“Look southeast of Pegasus,” he said. “And watch it closely.”
“You’re right.” I followed the slow drift of the light toward the north.
The sky behind our house was always full of stars, especially in the fall and winter when we had the dark northern end of the island nearly to ourselves. The sound of the waves was music in our ears. Suddenly, I felt nearly overcome with the miracle my life had become. I lived in one of the most beautiful places on earth, in a round house like something out of a fairy tale, with a man whose love for me was matched only by mine for him. I thought of the tiny collection of cells inside me that would become our baby, how soon the globe of sky above us would be mirrored by the globe of my belly. I thought of how our child—our children—and our children’s children would someday lie on this beach and watch the same stars and hear the same waves. And suddenly the thoughts were too enormous for me to contain any longer. Overwhelmed, I started to cry.
“Hey.” Jamie lifted his head. “What’s the matter?”
“I’m happy.”
He laughed. “Me, too.”
I leaned even closer to my husband. “And I’m pregnant.”
I could barely see him in the darkness, but I heard his sharp intake of breath. “Oh, Laurie.” He opened his blanket and pulled my cocoon inside his, planting kisses all over my face until I giggled. “How do you feel?”
“Fantastic,” I said. And I did.
He looked down at me, touching my cheek with the tenderness that I’d come to love in him. “Our whole world is going to change,” he said.
He had no idea how right he was.
The next morning at ten o’clock, thirteen people including Jamie and myself, arrived at the Free Seekers Chapel for its first service. Four were friends who had helped Jamie build it. Four others were acquaintances, and the last three were strangers, curious to see what was going on inside the five walls of the diminutive building. I was a bit curious myself. Jamie had said little about his plans for a service. I’d wanted to sew him a stole. I’d make it different than any other I’d seen, bright with blues pulled from the sea and sky.
“Thanks, Laurie,” he’d said when I suggested it. “But I don’t want a stole. I don’t want anything that sets me apart that much, okay?”
I understood.
The small chapel smelled of new wood, a delicious smell I would always associate with the promise of my young marriage and the life I carried inside me, and I breathed in deeply as we moved into one of the pews.
We waited a few minutes, then Jamie stood up in his jeans and leather jacket. He cleared his throat, the only giveaway that he was nervous. When he spoke, his voice echoed off the walls and the pews.
“Let’s talk about where we experienced God this week,” he said.
No one spoke as he took his seat again. The sound of the sea was muted by the double glass of the windows. In the silence, I heard one of the strangers, a man wearing a thick red flannel jacket who was chewing tobacco, spit into the blue plastic cup he carried. We sat there quietly for what seemed like minutes.
The first time I’d heard Jamie describe God as an experience instead of as a being, it scared me. It felt somehow blasphemous. Yet, slowly I started to understand what he meant. Something awakened in me, pushed the big man in robes out of my consciousness and replaced it with a powerful feeling hard to put into words.
I remembered the night before, lying on the beach with Jamie. I stood up suddenly, surprising myself as much as him.
“Last night I was lying out on the beach watching the stars,” I said. “The sky was beautiful and suddenly a…a happiness came over me.” I looked down at where my hands clutched the back of the pew in front of me. “That’s not the right word. Not a strong enough word.” I chewed my lower lip, thinking. “I felt overwhelmed by the beauty of the world and I felt…a joy that wasn’t just on the surface but deep inside me, and I knew I was feeling…experiencing something that was outside of me.” I didn’t think I was explaining myself well. Words were so inadequate at expressing what I’d felt the night before on the beach. “I felt something bigger than myself last night,” I said. “Something sacred.”
I sat down slowly. Jamie took my hand and pressed it between his palms. I glanced at him and saw the smile I loved seeing on his face. It was a small smile, one that said everything is right in our world.
Another moment passed and then the man chewing tobacco stood up. “So, we supposed to say when we felt God’s hand in something?” he asked.
