up as he looked around the room. Every person seated in that funeral parlor had their own story to tell about the day that followed. They had all endured some kind of trauma and were sitting in front of him nodding their heads as they relived those horrors in their minds. The only one not in agreement was his wife, who lay lifeless in the coffin next to him.

"I can see that you all have your own stories that day and I will try not to dwell in the devil that came to us the next day. When the levee broke…when the floods came…well none of us were ready. Our stubborn nature led us to face the waves. The water swelled. It was a good thing that the power went out because we probably would have sat in front of the television as our house was flooding. At first, it was the front steps, then the car and porch and when the water started pouring into the living room we knew we were in danger. There was nowhere to go. Nowhere to turn. The car could not be driven and the first floor of our house was soon under water.

Jennifer was the wise one. She always kept the level head. She had gotten baggies out of the kitchen and started bagging up items quickly. A family heirloom here, a loaf of bread and cheese there. We filled backpacks with the baggies and climbed to the second floor of the house. When the water started coming up the stairway, there was nowhere left to go but out on the roof. We exited out Trinity’s window and onto the roof and we were shocked to see the devastation around us. Cars were floating by along with every piece of New Orleans we had come to love. We could see neighbors upstream had taken the same path and were huddled together on their roofs. We were all in the same terrible situation and there was no help in sight.

My wife had kept calm through all of it. She had us sing songs as the world floated by. We prayed and prayed and prayed. It was during the prayer to St. Michael that the devil had his say. We were laying on the roof, holding on for dear life and praying. That should have been enough. I didn’t even see the tree branch coming. It came drifting by at such a speed and the branch just reached out and hit my wife. When it hit her in the head she was still praying…"

This time when Michael burst into sobs it was his daughter that stood and comforted him. She hugged against him and gave him the strength to get through it. After several minutes the sobs subsided and he was able to compose himself.

"In times such as these, it is easy to cast blame. You could raise your fists to the heavens and ask why. You could swear to the devil and to the weather and to the engineers who created that levee. You could do all of those things but it will not bring our Jennifer back. She is with the angels now and she is playing her cello in Heaven. For that I am thankful. We are able to bring Jennifer here to say goodbye but so many cannot. They have no idea where their loved ones went. Trinity and I want to thank the Coast Guard and the team that rescued us off that roof. My daughter and I are alive thanks to them. My Jennifer will be laid to rest because of them. We thank you for your service and your bravery.

None of us knows what tomorrow will bring. We pray for brighter days here in New Orleans but I fear they will not come for a long time. Thank you all for coming and celebrating my wife with me. She would have wanted you to find joy. She would have wanted all of us to find music in the darkness. For today, we pour out our hearts with love to my eternal soulmate, my love bird, my lobster…my Jennifer. Thank you."

Michael turned away from the coffin and with the assistance of Trinity he made it back to his seat on wobbly legs. The rest of the service was a blur and he would never recall all the hugs he received and tears he shared with them all. He would join them later at the church social hall for food but that would be surreal as well. When all the people had departed, it was just his daughter and he alone with his wife. In some ways, they never made it off that roof. They were forever bound in love, music and memories together.

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"M ichael, I am so sorry for your loss."

She was my favorite teacher ever Mr. Scott.

Poor Trinity. So young to be without a mother.

You know what they say. A soul has to get to heaven so a newborn can take its place.

The sea of well-wishers flowed past Michael and Trinity as one iconic phrase after another poured out.

My condolences…

You are in my prayers…

Take comfort in knowing she walks amongst the heavens.

The poor guest that spoke the wrong phrase put an abrupt halt to the receiving line.

Jennifer is in a better place now…

What did you say? Michael came out of his catatonic state to tune in to the person in front of him.

Dad, it’s ok. Trinity clasped onto her father’s arm.

I didn’t mean to upset you. I only meant…

Oh, please tell me wise one. How is my wife in a better place than here, next to her husband, taking care of her daughter? Is my wife better off dead than having dinner with her friends and colleagues? Is that what you are trying to tell me? Heaven is better than this living hell we are living in now? Is that what you are saying?

The stunned guest turned away in tears as the words stung everyone in the room. Silence was immediate as no one knew what to say to comfort the grieving man bereft of any filter.

Dad, it’s ok. She didn’t mean anything by it. She was just trying to be kind.

Michael started to tremble as his head collapsed into his hands. The hard sobs would not stop this time. He had reached his breaking point and could no longer be the rock for his daughter or anyone else at the time. It was Father Derek who stepped in to avert the crisis.

"I think Michael and Trinity need some time