April’s breeze was gentle and laced with an evening warmth as Emery listened to Delilah’s story, picturing the wide-eyed beauty with full lips and a pixie haircut wearing a bright pink dress and white go-go boots on the cover of Mom’s favorite record album.
“To my surprise, I was pregnant the next year. I was going to be amom. No awards or success or cheering concert crowd, no amount of money, compared. Even Samson marveled, got swept up in marriage talk, looked into buying a house. We’d finally settled on a wedding day when I miscarried. Samson decided then and there that children were not our future. He slammed the door on anything outside of music.”
Emery exhaled, waiting for the rest, sensing small sparks of hope popping on her insides.
“We recorded another album as the world changed around us. JFK and his brother were shot, as were Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X. Our generation was protesting the Vietnam War. We did drugs to find the meaning of life, but there’s not a drug in the world with the true answers. I know because I tried them all.”
“Should I be writing this down?”
Delilah’s soft laugh harmonized with the breeze in the palm fronds. “This story is just for you. Listen, Emery,listen. Sometimes the meaning of a person’s story lies beneath the words.” She tapped her chest. “You feel it here.” She paused a moment, then said, “Samson became even more driven, and I began to wonder, ‘Who am I living with?’ I tried to stay in it, make Samson Delilah work, but I hungered for change. I was tired of the road, tired of being about nothing but music. Tired of the parties, tired of living with a man who refused to marry me.”
“If you didn’t find meaning in your music, then what?”
“One night I ended up at a Hollywood coffee shop with a bunch of long-haired hippy types who weren’t stoned. They were full of light and life. Happy... no, joyful. Little did I know I’d walked into a room of Jesus Freaks.”
“Jesus Freaks?” Emery made a face. “Never heard of them.”
“They were as much a part of the counterculture revolution as the Summer of Love or Woodstock, impacting their corner of the world. A few months later, I met Jesus for myself, and my life changed, literally, from the inside out.”
“And Samson? Your music career?”
“We broke up. Personally and musically. I recorded on myown for a while, but when you step into a whole new identity, the old one doesn’t fit. You see yourself and others differently. I didn’t need music to feel worthy because I’d found the One who made me worthy.” Delilah turned at the sound behind her, then patted Emery’s arm. “That’s how I ended up here. In a town with Immanuel, God with us.”
She stood, dusting sand from her yoga pants. “Caleb is here.”
CALEB
“Evening, Delilah,” he said as she passed, gently squeezing his arm.
“Evening, Caleb. Take care of our girl.”
“Will do.” He sat in Delilah’s place as the last of the sunset streaked gold and orange across a darkening ocean.
Emery scooped grains of sand to dribble on the exposed portions of theSunday Gazette—while sitting on the rest. “Delilah was telling me her story.”
“Really?” He glanced back at her cottage. “How’d that come about?”
“She just started talking. Said she left music because she found something greater.” Emery stared toward the water as the seagulls swung low, searching for food, gliding on the current. “Ever wonder if life is against you?” she asked. “Even God?”
“Sometimes.” He tucked a lock of her loose hair behind her ear. “Talk to me, Quinn.”
“If I were Elliot and Henrietta, I’d fire me and sell the paper.”
“Ever think you came down for more than a job?” Caleb rested his arms on his raised knees.
“Like what?” She shifted slightly toward him. “You?”
He glanced at her, surprised. “Maybe. Or to have some closure with your mom.”
“I already had closure. I just didn’t know it. She’s always with me in my heart, in my memories.”
“There you have it,” he said.
Emery tugged on an exposed corner of the paper. “I really wanted the paper to succeed, Caleb. Wanted to prove I could do the job. Once I arrived, I was surprised by how much I loved this place, how every corner felt like a place I want to be, even with the memories of Mom. Then, surprise, you were here.” She looked toward the stand of palm trees. “I didn’t feel alone here.”
“Sounds like Sea Blue Beach. None of us are ever alone.”
“Because of Immanuel?”
