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No Romancing the Passengers

By Lee Wimmer

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Prologue
It’s late evening, mid-October, the day after the southwest monsoon withdrew from the entire nation of India, ending monsoon season. The vast greenish-blue water surrounding the port of Kochi slaps against the Disillusioned Illusion’s hull. DR—Dr. Ray to his colleagues—lounges alone on the stern’s lower deck.
The sun clings to the darkening horizon as voices and the scent of food from a nearby restaurant fill the air. The ocean’s soothing rhythm pulses through his senses like a heartbeat—one with an expectation. Another magical night begins to set in while the sun relinquishes its hold on the horizon’s end, nature’s big show and his refuge vanquished as a crescent moon winks of the night’s possibilities.
With his hopes for a romantic adventure, possibly a woman to love now in question, DR exhales, grabs the back of his head with both hands, eyes closed, and roughs up his hair. Only weeks earlier, he’d thought it too soon for romance, but now, it’s all he can think about.
Has he blown it?
“Why is romance so hard for me?” he asks aloud, knowing the answer. His is a life full of days where you can see the sun and moon at the same time, where promises dim or flicker out so trouble can shine through. And evenings like this give him too much time to contemplate the past, supposing the inevitable is going to happen—again.
During their first conversation ten days earlier, after the others left to go on a tour, she’d stayed. While they discussed the ship’s security, her eyes took delight in searching him, but he barely noticed, only knowing she pleased his.
“I’m here to get on with my life. It’s time for a new adventure, and who knows… maybe love.” Debbie had returned her focus to the sea and then back to studying him. She’d sipped her coffee while leaning toward the railing, the early morning sun reflecting in her eyes. “It’s been five years. I’m ready—No, no, I need to live again.”
Somehow, even lacking the finer romantic skills, he’d known she was trying to convince herself as well as him. She’d held her pert chin so high, the sunlight caressing her simple beauty, the breeze blowing her perfume.
Shifting now, he swallows hard. Oh, how he remembers her perfume, its magical lasso drawing him that morning, and now too.
That stupid rule. Why now?
Laughter and voices drift from the marina and his pool up front, travelers and his passengers enjoying an evening filled with sangrias and fun, getting to know one another while he lingers, stuck in an all-too-familiar place. His thoughts and hopes of a new love rising and falling faster than the ocean’s tide. Even in this exotic setting with hopes of romance, he shivers as that place fixed in time draws him like an eddy in the current.
Why me? Am I a bad person? Was it my fault? Or did God forsake me?
Some people say God takes a bad thing and uses it to make things better, all things working together for good. He snorts. “Try telling that to someone who has experienced a lot of ‘all things.’ They don’t always see it that way.”
He didn’t. Once he loved God—but things change, people change.

Chapter 1
Eleven years earlier…
At Dukes School of Archaeology in Madrid, DR had his first run-in with Gail Kelly. The school, located in the heart of downtown and offering many other sciences, boasted a pulse so quick and electric it drew thousands of young adventurous students every year. So she should’ve blended in. She did not, and again, he found himself approaching her as they received their scores for the latest test.
“You’re so used to getting your way, always being first. Are you an only child?” He cocked his hip against the desk beside her and pushed his sandy hair back from his eyes.
“So? What’s it to you?” She huffed, then returned to her desk, and slunk down beside her best friend.
“It’s nothing to me.” But he spoke just loudly enough to make sure she heard it. Yeah, crybaby.
As coincidence or fate would have it, they shared the same major, archeology. Already, they were sharing classes. Their studies pushed them together, and their competitive natures clashed. Didn’t matter how much the girl impressed him—no way was he willing to settle for second place, which apparently further fueled her dislike of him.
“See how smug he is? He’s a know it all. That’s what he is.” Her lip curled under, and her scowl deepened while she glared at the second-place marks on her test score. “We’ll just have to study harder—that’s all. Great. More nights and weekends in the library. Probably not far from Mr. America.” She shuddered.
“You mean you’ll have to study harder. I’m not in your friendly little competition.” Her roommate’s snicker carried to DR. “I’ve got a life.”