Jamie hesitated. “It’s an open-ended question,” he said. “You’re free to interpret it however you like.”
“Well, then, I’d say I experienced God when I laid eyes on this here church for the first time this morning,” he said. “I hear about it over to the Ferry, hear how a crazy young fella thinks he’s a preacher made a five-sided church outta concrete and clapboard. And when I got outta my car and started walking ’cross the sand and saw this—” he waved the hand holding the blue cup through the air, taking in the five walls and expanse of windows “—when I saw this out here…well I felt it. What you talkin’ about, missy.” He looked at me. “Something good and big come over me. It’s a feelin’ I wouldn’t mind havin’ again.”
The man sat down. I heard Jamie swallow. I could always tell when Jamie was moved because he would swallow that way, as if he was swallowing tears.
Silence filled the little room. I wanted someone else to say something, but Jamie seemed unconcerned. Finally a woman got up. She was about my age—twenty-two—with very short blond hair.
“My name’s Sara Weston,” she said, “and I think I’m the only person who lives in North Carolina who doesn’t go to church.”
A few people chuckled at that.
“I moved down here because my husband’s stationed at Camp Lejeune,” she said, which explained her accent. I wasn’t sure where she was from, but it wasn’t North Carolina or anyplace else south of the Mason-Dixon Line. “Everyone’s always asking, what church do you go to?” Sara continued. “And they look at me like I’ve got two heads when I say I don’t go. To be honest, I don’t like church. I don’t like all the rituals and…I don’t even know if I believe in God.”
I heard Jamie whisper, “That’s all right,” though I was certain no one could hear him but me.
“Sorry.” Sara let out a breath, giving away a touch of anxiety. “I’ll try to keep this positive. Usually when people ask me what church I go to, I just say I haven’t decided yet, but then they always want to take me to their church. Now, I’m going to tell them I go to the Free Seekers church.”
She sat down, blushing, and the man in the flannel jacket set his cup down and gave her a short but hearty round of applause.
The next Sunday, there were seventeen people inside Free Seekers…but there were also seventeen people outside, and one of them was Reverend Bill from Drury Memorial. He was preaching through a bullhorn, saying that Free Seekers wasn’t really a church and that Jamie Lockwood was a heretic and blasphemer and his tiny congregation was full of atheists and agnostics.
Inside, Jamie said, calm as ever, “Let’s share where we experienced our own personal God this week,” and people began to stand and speak and it was as though no one could hear what was going on outside.
Finally Floyd, the man with the red flannel jacket and blue plastic cup, stood up. “I have a mind to go tell that man to shut his trap.”
Jamie didn’t budge from his seat. “Imagine how threatened he must feel that he’d come here and try to disturb our service,” he said. “Let’s treat him kindly.”
Reverend Bill became Jamie’s nemesis. He tried to shut Free Seekers down by attacking it on all fronts. It was in an area not zoned for a church, he argued. Jamie was a fraudulent minister. The building itself was a blight on the unspoiled landscape near the inlet. I stayed out of it, worried that Reverend Bill had several legal legs to stand on. I don’t know how, but Jamie wriggled out of every possible attack. Perhaps
the Lockwood name was enough to offset any wrongdoing. Where Reverend Bill did succeed was in turning his own small congregation against us. Jamie Lockwood and his followers were heathens. That bothered Jamie, whose intention was never to cause friction, never to force people to take sides. His vision was one of peace and tolerance. As he’d once said himself: pie in the sky.
I was four months’ pregnant when Miss Emma and Daddy L kicked Marcus out of the house. He’d dropped out of college before he could flunk out, but he was working in construction and Jamie was upset by his parents’ decision.
“I don’t understand Mama and Daddy,” he said to me one morning at breakfast. “Marcus already feels like the second-class son. Getting kicked out of the house is only going to make him feel worse.”
I poured milk onto my granola. “Let’s take him in,” I said simply. “There’s plenty of work for him on the island and we’ve got room. We can help him get on his feet.”
