Chapter 15
Beckett juggled the two travel mugs filled with steaming coffee and smothered a yawn as he crept toward the front door.
It was so painfully early .
Did people really get up at this hour voluntarily?
You’re up , a voice in his head retorted.
That was true, but it was only because—
Well, he didn’t know why , exactly. There was the obvious reason—Jo’s dad had asked him, and he wanted to help out. There was the reason he’d given Maggie—he missed fishing. And then there was the reason he wasn’t quite ready to examine—Jo.
Not that she was going to be happy to have him along. She hadn’t exactly been subtle about that. But he had promised he would be there, and he would—even if it meant leaving the house at four a.m.
He slipped out the door, the chill of the still-inky morning seeping through his sweatshirt. He shivered and set out at a brisk walk toward town since the others would need the vans later. Between the chill and the movement, he was soon awake enough to admire the silvery tops of the waves as they rolled toward shore in the lingering moonlight. He couldn’t help drawing in an awed breath at the sight, and he caught a hint of fall in the early-morning stillness. It had been his mother’s favorite season. Beckett had thought about her more since returning to Sanctuary than he had in years. In many ways it was painful, being here, the last place he had seen her. But in other ways, it was also . . . healing.
Beckett let his mind drift over his childhood, over being here now, over Jo and Sam and all of the people he’d talked to since coming back, until the past and the present seemed to fuse together, and he felt for a moment as if he had never left.
When he reached the town square, he paused to admire the quaint storefronts, the neatly kept flowers that seemed to shiver against this morning’s chill, the gazebo, with the string of lights shining softly around its roof line. He had never really appreciated how pretty it was before. Maybe he should consider—
The sound of a boat motor pierced the silence, and Beckett set off at a run from the harbor, ignoring the hot coffee sloshing on his hands. He had no doubt Jo would gleefully leave him behind if she could.
His footsteps pounded much too loudly on the dock, jarring against the peaceful morning, but he didn’t slow down as a boat’s red and green running lights eased away from a slip. He tried to calculate how far he could leap, if it came to that.
But as he drew closer to the Reel Blessed ’s berth, he saw the boat still bobbing serenely on the waves, its white hull gleaming in the moonlight. He let out a breath, peering after the boat that was now maneuvering into the harbor’s channel. It wasn’t Jo, after all.
“Hello,” he called quietly so he wouldn’t startle her.
But there was no answer, and the boat appeared to be deserted.
Beckett blinked at it a moment. Had he gotten the date wrong? Had Jo canceled the charter so she wouldn’t have to spend the day with him?
He pulled out his phone to check—and discovered it was only 4:30.
He chuckled at himself and climbed gingerly onto the boat, stashing the two coffees in the cupholders and taking a seat in the captain’s chair—which he would relinquish to Jo the moment she arrived.
He used the time while he waited to pray, at first for the usual things—protection, success for their fishing expedition, healing for Jo’s dad, strength to overcome the doubts that had been plaguing him here. But then, without meaning to, he turned his prayers toward his future. Guide me, Lord, to be open to your will for me, whatever it is. Even if it’s staying here.
He froze. Where had that come from? He wasn’t considering staying here. He couldn’t stay here. There was no reason to stay here.
Never mind that last one, Lord . He shook his head at himself. It wasn’t like he needed to put in a cancellation request for his prayer.
The sound of footsteps on the dock stole his attention, and he swiveled slowly in his chair to watch Jo approaching the boat, stunningly cute as she pulled the cooler with one hand and carried a bait bucket in the other.
“Good morning,” he whispered when she reached the side of the boat.
Jo jumped backwards with a stifled scream, and water sloshed out of her bucket.
“Sorry.” He stood and moved to the side of the boat. “I thought you saw me.”
“No,” Jo gasped. “I had no idea you were here.”
“I promised I would be,” he pointed out.
Jo grunted as if she didn’t put much stock in his word.
She set the bait bucket on top of the cooler and vaulted lightly into the boat, then turned and grabbed the bucket.
Beckett hefted the cooler into the boat, then walked to the captain’s seat and grabbed her cup of coffee, holding it out to her. “Hopefully it’s still warm.”