When Suzette picked up her books and strode away, leaving the steaming Gail behind, DR headed over to the feisty redhead.
“Why are you so hateful toward me? I haven’t done anything to you. I can’t help my test grades are better than yours.” Or that, even though she was Miss Cold as Ice, he found her attractive. Who could help but love her long curly red hair and porcelain skin sprinkled with just enough freckles to make her look real and alive? It must be one of those fatal-attraction things. “Besides, I didn’t travel to Spain to get bogged down by a disappointed local.” He flopped down at a desk closer to the professor’s than hers, and the chair slid noisily on the tile floor before he picked up and inspected a stapler, lost in thought.
“Ohh. You make me so mad.” She reached out, snatched the stapler, and slammed it on the desk, then stormed out.
“So mature,” he called after her. “Why don’t you go home to Daddy? He’ll fix everything.” Oops. The words escaped unchecked, unintended. Hopefully, she didn’t hear them.
Her dad, her deadbeat dad, though Irish, lived in America and wouldn’t fix anything. Rumor was he’d run out on her mom when he learned she was pregnant, leaving his father’s house in Dublin for his mother’s house in Boston. Not a word in twenty years. Which explained why Americans were on her do-not-resuscitate list.
DR stayed in the class, waiting for the smoke to clear. Around six feet tall with a slight muscular build, he’d become the mark of flirty lovestruck European girls. “Handsome and Michigan strong,” his mom often said.
“DR, you sure have quite the way with the ladies.” The professor reentered the class, passing a fuming Gail on the way in.
“I know.” DR spread out his hands. “It’s my gift.”
One of many. He ducked his head down. He only came to Spain to study because he thought, if he could get away from all the local do-gooders, then he could find that elusive state of mind—peace—once-and-for-all. Of course, the fact that it would take three years or less, instead of the six it normally took in the States to get his doctorate didn’t hurt.
“If it’s peace you wanted, I don’t think that’s the way to find it.” The professor often laughed about their competitiveness. “But your competition just might help you two become my best and brightest students.”

* * * * *

Starting with summer school three years later, before Gail’s second-to-last year and DR’s final year at the Dukes, Gail began meeting him in the afternoons to discuss the classes they shared. Their competitiveness had eased into a sort of friend-helping-friend situation. Or so she let him believe.
“Are you going to study this afternoon? I’ll save you a spot at the window if you want.” Kicking at a weed growing through the sidewalk under a huge elm tree near the language laboratory, DR flashed a smile.
She snagged his Italian thesaurus for her next class and winked. “I’ll be there.”
She shook her head as DR sauntered off. Where’d the guy think she’d be? They’d been meeting every afternoon, after all. At first, it was just studying and classwork. But…
Her roommate walking alongside her nudged her shoulder. “I thought you didn’t like him. What’s changed?”
“I don’t know. I mean I know I didn’t like him. But there’s something different about him. It’s kind of like I sense a destiny.” After straightening her half tee around her shoulders, she hugged his thesaurus to her side. Too bad, it wasn’t him. “I feel different around him. I like who I am with him. Is that crazy?”
“Maybe.” Suzette shrugged. “But I gotta admit he’s easy on the eyes.”
Gail laughed. “I know, right? I love his dimples and… Well, I’m very attracted to him.”
“The other girls know he’s off-limits.” Suzette’s dark eyes flashed with suppressed laughter. “They can read your body language—even if he can’t. All those languages you guys are learning, and you can’t seem to communicate.”
“I’ve been putting out little feelers, but he’s not adept at the girl thing. So all my attempts have been unsuccessful.” She’d have to talk to her mom this weekend about the introverted, handsome American who shared her same loves. Like DR, she loved the sea, having lived just a short walk from the Mediterranean.
In Madrid, festivities abounded right on the streets, especially in August, yet here she remained—stuck in the library. She tapped her pen against her textbook, the dusty drapes failing to block the vivid August sun from casting a glare across her pages. She sprang up and moved them aside. Funny how hard it was to be indoors in the sunshine, so easy to remember playing on the shore with her mother and Kayleigh.… She swallowed hard, hurting over losing Kayleigh when she was eight. They’d never even learned what killed her, blood clots or a brain aneurysm or something.