Jamie stared at me, his spoon midway to his mouth. “You’re utterly amazing, do you know that?”
I shrugged with a smile. “You’re just rubbing off on me,” I said.
“I thought of having him live with us for a while, but I was afraid to ask you.” Jamie rested the spoon in his bowl. “I know he can be a pain. You already have to put up with a lunatic husband, and with the baby coming and everything…” His voice trailed off then, and he shook his head. “I’ve always been the golden child,” he said. “I love my parents, but they’ve never treated Marcus the same way they treated me.”
“He could never measure up to you.”
“I’ll feel better if he’s with us and we can keep an eye on him.” Jamie leaned across the table to kiss me. “Maybe we can straighten him out.”
“Maybe we can,” I agreed.
But that was not what happened.
Chapter Eleven
Laurel
THE SECURITY LINE AT THE WILMINGTON airport was longer than I’d anticipated for six in the morning, and I was afraid I hadn’t allowed enough time to make our plane. Andy slumped against me as we waited, and I could hardly blame him. We’d gotten up at 4:00 a.m. to make the six-thirty flight to New York, but everything had taken longer than it should have. Getting Andy out of bed took fifteen minutes alone. Changing his routine was always dicey. I nearly had to brush his teeth for him and when I turned my back, he’d crawled into bed again. The cab had to wait for us in the driveway. I told myself we’d be fine. We were only going to be in New York a couple of nights so we had no bags to check. Still, it was nearly six by the time we reached the security line.
We were due at Rockefeller Plaza early the following morning for our appearance on the Today show. I knew what I wanted to say about FASD, and I’d done enough speaking on the subject over the years that I knew I could get the information across quickly without seeming didactic or preachy. That was my goal. I also needed to mention the Drury Memorial Family Fund. Dawn had asked if I could get them to air the Internet address for the fund so viewers could make contributions. I promised I would try.
We were nearly to the security checkpoint. Finally. I nudged Andy, who was still leaning against me, his eyes closed.
“Come on, sweetie. Let’s start taking our shoes off.”
He bent over and untied his tennis shoes. “When did I go on a plane before, Mom?” he asked.
“When you were little.” I kicked off my pumps and bent over to pick them up. “You were two or three. We flew to Florida to visit your grandmother who was spending the winter there.”
“Grandma Emma, right?”
“That’s right.”
“I don’t remember her.”
“You were little when she passed away.” We’d reached the conveyor belt and I slid him a plastic bin. “Put your shoes and your jacket in here.”
He dumped his shoes in the bin. “Why do we have to take our shoes off?”
That was the sort of question I had to answer carefully. If I said anything about a bomb or terrorists, he’d fixate on the threat and the flight would be sheer misery.
I hoisted our carry-on bag onto the belt.
“They have to make sure we’re only carrying safe things onboard,” I said.
“I saw the sign.”
“What sign?”
“That said don’t carry guns, liquids and all those things.”
“Right.”
The conveyor belt swept the bins into the X-ray machine.
“Bye-bye shoes.” Andy waved after them.
I smiled at the bored-looking security guard standing next to the metal detector as I handed him my driver’s license and boarding pass.
“Hold your boarding pass so the security guard can see it,” I told Andy.
I walked through the metal detector first, relieved I didn’t set off the alarm.
“My turn?” Andy asked me.
“Hurry up, sweetie,” I glanced at my watch. “We’re running late.”
Andy stretched his arms out to his sides as if for balance and walked toward the metal detector, a look of concentration on his face. I was afraid he was going to crash into the metal detector with his arms, but he dropped them to his sides just before stepping through.
The alarm pinged.
“Oh, great,” I said, blowing out my breath and walking toward Andy. “It’s his belt buckle,” I said to the guard. “I should have thought of it.”
“Step back, ma’am,” the guard said to me. “You have a belt on?” he asked Andy.