Jo eyed the cup.
“I promise it’s not mud-water,” he said, wincing at the memory of the time he’d replaced her chocolate milk with a sludge of dirt and water. “Come on.” He waved the mug under her nose, and she closed her eyes but held out her hand.
He set the mug into it, holding on a second longer than necessary as his fingers contacted hers.
Her eyes popped open, and he let go.
“Okay, captain.” He tried to shake the zing of the contact with her skin. “Put me to work.”
Jo took a sip of the coffee, then smiled—a real smile that lit Beckett’s insides up.
“Can you check the head?” she asked innocently.
Beckett froze, then chuckled. All right, so she was establishing a chain of command.
“Aye, aye, captain.” He saluted and trotted down the stairs into the cabin.
Fortunately, the head was already clean, but Beckett did discover that the paper towel roll in the galley was empty. It only took a minute of rummaging around to find a new one and replace it.
Then he climbed back up to the deck, pausing at the top of the steps to watch Jo, who was standing with her hands wrapped around the coffee mug, gazing toward the east, where a faint pinkish glow dusted the horizon.
She looked so serene, so at home , that Beckett felt a sudden, intense longing for a place that would make him feel that way.
Jo turned, startling a little when her eyes fell on him, and something in her expression made his heart jerk.
“Pretty sunrise,” he said. “Looks like it’s going to be a beautiful day.”
Jo’s only answer was a loud puff of air that he chose to interpret as agreement.
“She’s a beauty.” Beckett scooped the net deftly into the water, careful not to knock the thick walleye off the line.
“She sure is.” Scott—a guy in his mid-30s, who was probably the least coarse of the group they’d taken out—cranked the reel, and Beckett lifted the net onto the boat, easing the fish to the floor. Jo was instantly there with her needle nose pliers, which she used to deftly unhook the fish.
She pulled her small, flexible tape measure out of her pocket and held it up to the fish. “Twenty inches.”
“Best one today,” Scott gloated, holding up a hand to fist bump Beckett. “You and the Mrs.—”
“We’re not married,” Jo shot, lifting her head to glare at Beckett as if he’d been the one who said it.
Scott held up his hands. “Whoa. Touchy subject. What’s up, bro?” He elbowed Beckett. “Not ready to be shackled with a ring?”
Beckett shook his head. “She won’t have me.”
Scott roared with laughter, and Jo glared harder.
“Well, buddy.” Scott clapped a hand to Beckett’s shoulder. “Keep working on her. I bet—”
“Let’s get some pictures,” Jo interrupted loudly, holding up her camera as Beckett handed the fish to Scott. A touch of red stood out on her cheeks, and Beckett debated whether that was a result of being out in the sun and wind all morning—or Scott’s assumption that they were a couple.
She snapped a few pictures, then took the fish from Scott and eased it into the live well.
“That’s our limit,” she announced. “Congratulations on filling up. You can reel your lines in, and we’ll head back to the harbor.”
Disappointment washed over Beckett. He didn’t necessarily want to spend more time with these guys—though they were less obnoxious than he’d anticipated, and he’d even had a nice conversation about guilt with one of them earlier that he hoped had planted the seeds of the Gospel. But he did want to spend more time with Jo. Not that they’d talked much. He’d mostly done grunt work, netted fish, and hung out with the guys to keep them out of her hair.
But this was the first time he and Jo had spent any amount of time together that she hadn’t seemed one hundred percent annoyed with him the entire time. In fact, at a few points he’d even thought she might be warming up to him a little—might even like him. Or at least not hate him.
He helped reel in the lines and put away the lures and rods, then took the seat next to hers. The guys went below deck, and Jo throttled up the engine. Though the lake was choppy today, Jo steered the boat expertly through the waves, and Beckett relaxed in his seat. The windscreen and hardtop made it almost cozy in the cockpit.
When they got closer to the island, Jo pulled the throttle back to motor through the no-wake channel leading to the harbor.
“I bet your dad is going crazy at home,” Beckett said, now that the sound of the wind and the engines had died down.
Jo looked at him in surprise. “Yeah.” She laughed a little. “He’s been texting me all morning. I sent him some pictures of our catch—but I think that only made him more antsy to get out here.”