“Mom said to give him a push. Well, here goes.” Drapes aside, she spun around.
DR closed his textbook. A shock of blond hair fell over his brow as he tilted his head at her. Michigan Strong his mom called him. A good description. “You okay?”
“Yep.” She plopped back into her seat and resumed clicking the back of her pen.
“You know that’s annoying, right?”
“I do.” She didn’t stop. If that’s what she had to do to get his attention, she’d do it.
“Gail?” Anderson, a classmate, approached and jammed his hands in his chino pockets. “I was wondering if you’d like to go to the festival Friday?”
“Would I ever!” Just not with you. Wow, what impeccable timing. Since she began studying with DR, she hadn’t dated, finally admitting to herself she didn’t want to go out with anyone but him. She just never told him so. Watching DR out of the corner of her eye, she gushed. “I’d love to go.”
Never wavering, he kept reading his book. Seriously? Didn’t he care at all?
“Great.” Anderson rocked back on his heels, bouncing a bit as he beamed. “Man, I’ve wanted to ask you out for a long time, but I wasn’t sure, you know? You’re always with DR, but you guys aren’t dating, right?”
“Nope, we’re not dating.” She kept her tone even, her gaze on DR. Did his ears redden? Was he embarrassed people thought they were a couple, or was he upset by something?
“We’ll have a blast.” Anderson pulled his hands from his pockets and rubbed them together in a let’s-get-at-this gesture. “Pick you up at four?”
“I can’t wait. I didn’t think you would ever ask. See you Friday at four.” She smiled, even stooping to bat her baby blues—anything to get a reaction from DR. Nothing. Maybe “Michigan Strong” meant he was like stone. Had she really agreed to go to that festival, Virgen de La Paloma? Yuck. With him, double yuck.
Anderson sauntered away, whistling before a librarian shushed him.
Gail flipped her red hair over her shoulder and clicked her pen again. Okay, fine. If that’s how it had to be, that’s how it had to be. She gave herself a firm nod. She was ready for romance, ready for love, and if DR wasn’t going to be the one, then she’d better get to it. Her mother had almost missed her chance at love. It had taken Gail’s prodding to push her into the arms of the man who became her stepfather. If she could do it for her mother, she’d better be just as good at doing it for herself.
“I hope the weather will be good Friday.” She tossed the pen on the desk. “What are you going to be doing?”
“I don’t know,” he mumbled, his American twang stronger than usual, the way it got when he thought he was going to flub a question in class. “I guess I’ll be here, studying like usual. Besides, I came to Madrid to get away from religion. The last thing I want to do is go celebrate a virgin saint.”
“Well, suit yourself. We study every day. Sometimes, I want to let my hair down.” She shook said hair around her shoulders, holding her head up, biting on her upper lip. What was wrong with him, anyway? Didn’t he care about her? Why couldn’t he have sprung to his feet and told Anderson, “No. No, she won’t, not Friday or any other day—she’s my girl!”
No. Not gonna happen. Mr. Michigan Strong just sat there, miserable, as if their little world wasn’t changing one tiny bit.

* * * * *

Friday afternoon, Gail’s big date came as DR sat studying, alone, in the library. Well, almost alone. Everyone in town seemed to be enjoying the festival, especially the nonreligious, except him and Sierra, the girl stuck working the evening shift. She leaned against the desk, staring off into space, a thousand miles away. Probably wishing he’d stop being a stick-in-the-mud and leave, so she could go to the fair and meet her boyfriend.
Hands behind his head, he clawed his fingers through his hair and tousled it as if trying to wake up, an unbroken boyhood habit. He closed his eyes and whispered to himself. “Why can’t I tell Gail I’m falling in love with her? Why is love and all the things that go with it so tough for me? I love everything about her, how she holds her head back and just laughs and how she winks at me. Why?”
He pulled at his hair, tugging at its roots. “Our entire family is outgoing, confident. My little brother’s going to be a DJ, and here I am, for crying aloud. I can’t even share my feelings with my dream girl.” His voice became louder. “Yes… yes, Gail is my dream girl.”
