The Plan

At age 57, Brad was at a crossroads.

He sat in his idling Ford Explorer in the parking lot at Crossroads Bible Church, at the intersection of Routes 1 and 50. He thought he had shed all the tears he had as they lowered his wife of 23 years, his best friend, his confidante, his truly better half, into the fertile Nebraska soil in the church cemetery. Now, an hour later, beastly sobs and new tears rose from the well of his grief.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

Theirs was a life of shared joy, shared adventures, shared values, shared vision of what life should be, and how it would be now that their youngest son, Jason, was out on his own. The oldest, Tom, and his wife Mandy had presented them with a perfect granddaughter only three months ago. New life sprang from their own, full of promise like the rows of tiny corn shoots surrounding the churchyard.

They celebrated a commitment to God’s plan, as taught in their church. But God’s plan, it turned out, included the cancer that took Chrissy’s life. Until the end, grimacing with pain, Chrissy held onto her faith. Brad, in his grief, was trying to understand what that plan was.

As though to stoke the burning pain in his gut, Brad recalled the major moments in their marriage, from their first date at Grinnell College to their wedding to the births of their sons, who grew into smart, responsible men the way God’s plan had intended. The chronology of family milestones played in his mind image by image like an old photo album with blurry snapshots captured in plastic pockets.

The chronology paused as he recalled the only vacation that he and Chrissy had taken without the boys, celebrating their 20th wedding anniversary. That trip to Hawaii was one of the happiest times of his life, and had made them feel more like two pals on an adventure than as Mom and Dad. A reluctant smile interrupted his tears at the memory.

***

The void Brad felt in the following months extended beyond his quiet house, his empty bed, his now-distant church. Only brief phone calls with his sons allowed him to feel Chrissy’s presence, which drifted off as soon as the calls ended. He tried to lose himself in his work, but felt that work, as well, was a path that no longer brought him joy. He began to consider a new plan.

Brad’s partner in the farm machinery dealership was Buddy Solinger, a burly plow horse of a man who could sell a tractor with a smile and slap on the back. Their teamwork, forged as teenagers on the gridiron of Cass County High, had made the business the most successful in Manley, population 167. Buddy, who regarded Brad as brainy but overly cautious, had been urging him for years to branch out with a second dealership in Weeping Waters, but Brad didn’t want to vary from the tried and true. Risk was not his style. That was about to change.

“Buddy, I think it’s time you ran your own dealership,” Brad said.

“So, you want to open another branch?” Buddy asked. “We’ll do great.”

“Not that. I’d like to sell my share to you. You know how to make this dealership thrive.”

Buddy let that sink in. It was his dream to be the ultimate decision-maker. But he didn’t want his best friend and mentor to be hurt.

“You love this business. We’re like family,” Buddy said

“We’ll always be brothers. And I do love the business. At least I did. It’s not enough since Chrissy died. I need to take a break and find out what is.”

“What will you do?” Buddy asked.

“I’m not sure,” Brad said. “I need to return to a point where everything was still good.”

***

From the air, the Lihue airport occupies an outsize chunk of Kauai’s main city. On the ground, it feels too small to be the destination of a 14-hour flight. It’s the first encounter with the paradoxes of Hawaii.

Brad’s pilgrimage was a paradox in itself. This place was the touchstone for his happiest memories, but without the woman who made that happiness possible. It was a start. It was a plan, sort of, that God and his church hadn’t provided. His sons thought Brad was being impulsive but trusted him and supported him. They would give him room to heal in his own way.

***

The Kauai Queen brochure proclaims the boat to be the best NaPali Coast tour boat, with free beer to boot.

As a church deacon, Brad wasn’t much of a beer drinker. But the Kauai Queen was the boat he and Chrissy had taken to see whales and secluded coves accessible only by sea. Perhaps it could take him to feel Chrissy’s presence, if even for a short time.

Half an hour into the trip he had seen a pod of spinner dolphins, a green turtle and some of the most spectacular scenery on the planet. But whatever he was seeking, whatever the plan was, was not here.

“Wanna beer?” a tanned, tall woman asked as he leaned against the rail. “I’m buying.”

“I thought the beer was free,” Brad said.

“It is for customers, but I pay for it because it’s my boat. Soon to be the bank’s boat.”

“You’re quitting the business?”

“Not by choice. I’m a good captain, but a shitty bean counter. Pardon my Polynesian.

“Ever since my husband died, I’ve had to keep the books and I’ve pretty much messed things up,” she said.

“I’m sorry about your loss. Your losses,” he said. After a pause: “Who’s driving the boat now?”

