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Room for Love

By Marguerite Martin Gray

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Chapter One

Alexandre Island, August
The warm, cuddly bear hug from her only son would have to comfort Amy Lee through the next several months. As Joshua pushed away, Amy shivered, feeling dysfunctional and oddly alone. Closing her eyes, she envisioned a five-year-old little boy swinging and skipping between them—his father supporting him on one side and Amy on the other. The three of them dreamed of an adventure among the islands. Then the three become two and now…now with Joshua’s inevitable departure…one.
“Mom, I’ll be home at Christmas.” He towered over her five-four stature, sharing the six-foot realm as his father had. His hands grasped her shoulders, forcing her upward gaze. “You promised me. No tears. Hmm?”
What a silly promise. She swiped at the corners of her unfaithful eyes. “Yes, right you are. Don’t worry about me. Maison Cachée and my guests will keep me hopping.” She glanced at his two friends, standing at security. “You will have the best time at university. You don’t want to keep your friends waiting too long.”
He pulled her to his side and kissed the top of her wind-blown hair. “I love you, Mom.”
She managed a quick rise on her toes to plant one last kiss on his cheek. “Au revoir. Vas-y! Go have the time of your life.”
As his boy-man form, dressed in non-island attire of blue jeans and a polo shirt, disappeared through the security booth at the Laumua airport, Amy’s hand fluttered goodbye in front of her heart. Her promise to Neil was fulfilled after twelve years of rearing Joshua on her own. Well, handling on her own if she didn’t count Maki and Luke Harmon. She had depended on them every day, even before Neil passed away.
Once outside the airport, turning toward the marina, Amy breathed in the fresh sea air and let out all the anxiety of letting her son disappear amid the laughter and backslapping comradery of childhood friends. Hopefully, the University of Oregon would unmask the potential of the young men. The powers that be must have seen something or they would not have accepted them.
God, I’m alone, really alone. No Neil and now no Joshua. Now, I have…no one.
Forgive me. I’m never really alone, am I?
Her stride shortened and slowed. Her long flower-patterned skirt billowed around her ankles. The print and lightness of the fabric failed to brighten her outlook. Why race to the boat? When she got home, the house would seem empty, even with guests coming and going. If Maki guessed Amy’s downtrodden thoughts, she’d redirect her to the plaque on the kitchen counter. “So be strong and courageous!” The rest of the passage Amy committed to memory. “Do not be afraid and do not panic before them. For the Lord your God will personally go ahead of you. He will never fail you nor abandon you.”
As Amy stepped onto the boat, a memorable tug produced a playful grin. Maki walked a solid line and held to concrete beliefs when it came to God’s Word. She had secured the verse almost immediately after Neil’s death. “If you can’t believe His Word, there’s no use in displaying His Bible or singing His praises.”
If she didn’t want another lecture, Amy better claim the verse again. Somehow, God would help her conquer and progress in this new phase of her life. But no matter the words He used to comfort her, she was still so very alone.
The small cabin cruiser had seen better days, but like a faithful friend, Rosie kept on performing her duties. Amy’s husband had bought the boat fourteen years ago when they decided to try their hands with a bed and breakfast establishment. Amy used the boat to cart supplies from the islands and ferry to different meetings, friends, and shopping. A few times in the boat repair shop over the years returned Rosie close to new.
Amy stuffed her medium length hair under a straw hat, securing it under her chin. A glance in the side mirror reflected a tired green-eyed woman looking older than her years. Even the brown strands of hair escaping the hat strained to reveal health and vibrancy. Part of her shook and determined to say “This will not do. Something has to change.” While the other more dominant side stoically held its ground. “You are tired and worn, and it doesn’t matter.”
A ten-mile jaunt to Alexandre Island on the boat released some of the tension, though niggling reminders twitched, wanting to surface and declare “all is not fine.” She relished the time away from her normal duties, enjoying the fresh breeze. Yet, the duty of being a mother fitted her and already left a void. What if they had been given more children? Why hadn’t God given them others while there was time? What if…”
To the wind and the sun, Amy shared, as if to a best friend, “What ifs never help. The past is over. I must embrace the now, today. For the first time ever, I can take care of me. I have to do it.”
That didn’t sound quite right, even as if drifting away across the waves. Me? I don’t even know who that is. Not really. Neil’s wife. Joshua’s mother. B & B owner. Church member. But me? It might be interesting to figure out.
Amy never tired of the lush scenery—the same as she had discovered on her honeymoon. Jointly, they had fallen in love with the island culture, people, and laid-back island time and lifestyle. The cliffs on her right faced the islands, forming a circle, each connected with a similar history yet thriving on unique oddities as well as eccentric artists and local customs. The green cliffs fell to wide, sandy beaches, not rocky with black lava, as on other stretches throughout the archipelago.
Many boats dotted the horizon to her left. Familiar faces occupied the local vessels. Fourteen years tendered many occasions to float in and out of society’s festivities and celebrations. She’d tasted the treats and shared the venues of each island, but always tethered her heart to Alexandre. Her home. Her heartbeat. Her life.