Jamming back his chair, he sprang to his feet. “What am I doing in this library all alone? I’ve got to go get my girl!”
Sierra snapped her head up and flashed a smile. “Leaving, DR?”
The phone rang as he nodded and strolled past.
“I’m sorry, honey.” Sierra’s giddy voice followed him while she answered. “He’s left. No one’s here except me, and I’m closing up. I’m so ready to be at the festival.”
Over at the festival, he couldn’t find Gail. After what seemed like hours, he spotted Anderson with his friends around a table one of the pubs brought out onto the street. They were playing a game archaeology students called Bones.
“Anderson.” DR waved his hands above his head from a narrow roadway leading to the main celebration. Streamers stretched across the road while guitar music and disc jockeys vied for attention as raucous partiers and reverent worshippers alike packed the streets, ready to celebrate well into the hot August night.
Folks in traditional chulapo costumes lined the way, laughing and dancing. In the center of the square, a stage had been built atop a fountain where a band was playing the authentic Spanish flamenco.
Ducking in and out, past the traditional procession of firemen and well-dressed maidens and gentlemen, he ran. He veered past a float toting the festival’s main purpose, a nearly life-sized gold-framed painting of the virgin saint, said to have healed the son of King Charles IV, at least according to the king’s wife, Maria Luisa de Parma. Then after nearly tripping in the street before the float, he cut behind the bar to avoid fighting through the lines of colorfully dressed partygoers.
“Anderson. Anderson, where’s Gail?” Hands on knees, he sucked in air. At least, he finally had Anderson’s attention.
“She called this morning.” Anderson cracked the top of his Coke, fizz bubbling free before he gulped it. “She said she was going to her parents’ home tomorrow and had to make an early night of it.”
DR straightened up. She hadn’t gone out with him after all. His core shivered. The festival now took on a different meaning. Christians were blending in, no preachers in sight. Of course, wasn’t that always the way?
Anderson’s face contorted as he readied for his turn in their game of Bones. “I wish she’d just said no like I expected. Then I could’ve gotten a date with that pretty little blonde, Martha Ralese. And I wouldn’t be stuck here with a couple of guys.”
“Hey!” They shook their fists.
“Sorry.”
Dice bounced across the table.
“Great.” DR slapped his classmate’s back, then winced. “Um, I mean… I’m sorry to hear that. Hope you still have some fun tonight. Looks like you rolled a winner, though. See you guys later.”
Anderson might’ve said something, but in his haste, his heart beating so fast, DR didn’t hear. All he could hear was the pulsing in his head, each whoosh saying, “Call her, call her, call her.”
He was in love and knew it now. It wouldn’t—no, couldn’t¬—wait until Monday.
He reached into his pocket for his phone while jogging toward Gail’s room. Ah, there was Martha with her parents, or at least he thought they were her parents. “Martha,” he shouted. “Anderson’s over by the bar near the main stage and wants to talk to you.”
He stopped just long enough to call Gail’s room. One ring… two… Whew, she answered. She hadn’t left yet. “Gail—”
“Bzzt.” Someone made a buzzer noise. “Wrong answer, jerk.” Suzette, her roommate, spoke up. “Gail left for Malaga around four o’clock. She was pretty upset and ugly crying—probably shouldn’t have been driving. You two have another fight?”
“No, not a fight. I was just blind. That’s all. Thanks, Suz. I’ll see you.”
He hung up and headed to his room. It was too late for the five-hour drive to the coast tonight. “Why, why, why—why hadn’t I seen it? How could I be so blind?”
The next day, he reached her hometown around noon. His grip tight on the steering wheel, he craned his neck toward the marina on the way to her family’s bungalow. The Mekenzie-Gail, MG, was still docked. They hadn’t taken it out for a jaunt like most weekends. Whew. His shoulders relaxed. He drove to their home, heart pounding and palms sweating.
Parked out front, he sat there and took slow breaths. What kind of coward was he? Surely, he wouldn’t wimp out after driving five hours. He shoved himself from the driver’s seat and strode up the redbrick sidewalk he’d help Nicolas lay. His hand shook as he knocked and waited.