Andy lifted his jersey to display his metal belt buckle. “It’s not liquid or anything,” he said.
“Are you trying to joke with me, boy?” the guard asked. “Take off your belt.”
“He’s not trying to joke,” I said as Andy pulled off his belt. “He really thinks you’re—”
“Ma’am, just let me do my job.” The guard coiled the belt into a plastic bowl. “Walk through again,” he said to Andy.
Andy stepped through the metal detector again.
Ping!
I was lost. What could he possibly be wearing that would set it off?
“I don’t understand,” I said. “He’s not wearing a watch or—”
“Step over here.” The guard motioned Andy to walk over to the other side of the conveyor belt, where a stocky, uniformed woman stood. She wielded a baton-shaped metal detector like a billy club.
“Hold your hands out to your sides,” she instructed.
Andy looked at me as if for permission.
“Go ahead, Andy,” I said. “It’s all right. The guard just needs to figure out why you set the alarm off.” I pulled our carry-on bag from the conveyor belt, then gathered our shoes, jackets and my pocketbook from the bins. My arms were shaking.
“We’re very late for our flight,” I said to the guard as she ran the wand over Andy’s chest.
“Is that a microphone?” Andy asked. “We’re going to be on TV and talk into microphones.”
“We are.” I hoped I could soften the woman up a little. “We’re actually heading to New York to be on the—”
Dih-dih-dih-dih. The wand let out a staticky sound as it passed over Andy’s left sock.
“Take off your sock,” the woman commanded.
“His sock?” I was completely perplexed.
The guard ignored me.
“Go ahead, Andy,” I said.
Andy pulled off his sock and something small and silver plinked to the floor.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“My lighter,” Andy said.
I leaned closer. “Your lighter?”
“Stand back, ma’am.” The guard carefully picked up the object with her gloved fingers.
“Andy!” I was astonished. “Why do you have a cigarette lighter?”
Andy shrugged, splotches of red on his cheeks. He was in trouble with me and he knew it.
“Put your shoes on,” the woman said, “and then I’ll have to ask the two of you to come with me.”
“Come with you?” I d
ropped one of the shoes from my overladen arms, and dropped two more when I bent over to pick it up. “Where?” I scrabbled around on the floor trying to fit everything into my arms again.
“You can sit here to put your shoes on.” The guard motioned to a row of chairs.
Giving in, I sat down and motioned to Andy to do the same. We put on our shoes, the guard watching our every move.
“Where do you want us to go?” I asked, getting to my feet. Our jackets and my pocketbook were over my arm and my free hand wheeled the carry-on.
“To the Public Safety Department for questioning,” she said, turning on her heel. “Follow me.”
Andy started to follow her. “Wait!” I said. “Our plane leaves in fifteen minutes. Can’t you just confiscate the lighter and let us go?”
“No, ma’am.” She rambled on in a monotone about federal regulations, all the while leading us down a corridor from which I feared we’d never escape.
She led us into a small office where a uniformed officer, his bald head gleaming in the overhead light, sat behind a desk. He looked up at our entry.
“Sir,” the guard said, “this boy tried to get through security with a lighter concealed in his sock.”
“I’m his mother, Officer,” I said. The man had kind eyes beneath high, expressive eyebrows. “I’m so sorry this happened, but we’re going to miss our plane if—”
“Sit down.” He motioned to the two chairs in front of his desk.
“We have to go to New York to be on the Today show,” Andy said as he sat down.
I remained standing. “Is there a chance you can have them hold the plane for us?” I asked.
He looked at me. “If you don’t take this seriously, ma’am, how do you expect your son to respect the law?” So much for the kind eyes.
I sank into the chair next to Andy, wondering how long it was until the next plane to New York.
The man folded his arms on his desk and leaned forward. “How old are you, son?” he asked Andy.
“Fifteen.”
“You’re fifteen?” He looked like he didn’t believe him.