Page 16 of Camino Ghosts

She told them to stay in the house when they finished eating. As she did seven days a week, she left her modest home, walked off the porch and down the front sidewalk to a street called Rigg Road. It was a mix of asphalt and gravel, same as most streets in The Docks. She spoke to her neighbor across the street and waved at a kid on a bike.

This was her neighborhood, and each morning she asked God’s help in guiding her to make it a better place. Two houses down, she turned in to a gravel alley, one barely wide enough for a small car, though she had never seen a vehicle going to Lovely’s place. It was a small four-room home that had been built decades earlier for storage. Lovely had painted it bright yellow, her favorite color. The trim changed every three or four years. Now it was a royal blue, same as the boards on the narrow steps. Baskets of flowers—petunias, lilies, roses—hung in small clusters around the porch.

Naomi called out, “Say, Lovely, are you alive in there, girl?”

The reply came through the screen door. “Alive and kicking. Working on another lovely day.” Naomi walked through the door and the two clasped hands. “Thanks so much for coming. Would you like coffee?”

“Of course.”

Seven days a week she arrived at 8:00 a.m. The coffee was not only brewed but already poured and mixed with a little cream. They sat on the dusty sofa and took a drink.

“How are your girls?” Lovely asked.

“Bright and beautiful as always.”

“I’d like to see them today.”

“We’ll go in a moment if you want.”

Lovely had miscarried at the age of eighteen. After that, her husband lost interest in her and went to live in Jacksonville. After he died, she never remarried and, having no kids or grandchildren of her own, enjoyed doting on Naomi’s granddaughters.

Then it was on to the weather, followed by a summary of the ailments currently afflicting their neighbors. Naomi grew more serious and said, “Mr. Cable from the bookstore called again yesterday, said he would like to see you.”

“He’s such a nice man.”

“Yes he is.”

“Did he say he’s sold some more of my books?”

“Didn’t mention that.”

“Why is he calling?”

“I don’t know, but he did say there were some people who wanted to meet you. Said there was something about Dark Isle.”

One of their rituals was to read the island’s newspaper together three times a week. They especially enjoyed the church news and obituaries. They had read the stories about the proposed development. “Tidal Breeze” was already a dirty word.

Gertrude lived two streets over and had been dying of cancer for years. Her illness had become so protracted that many in the village suspected she wasn’t really that sick. Nevertheless, she was continually talked about and prayed over by her friends.

To move away from the unpleasantness of Dark Isle, Lovely asked about Gertrude and they spent a few worrisome minutes on that, which led to an update on Abe Croft, their former minister, who was nearing one hundred years old and definitely dying.

Miss Naomi said, “I need to check on the girls. Won’t you stop by for lunch?”

“I’d like that. Thank you. And tell Mr. Cable I’ll see him in the morning, if that’s okay with you.”

“Wonderful. The girls will be excited. They love the bookstore.”

Lovely’s two black cats eased into the room and eyed Naomi suspiciously. They kept their distance and perched themselves on a windowsill while watching the women. They didn’t tolerate guests in the house and Naomi loathed them as well. It was time for her to leave.

“Thank you for the coffee. I’ll call Mr. Cable and arrange a meeting.”

Both women stood and walked through the screen door and onto the porch. They hugged tightly and said goodbye as if they might never see each other again.

3.

At dusk the heat began to break and Lovely needed her walk. As usual, she’d spent most of her day with her plants. She tended her flower beds in the front yard, and around back she grew more vegetables than she could ever consume. When the sun was high and she needed to rest, she retired to the front porch where she sat beside a window fan and read books from the library. And napped. At eighty, her naps were getting longer.

But so were her walks. Her favorite was a stroll through the streets to the harbor where the old canneries sat idle and neglected. She had worked there as a young woman, shucking oysters for ten cents an hour. She walked past two shrimp-packing plants that still ran all day and night and paid a lot more. At the end of the pier she gazed at the still water and enjoyed an orange sunset. In the distance the bridge to the mainland was busy with vehicles coming and going. Below it the Camino River moved slowly. When she was a child there was no bridge, only a ferry.

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