The door opened, and blue eyes peeped up at him from the face he loved. She stood frozen in the doorway, then half ran, half jumped into his waiting arms, and wrapped her legs around his waist.
“I can’t believe it.” She spoke between the kisses she planted on his face. “You came all the way here… for me?”
It was now or never. He drew in a deep breath and pushed out equally deep words. “I’m… I’m in love with you. After last night, I couldn’t wait to tell you. I’m so glad you didn’t go out with Anderson.”
He held his breath now. Would he hear the same?
“I love you too!” she shrieked. “I just wanted to give you a shove.”
Her mom, Mekie, now standing in the front room, began clapping. Gail’s stepfather joined her. “Well, it’s about time.” Hands on her cheeks, she teared up, then put her arm around Nicolas.
Even with her parents watching, DR couldn’t help stealing another kiss, and they held each other so tight. It was the best weekend ever and a day he’d never forget. After that, their confessed love grew to consume their world. Once Gail graduated the following year, they married in October and began their travel and life’s work.
As newlyweds, they joined a team of four fellow archaeology graduates from the Dukes School. Their exploration began on the coast of India, where no matter how close they were, it wasn’t enough. Desires and need burning wildly.
Their growing knowledge of local languages and customs began helping them discover larger, more valuable sites and develop friendships with local leaders. One friendship, made over a year into their exploration, had a profound impact on their exploration.
“There, see the broken windows and gates? Hired vandals from a nearby village did that. I’m sure of it.” Chief Mnortarmillc pointed at several houses on the village outskirts. “As village leader, I’m supposed to fix all this and stop the violence, but without funds, it’s not possible.” He shook his head and extended his hand to continue the tour. “I’ll help you any way I can, but I have to be careful to observe tradition and law.”
“Chief, thank you.” Gail’s face lit up. She wrapped her arms around herself and held her shoulders as her words gushed free. “We can’t express how happy this makes us.”
“Why would another village do this?” DR kicked at a broken bolt.
“They want our land for a factory or something.” His eyes downcast and his body slumped, Chief Mnortarmillc leaned against a stone entranceway.
“Thank you, Chief. Gail and I are well versed in India’s antiquities law passed in 1978. We assure you everything will comply with the law and your village will get its rightful share if we find anything.” DR slid his arm around Gail, and they walked back to the village’s main street and checked into their rented room.
“Did you see how sad the chief was? They are desperate.” Gail pulled off her tan canvas work vest and hat, shook her hair out, then flopped back on the bed, stretching. “Bed’s a little hard.”
Smacking the mattress to feel the firmness, he laughed. “Maybe we should just sleep on the floor. I guess it’s all in what you get used to.” He stretched out beside her, leaned on his right elbow, and slid his left arm across her belly. “Tomorrow, let’s search around the village’s south side. Then we’ll move clockwise until we cover the perimeter.”
“Okay.” She touched his face, and her finger traced a path along his jaw to his mouth. “But we can only stay a month, so we don’t want to waste any time.”
After several weeks, their friendship and grace were rewarded. Chief Mnortarmillc, the elected Pradhan, whom this village simply called chief, embraced their exploration, even sharing his village’s historical documents and landmarks.
“You just don’t get these types of intricate skills… not without a wealthy past,” Gail insisted as she watched the local women making pottery, weaving baskets, and piecing together clothing for sale. “The richness of their crafts scarcely suits a people living in abject poverty.”
So, they kept at it.
Today, DR paused to stretch his back, his fond gaze lingering on his wife. What had Mom always said to him and his brothers? “When you find that special girl, remember to leave her special. Don’t try to change her.” He’d lived by that, and as they most often explored Gail’s ideas, his radiant bride shone even more brilliantly. Her confidence grew, and so did her love for him.
“Tired?” She nudged his shoulder.
He raked a hand through his sweaty hair. “Maybe a bit—hungrier, though.”
No longer running from the do-gooders, not looking over his shoulder, he’d relaxed in this country so far from his own culture and focused on their future, wherever that would take them. And the hardness of their plight made their passions burn even more.