Beckett grinned at the way she said “our catch,” even though he knew she probably meant the clients—not him. “How long until he can get back out on the water?”
“The doctor thought it would be at least three months. Which takes us well past the end of the season, so realistically, he probably won’t be out here again until next year.”
Beckett winced. “Does he know that?”
“Know it?” Jo nodded. “Accept it?” She grimaced.
“I can help more,” Beckett offered.
Jo glanced at him. “I can handle it.”
“I know you can.” Beckett gestured around the boat. “And mostly I just get in the way. But it was fun.” He saw Jo trying to resist a grin, but she lost out, and he grinned back at her. “Try to deny it.”
“Fishing is always fun for me,” she said.
“Doesn’t it ever get old, since you do it every day for work?”
“Does acting ever get old for you?” she shot back.
“Touche.”
“How’d you even—” Jo stopped and shook her head, as if she’d changed her mind.
“Get into acting?” he finished for her. She didn’t nod, but he took her silence as assent. “I was studying software engineering. Thought it would impress my dad.”
“Did it?”
“Nah.” Beckett was still working through his feelings about that, so he skipped forward.
“Anyway, it was a couple of weeks before graduation, and I still had no idea what I was going to do with my future. Everything felt so . . . meaningless.” He lifted his shoulders, hoping that was enough to describe the emptiness he’d felt.
Jo nodded, as if she understood, and that was enough to encourage him to continue. “I was walking through this park in the middle of Nashville, and these people were all gathered around. I stopped to see what was going on, and it turned out they were filming this Christian movie, and all the people wanted to be extras. I watched for a little bit, and I was kind of making fun of it.” She knew well enough how good he had been at that, so he didn’t go into detail. “Anyway, at one point, Maggie’s eyes zeroed in on me, and she was like, ‘You. Come over here.’ I still don’t know why I listened. But I did, and apparently she was happy with my performance because she called me a few weeks later about auditioning for another movie. Honestly, I think the invitation was more of an evangelism thing on her part, but I ended up getting the role, and now here we are.” He still couldn’t believe the way God had worked everything out. Not that he’d given God the credit at the time.
“Wow.” Jo shook her head. “What are the chances of that?”
“Zero,” Beckett said confidently. “But God. It’s like he gave me more than a job. It feels more like a . . . calling.”
Jo’s eyes narrowed, and she kept her gaze on the waves.
“You don’t like when I talk about God.” He kept his tone matter-of-fact so that she wouldn’t become defensive.
She shrugged. “I just find it a little convenient that you started talking about him when it would benefit your career.”
Wow. All of the air escaped Beckett, and he slumped back in his seat.
Jo glanced at him but didn’t say anything else, and Beckett didn’t attempt to revive the conversation. He watched as she maneuvered the boat into the harbor. He supposed it was fair for her not to believe his faith was real, after everything he’d put her through. And the truth was, sometimes he felt like an imposter. He still had questions. Sometimes he had doubts, even. So did that mean his faith wasn’t genuine? Was he only deluding himself into thinking he was a believer so he wouldn’t feel like a hypocrite making these movies?
He tried to call up a Bible verse for reassurance, but none were forthcoming. Was that more proof that he didn’t deserve to be called a Christian?
By the time Jo pulled the Reel Blessed into her berth, his head was pounding with questions. He got up silently and stood on the gunwale, tying off the bow while Jo tied off the stern. The guys all came up from the cabin, and Jo promised to have their fish cleaned and ready for them within the hour.
Scott clapped Beckett on the shoulder, then turned to Jo. “Don’t make my boy wait too long for you.”
Neither Beckett nor Jo acknowledged the comment, and the group took off down the pier, laughing and jostling each other.
Jo started unloading the fish from the live well into the cooler, and Beckett picked up the scattered trash from the bottom of the boat.
“I’ve got this,” Jo said quietly. “Thanks for your help today.”
Beckett glanced at her. Maybe he should insist on staying. But the truth was, the pounding in his head had become unbearable. “You’re welcome. Let me know when your next charter is.”
She nodded, but he already knew she wouldn’t.
And maybe that was for the best.