“Ha. You thought I set us adrift,” she joked. “Pookie’s got the wheel. He’s the mate. Wish he knew something about bookkeeping. All he knows is boats and fish.”

Her casual openness touched him. Ever since Chrissy’s death, Brad’s conversations with friends tended to be strained, sidestepping the lingering shadow of death. Instead, this short conversation created a shared bond born of death’s demands and life’s challenges.

The captain looked to Brad like a beach bunny aged by a couple of decades of sun and surf. She was a daughter of the islands, with streaked blond hair, grin marks creasing a tanned face, and freckled shoulders holding up a pink tank top over white shorts. She looked like she belonged on a surfboard more than in the pilot house.

Impulsively, Brad wished he could help her revive her business. He knew how to run one. He wanted to do the right thing. He wanted to honor Chrissy’s memory and find renewed purpose. He wanted to forget that this trip was a bust otherwise.

He put caution aside. He took the risk.

“I had a good business back home. Maybe I could offer some pointers,” he said.

Oh, Jeez, she thought, another white knight planning a one-nighter. Probably married. All her life, men were trying to save her, from someone or something. Since her husband Bennie died, she did just fine without a man to call the shots. That is, except for keeping the finances on track.

This guy looked sincere. Button-down blue shirt, knee-length shorts, Cornhuskers ball cap and sandals with socks. Yep, he had to be for real.

“I probably can’t afford you,” the captain said, considering the cost in money and potential heartache of taking the stranger’s offer.

Brad laughed. Cashing out of the dealership left him with a comfortable early retirement. A paycheck wasn’t an issue.

“You can afford me. I work for beer, and I can’t drink more than one a day. I can stay as long as it takes to keep your boat afloat.”

She looked as surprised as a tourist who had just hooked a sailfish. She had nothing to lose if he was just a jerk she’d have to let go.

“You have a deal,” she said, extending her hand. “My name is Sam.”

“I’m Brad.” With that they shook on it.

***

Brad had expected to spend his days looking out on paradise from the balcony of his Poipu condo. Instead, he was insulated in a tiny windowless office amid cases of beer, life jackets, fishing and snorkeling gear, and a desk piled with unfiled receipts, bills, an aging computer and fast-food wrappers. He was ecstatic. The work, and company, suited him.

Two weeks into their arrangement, Sam and Brad had shared their memories of lives shared before death. Finding that kinship eased their grief. She admired the way he spoke of Chrissy with total love and respect.

Sam’s husband Bennie, a native Hawaiian, had worked on a friend’s long-line tuna boat during slow times. He baited hooks attached to a cable that slowly came off a reel at the rear of the boat, then winched the cable back in to harvest the tuna. It was a dangerous job that required quick action if one of the moving hook lines snagged the clothing of the bait setter.

Two years earlier, that had happened to Bennie. Before he could hit the kill switch for the winch, the hooked line pulled him out of reach and over the rail while the captain wasn’t looking. He drowned before his body could be retrieved.

Elbows on the desk, Brad leaned forward as he talked to Sam, gracefully seated on a stack of beer cases like they were a recliner. They shared an easy camaraderie like old friends.

“We know that the problem is that your ridership isn’t what the other boats pull in,” Brad told Sam.

“That’s why I thought it would be a good idea to give away the beer,” Sam said.

“But has that increased business enough to cover the beer cost? Are beer drinkers a big part of your market?” Brad asked.

“I don’t know. I guess not. It sure increased the number of drunks I have to deal with.” She felt a bit stupid about that choice.

“I’ve studied the competition and looked over your records. I think I know what we, I mean you, have to do,” Brad said. “Number one, keep the beer on board but charge for it, even just a small amount, to cut down on drunk partiers. Two, pay bills with a cash-back credit card instead of checks to help your cash flow. Three, pay more attention to email requests, and sign up to get bookings online. You can’t depend on walk-ups while all the other boats are fully booked weeks in advance. If you do those things alone, you’ll stay in the black.

“Bigger stuff I’d work on is renegotiating your boat loan and redoing your web site and marketing to reach out more to turtle-huggers and less to drunks. You’ll need some help with that.”

She wished he would work on that. She felt he filled a void left by Bennie’s death. At this point she trusted Brad more than she trusted herself. But she understood the day would come when he would return home.

“Wow. That’s a lot to take in. I’m not sure how well I could do that. Do you think I could convince you to stay on?” Sam asked, pretending it was a joke.

He didn’t have to think about it. The path he was looking for was clear.

“I can make that my plan,” he said.