“Funny, we’re all hungry here, you and I and the locals. But there’s something more than the hunger in my belly.” Her blue eyes shimmered. “I feel it, DR. It’s here. The discovery, just out of reach, and I’m so hungry for it I might faint.”
That was his Gail, such passion. He looped an arm around her waist and drew her closer. “You believe it’s here. No one but us believes in it.”
“It was the hunger that drove the rest of the team away long before we reached this village, not just the personality conflicts. I do wish Clyde McMillen stayed. He lasted the longest, a year over the others.”
“Living on mainly fruits, vegetables, and the occasional treat of meat, with tremendous money pressures, hasn’t been easy.” He shrugged. “I don’t blame them for giving up.”
She tucked her head against his shoulder. In their time exploring India, they’d learned to do more with less from the locals they visited. Their appreciation deepened for the less fortunate who often shared their skimpy meals.
DR loosened his grip on her. In the sunlight beyond a warehouse, a young boy was playing with something shiny. From this vantage point, it looked like a silver fish. He let go of Gail and ran toward the boy. “Hey, boy. What’s that you have in your hand?”
The startled child dropped the medallion on the ground, then bent, and picked it up, about to run. But seeming to realize he couldn’t escape, he ducked and covered his head.
“I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.” Exhaling to calm himself, DR lowered his voice, crouched over the muddy street, and rested a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Can I see what you have?”
When he took the item from the boy’s halfway extended hand, the boy kept cowering.
DR lifted it to the light—a small silver medallion hammered into the shape of a fish. “Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you. Where did you get this?” He pushed his vest open and took out a handkerchief to wipe his brow. “Can you show me?”
At the boy’s nod, DR laughed aloud over what he’d discovered and waved his wife over. “Gail, come quickly.”
By the time she reached them, he’d talked the boy into taking them on a hike up the valley to where he found the medallion. Gail chattered in excited bursts as they walked through a gorge cut by monsoon rains. Flooding had pulled down trees and left boulders strewn about like pieces of a board game. The vegetation was matted down and mired in mud where he’d found the piece, leaving only a stone here or there visible. Watermarks circled the trees still standing upward of fifteen to twenty feet off the ground.
Gail leaned in close to DR. “He found it on village lands, and what a stroke of luck! The floods removed the silt, overgrowth, and debris but spared the tombs. These burial grounds must be at least a thousand years old.” She pointed at the exposed stone parts of different burial chambers.
Sweat and dirt streaked her face after they scraped mud and debris off one of the exposed stones. She pushed a handful of hair out of her face, laughing. DR handed the boy his cell phone and asked him to take their picture.
“You were right, baby. You were right.” He hugged her and spun her around and around until her legs stuck straight out. Then he kissed her, dirty face, and all, as they celebrated.
The chief celebrated. The village celebrated.
The monsoon rains had caused major damage further down the valley. But the burial chambers were deep enough that the floods only unearthed the grounds with minimal damage. Although several smaller tombs were washed open—probably where the silver fish medallion came from.
Their friendship being such, the chief allowed them to begin their work on the ancient burial grounds after contacting state and national authorities.
They promised to respect and care for the dead buried there. It took them and their Indian counterparts a month of digging to enter the first chamber, one of six former chief entombments. The first chief uncovered had taken a vast part of the wealth the village once enjoyed with him—at least he tried. His extravagant entombment claimed a prominent position on the grounds, so they started with it.
They brought in reliable teams recommended by the Dukes School and Itasham, their former professor, to work with Indian authorities. Then they also taught several tribe members how to preserve treasures found in the tombs of a few other elders and sent teams to dig with the tribe in those tombs too. The grateful chief allowed them to remove most of the artifacts, as the tribe was well compensated and needed the money, but removing the artifacts also protected the find from rival villages and thieves.
As the archaeology world hailed them as heroes, offers of grants and support from major corporations and universities poured in. Everyone wanted a piece of the action, including a now-desperate Clyde McMillen.
