The melody of “What a Friend We Have in Jesus” drifted through the church thrift store as Mrs. Carter approached Eveline’s checkout stand.
While she waited for her last customer, Eveline poured the leftover coffee into a chipped teacup holding a purple pansy. Chipped things could still hold life.
As she wrapped the doily, Eveline said, “Let me walk you to your grandson’s car.” At ninety, Ethel Carter, like the doily she carried, still had purpose.
The loudspeaker announced, “We’ve closed.”
Eveline locked the door and crossed the street to the Driftwood Café.
She settled into her usual seat overlooking the Kootenai River. Ella brought her coffee.
A tall man stepped in, and Eveline motioned toward the empty seat across from her. Hello. Have a seat. The place is small, but the food is good. Hi, I’m Eveline.’
“I’m James.”
“Are you just passing through?”
“Oh, I’m mostly moseying around,” he said. “Whenever I travel, I like little cafés and thrift stores.”Eveline smiled. “I’m sorry you missed the thrift store. I have a key if there’s something you’re looking for.”
“Artwork.”
“What kind?”
“One particular artist’s work. Everything else is a bonus.”
He unlocked his phone, stopped at a photo, and smiled.
“This sketch is the only piece of his work I have. But, like they say, hope floats. So I keep looking.”
James handed her the phone.
Eveline enlarged the photo and studied it. Then she followed the lines with her finger, never quite touching the screen.
For a moment, it was just Eveline and the sketch.
After lunch, they both stirred as though it were time to say goodbye.
She paused, then said, “I think there’s something you’d like to see. Would you like to take a walk with me?” James laid money on the table, and Eveline led the way from the café. They made their way to a robin’s-egg-blue house overlooking the river. As they stepped onto the porch, James looked toward the water and the snow-capped mountains and whistled softly.
“Yes, that’s my million-dollar view. Come on in.”
Afternoon sunlight rested on the painting over the fireplace.
James stopped. A younger Eveline stood beside a tall, angular man, her hand resting on her rounded belly. For a long moment, it was James and the man in the painting who wasn’t there. In awe, he whispered, “Harley.”Eveline smiled.
“I guess you’ve met my Harley.”
“I’d wager it was on a riverbank near his favorite fishing hole.”
She smiled. Like most fishermen, Harley had hundreds of stories. But there was one he never tired of telling.”She pointed toward a chair. Would you tell me about that one?”
“Yes, ma’am,” James said. “I was sixteen when I met Harley.
“Ma’am, your husband was the kindest man I’ve ever met. He noticed a hurting sixteen-year-old boy and saw me when no one else did.
“If you asked me when my life changed, I could tell you exactly.
“It was the day I sat beside a campfire with Harley on a riverbank.
“I guess he’s been my hero all these years—a true fisherman of men.”
Eveline closed her eyes, savoring the memory.
Then she nodded.“Go on,” she said softly. The truth is, I wasn’t just out fishing. I was running away from home.“That morning, I got up before dawn, threw clothes into a backpack, stuffed in my dad’s fishing gear, and slipped out. I knew it was stealing, but I thought I could live off the land.
“Near noon, I came around a bend and saw your husband beside a campfire. His fishing pole stood in the sand, and two trout roasted in the embers.
“He looked up, smiled, and waved.
“‘I’m finished fishing for the day,’ he called. Then he grinned. ‘But you’ve stumbled onto one of the best fishing holes around. Cast a line.’
“I climbed into my dad’s waders, three sizes too big. I didn’t want to step into that frigid snowmelt without them.“I had just reached the middle of the river when I stepped on a slimy, moss-covered rock. My feet shot out from under me, and I crashed into the icy current—the waders filled with water.
“The current swept me downstream. I couldn’t stand up, and I couldn’t swim. All I could do was fight the current as I slammed against boulders beneath the rushing water. “Just when I thought I wasn’t coming up again, I felt two strong hands grab my wader straps and drag me toward the bank.
“He flung me onto the shore like a fish and shouted, ‘Get out of those wet clothes!’
“Then he ran to his truck and came back with dry clothes that smelled like they’d ridden around in the cab for years.“As I hurried to dress, Harley changed into dry clothes and threw logs on the fire. Soon we sat quietly on a piece of driftwood. He looked at me and smiled.
“‘You’re hungry.’
“He pulled a foil packet from the fire and handed it to me.
“I was still shivering so hard I could barely answer.
“‘Take some deep breaths,’ he said. ‘Let’s just talk.’
“And we did.
“After a while, he peeled back the foil on the trout and chuckled.
“‘Oops. I guess we got to talking too much.’
“He held up one of the trout.
“‘They’re a little crispier than I planned.’
“As I warmed myself by the fire, I warmed up to him. I talked more than I ever had to any adult. I stared into the fire because truth was easier that way.
“I told him about my dad beating me, my mother not protecting me, and growing up in a house built on anger.“By sunset, I was wound up as tight as a spring.
“Harley poked at the fire.“‘James, a lot of families get started by accident and hormones. But there are no accidental children. God had a purpose for you before your first breath.“Don’t just run away from something. Run toward a future.’
“Harley twisted the toothpick in the corner of his mouth and stared into the fire.“‘You know, James, I think I see a little light at the end of your tunnel.’
“He looked over at me and grinned.
“‘Uncle Sam’s got plenty of money. He’ll feed you, clothe you, educate you, and make a man out of you.’
“That day, over two trout and a campfire, Harley changed the direction of my life.”I sat staring into the fire while Harley leaned against a log with a sketchpad on his knee. I caught him drawing, but he never showed me.
“The fire burned low.
“Harley offered me a ride, but I told him I wanted to stay a little longer.
“He draped my jacket over my shoulders, patted my back, set the empty bean can beside the fire, and said, ‘Kid, be sure to drown the fire before you go. And have a good life.’
“After he drove away, I slipped my arms into my jacket and felt something in the pocket. It was a folded sketch of me by the campfire.
“I filled the bean can with river water and drowned the fire.
“That night, Harley drove home, and I walked home.
“I told my parents that if they wanted me gone, they could sign my enlistment papers when I turned seventeen.
“They signed.
“I left and never went back.
“I’d always loved the water, so I went to sea.
“Harley was right. I quit running away and started running toward the man I wanted to become.“The more blessings I received, the more I felt the need to thank someone. I had thank-you notes written on my heart, but thank-you notes need an address. They need someone to receive them.
“That’s why I spent so many years looking for Harley’s artwork.
“I wasn’t looking for a drawing.
“I was looking for the man who had saved me.
“I wanted to tell that fisherman of men the river rat he pulled out of the current had made it.
“I’ve had a good life. My wife loves me. So do my children and grandchildren. The things that sixteen-year-old boy was afraid he’d never have became my life.”
Neither of them spoke for several moments.
Finally, Eveline rose and disappeared into a small alcove. She returned carrying one of Harley’s framed drawings. Harley had drawn James as a man standing firm in the current, but with the same eyes he had seen that night.
She placed it gently in James’s hands, patted them softly, and whispered, “God bless you, James. I’m glad you had a good life.”
“I think Harley always hoped the river would bring you back.”
James looked down at the drawing before lifting his eyes to Eveline. Tears filled them.
He smiled. “I guess,” he said softly, “it finally did.”