Maison Cachée hid among the flowering trees—a taste of the South Pacific with banana, coconut, papaya, guava, pineapple, and mango. Amy added the avenue from the dock to the house with alcoves, benches, and statues as a welcome for the guests, acclimating their senses. The walkway widened to accommodate a golf cart or small jeep for transporting goods or people. Most guests chose to take in their first view on foot, leaving the luggage for pickup.
After mooring the boat under its covered shelter, Amy grabbed her big straw bag, surprisingly light, for usually a trip to Laumua meant bags full of essentials. Today, she left her list at home and returned emptyhanded. Saying goodbye was not easy and shopping would not have been a cure. Unlike her return home without Neil years ago, Amy’s outlook on life and her heart bore different weights. She’d see and hold Joshua again. The difference rested in the strings, for she no longer had a hold on him. On purpose, she cut them and permitted him to fly away, returning only when he wanted.
If he wanted. Her parents had relinquished their hold on her, and this was where she landed—thousands of miles from their home. And where was Joshua going? Back to Amy’s roots a few miles from her parents. He had allies in the city, help in the wings. Would she be needed anymore?
I have You, Lord. Teach me again to let go and let You lead.
The hibiscus and bougainvillea, scattered among the other blooming shrubbery, bowed to her entrance from the path into a garden paradise, one cultivated with her own hands, guided with expert local gardeners. They were her therapy in the years since she’d lost so much of the will to remain and continue what she began as a partnership.
Even the word “partner” rang truer and stronger than “sole proprietor.”
Picking a yellow and red hibiscus, she placed it behind her ear. A chorus of young voices chanting a local ditty about a dolphin and a sea turtle seeped around the corner. Quickly depositing her bag inside the door, Amy followed the melodic tune to the big log-sewn barn a few hundred feet behind the house. The children stood in a half-circle facing Maki and her niece, Nadine.
Amy wanted to jump, dance, clap, or all three at the sheer sound of joy but refrained out of fear they would stop at her absurdities—a thirty-eight-year-old woman jumping for joy at a simple tune! Instead, she sat in a bright red Adirondack chair, pushing her hands under her legs to curtail her enthusiasm. Her heart beat with the drum, handled by a small boy.
She had forgotten today was Monday. What else had she let slide into an abandoned corner, swept aside for another day? How many things had she labeled unimportant in her son’s impending departure? Well, not her guests since her livelihood depended on their care. Not her son since her promise to prepare him for life and college or a job had ended (or been handed over.) Not the garden or the fruit trees since they branded La Maison Cachée. After all, without the beauty of the exotic grounds and promise of a tranquil stay, she would be breaking a trust with her American clientele.
She studied her answer. Somehow, they had been sequestered out of sight for a few weeks while Joshua had precedence. This passel of eager native Suamalian children. Her dream. Her inspired effort to bring an extra layer of education to the locals. Hope for the ones who could not hop from island to island to go to school or attend special seminars or classes. At one point her dream had been for a few children to come together after school for tutoring and extra help. Then the dream grew to a program called Les Rêves—Dreams. Amy desired for them to bring their dreams to the classroom.
Staring at the twenty bright-eyed students, Amy’s heart leaped with purpose. Three years later, a converted barn welcomed future artisans. The log barn with a tin roof emphasized its age of the once-functioning plantation. As the oldest structure on the property, the French settlers had lived in the barn while the construction began on the main house. Although the outside appeared two hundred years old, the inside hosted four open classrooms separated by bamboo screens, and a large area for programs and gatherings.
The sharing of dreams echoed within the walls. Les Rêves hosted anywhere from five-year-olds, who wanted to be fishermen, to fifteen-year-olds, longing to pilot rescue planes or fly across the ocean.
Closing her eyes, she soared across the Pacific with her son. Joshua called their little school a “technical” one. But Amy, believing in big dreams, clung to the image of a place where dreams come true. Now, his place was an ocean away, a whole world removed from the log barn.
Clapping coerced Amy’s attention to her surroundings. Maki’s lesson today focused on music. In the summer, the program for the children was three days a week for a few hours, alternating between crafts, music, and sports. Maki never failed to sprinkle hymns and praise songs among the native or French ones.
Turning to the audience, consisting of a few guests and Amy, Maki bowed and waved her arm out to the side. The grins on the faces of the students of all sizes exploded with the applause.
Amy led with her whooping and jumping. “Fantastique, mes amis! Très bien. Encore. Encore.”
The mini-concert ended with “He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands.”
Yes, He does. Thank you again, Lord. And please keep Joshua close.
Amy avoided any chance of commiserating with Maki or other staff and disappeared into her house. A cup of tea in hand, she curled in her oversized chair, overlooking the garden, and let the quietness and solitude envelope her.

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