They set up a laboratory not far from where DR had grown up in Michigan. Mainly because of grants from a major supporter of ancient history. With that, they promised to give the village near Kolkata a large sum up front and help build a museum to house the pieces covered by the Indian government’s antiquities law.
Soon, they were buying their house on Wall Lake near their lab in Delton and taking advantage of the nearby university to catalog the enormous find.

* * * * *

Along with the crates of artifacts from nearly eight thousand miles away came winter. Malaga’s balmy temperatures in the forties made it a tropical paradise in comparison. Gail had made it clear she’d prefer to go back to Malaga as she moved to Wall Lake. But as the lows hit minus seven in February those first two winters, DR’s heart warmed when she took up snowboarding and loved it.
“Baby.” She nudged his shoulder now, her cheeks still atingle from the cold. “You’ve got to try it. It’s such a rush, feeling the cold air on your face as you come down the slope.”
“I’ll give it a try.” He tugged at her knit cap. “But I won’t look nearly as good in the bibs.”
She planted her cold hands on either side of his face, smirking when he winced. “As long as we’re on the slopes together. No reason I should be the only one freezing in this land of yours.”
She looped her arm through his, then jammed a cozy hat on his head. “C’mon, baby. Enough work for one day.” She dragged him from their lab into the bright sunshine and hauled him to Marcie’s Place, where they brewed her favorite coffee.
“Hey, Pauline.” She released him and patted the older lady’s arm as he kicked the snow from his shoes and rubbed his hands together. “Ignore DR. Sometimes he thinks he’s an artifact that can stay under glass in that lab. One of these days, I’m going to catalog him and put him on some old shelf. You girls got a story for me today?”
“Don’t let her sit down, ladies.” DR puffed warm air into his cupped hands, then winked at the well-groomed ladies, their thinning hair tinted silvery blues or henna reds. “She’ll be here for hours, picking your brains on local history, and we’re headed to the slopes, apparently.”
Gail gave the girls a wave. “Say hi to Willie for me when she pops in.”
Like him, Gail loved their work, spending hours documenting every item at their home and lab. Their house on the east side of Wall Lake was ideal for outdoor living and boating, but the open sea had begun calling their names.
“What do you say we try a different area next time?” DR asked, sipping his wine later that evening. “I’m getting worn out on the Indian Ocean thing.” He savored the sweet red’s sensation on his tongue. Nicolas, his father-in-law, sent them a case of his favorite the other day.
“I know you are.” She pouted, sharing her huge blue puppy-dog eyes. “But I just love our friends. I want to see some different places too. Maybe we can take one more trip to Kolkata? Afterward, we can sail up the coast of Portugal and around to Bilbao. Nicolas loves it there and said we’d have a fun trip. Then we can go further, maybe France?” Leaning over, she kissed his lips, then winked.
“Why do you do that to me?” He took her hand, closed his eyes, and shook his head as if to shudder. “You know I can’t resist your kisses or your winks.”
“Why do you think I do it?” She giggled and kissed him again.
They sat on their deck for hours planning their next big trip to India, a dream they loved undertaking. Soon, they began telling everyone they’d be returning to the sea. “You can only hold back the desires of the heart for so long.”
“The Dream Maker Express is calling. ‘Adventure is out there.’ ” DR smiled as he stole a line from Ellie, a character in a movie, and pointed toward the lake, making Gail laugh.
Gail was his confidant and he hers. They shared the same thoughts, the same heart. There was only one thing he didn’t share with her, not knowing she also didn’t share one with him. Soon, it would raise its ugly head. Among the things they had shared most was how much they abhorred Christian fanatics. Gail would say, and he agreed, “They are nonintellectuals searching for something that’s just a fantasy, a way to justify their failures.”

* * * * *

But Gail had a secret. She’d started to change a year earlier, and she’d never discussed it with him. On several trips back to Malaga, she began questioning faith or rather her lack of it. She’d seen so many pass into the “afterlife,” what she called death, having rummaged around in burial grounds digging people up for science. She saw a peace at Christian funerals she couldn’t describe or explain, but not so much for nonbelievers. There was no hope of anything for a nonbeliever, just the end. Hope was something she wanted and something she needed. Then she began wondering.
Today, she hunted through her purse for her keys, her friend bracing a shoulder against the front doorway as she waited. “Willie, I should be the happiest woman alive. I love my life. But something is missing. When I went to Malaga, I saw how horrible one of my mom’s friends’ funeral was. Then at another, there seemed to be a peace. I don’t even know how to explain it, but I felt different at the believer’s funeral.”
“Believers have a future. The others do too, just not one to look forward to, so sometimes you can see their regret as they die.” Willie scooped Gail’s keys from the dish in the hall and dangled them before her until Gail groaned and held her hand out for them. As a DJ, Willie shared the Morning Drive show with DR’s brother, Mike, at WREAL Christian radio station in Delton. “Funerals are a bad place, no matter, but when there’s no hope, the spirit gets heavy. Maybe that’s what you feel.”
“I’ve heard all about that, about becoming like a child and all. But how would I begin to tell DR, even if I want it, and I… Well, I still don’t know.” Gail pulled on her flats to go over to the Hammer Throw. Hopefully, they still had those gray pillows for the bedroom.
“The important thing is that you understand, not just the precepts of Christianity, but the gospel of Jesus Christ, what it means for you—no matter what DR thinks. You have to decide, you alone. No one else will answer for your decision, not me, not DR, and if that’s what’s making you feel empty, mind you, it won’t just go away.” Willie slung her sweater off the entryway hook and pulled it on, then took Gail’s arm. “Okay, we’re ready.”
Gail shut the door and started down the steps. “If he finds out I’m talking about God, he’ll go plumb off. He ran halfway around the world to get away from all that. If he thinks, I’m a believer.…” She shook her head and unlocked her Jeep by remote. “Let’s talk about this later. I’m ready to spend some money. DR’s going to laugh when he sees more pillows.” For sure, but nothing a glass of sweet red wouldn’t smooth away. Well, sweet red and maybe a kiss.
Willie shared Gail’s love for the outdoors and the lake. They’d been spending hours and hours together, and with those new pillows in place, they soon migrated to Gail’s back deck. They discussed faith and things they both enjoyed.
They’d met at Marcie’s. Willie didn’t talk about the laws of the Bible. Rather, she shared the gospel and her love with simplicity, and as they whiled away the days, DR buried himself in the artifacts they’d unearthed.
He usually came home tired, seldom asking how Gail spent her time away from the lab. Today was no different. She and Willie halted their conversation as the back door swung open and DR stepped out onto the deck, waving his phone to display a picture and alight with an endearing boyish excitement. “Sweetheart, you’ve got to see what was in today’s work. There are pieces I would have never suspected. You were right. Those people had some serious skills. Oh.” He lowered the phone. “Hi, Willie.”
“I’d better be going.” Willie slid to her feet, and DR dropped into the seat she’d occupied.

* * * * *

Then the seasons of life changed again. After only three blissful years in Delton, Gail died, struck down by a pulmonary embolism. Her passing was much like Kayleigh’s, so sudden and too soon. It left DR shaken to the core and Mekie and Nicolas crushed.
Without her, he stopped cataloging their find. He stopped almost everything, including living. He was simply breathing in and out, existing. Their beautiful home on the lake had become its own tomb of memories.
After the memorial, DR stayed in Malaga for six months, living with Nicolas and Mekie. They adored him and he them. He stayed busy reading and studying, still having his books from the Dukes School.
Then he spent another six months at the school brushing up on his language skills, while his home, along with the crates from India, sat untouched. Money wasn’t an issue any longer. But he still had a lot of work to finish their Indian dig, and crates kept arriving weekly. His Indian friends were counting on him, so he took Clyde McMillen on to wrap it up. McMillen had asked to work on the artifacts with the local university, helping document and assess each piece some four years earlier. He was happy to share in it now, and he needed the income and lab practice, being an archaeologist.
“Make sure we treat Chief Mnortarmillc right,” DR instructed McMillen before going to Madrid. “I don’t want to lose his confidence. He’s been gracious to us. He also has connections we might need one day.”

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