taped it to the front entrance. There would only be a continental breakfast served today.
Everyone who came through the door thought they were asking the question for the first time.
“Where’s Joe? Where did he go? Do you know when he’ll be back?”
“Don’t know,” was the answer.
It was a quiet morning. Everyone spoke in low tones or didn’t speak at all. The conversation at Father Callaghan’s table, which consisted of Jeremy Woods, and Mayor Lou and Hope Schofield, finally became audible to those at the table next to them. They quieted down to hear what was being said. Gradually, the whole diner was listening.
“Do we call the police?” queried Jeremy.
“I hardly think that’s necessary,” said Lou. “The last thing we need during Coast Days is the report of a missing person!”
“Lou!” exclaimed Hope.
“Joe left of his own accord. He has a right to his own business.” Lou held his ground.
“True enough, most likely,” said Father Callaghan, “but we have to face the fact that it’s not like him just to up and leave!”
“We only know he’s never done it since he’s been here with us,” said Lou.
They were reminded of just how much they didn’t know about Joe, who he was, and where he had been before he had come to town, before he had bought an old empty shack, and made it into Joe’s Fine Dine-ing.
“And what did he mean, ‘Carry on’?” mused Jeremy.
“Sounds like maybe he was just talking to Sally about carrying on with the cafe operation,” said the mayor.
“Now, how could he possibly have meant that, Lou?” asked Hope. “She doesn’t have the funds or the means without operating expenses. It seems impossible.”
Jeremy’s hands propped up his head as he placed his elbows on the table, staring down.
“True enough, he could come back any time.”
“Then again, it may be a while,” said Father, quietly.
“Let’s give it a day and see where we are tomorrow at this time.”
The voice was that of Wendell Cone from across the room at his regular station. Everyone was surprised. He barely said a word any more.
“I agree,” said Katye.
Eyebrows were raised again. Katye spoke up even less than Wendell. Lou nodded his head in agreement. “There’s no sense in making drama if there isn’t one already!”
“Let’s meet tomorrow night if he’s not back,” said Susanna. “We can meet at Argostoli’s. I’ll have Greek coffee and some baklava.”
“No one could object to that!” said Father Callaghan.
The conversation melted into painful silence. The air seemed to go out of the room as the inhabitants of Joe’s Fine Dine-ing realized that Joe really was gone. Slowly, people exited the door into uncertainty.
The day went on in Safety Harbor, but with an uncharacteristic anxiety and lack of focus on the part of those who knew and loved Joe. Nate took out a full boat of tourists. Katye taught two summer classes at Harbor Community College. Johnny worked at the midway that had been set up by the water’s edge. Luther led a Bible day camp on the beach. Margaret went to her local office. Lou met with city commissioners in the morning and went down to the festivities in the afternoon. Susanna went about her day, keeping an eye on the dozens of new paintings on display. Doc Bailey was called down to the waterfront for an emergency. Chief-of-Police Carmelita Biffle wrote seventeen courtesy parking tickets. As Vice President of Harbor Days, Father Callaghan called a meeting at the rectory for three in the afternoon. He invited Sally as a new member since she had the parade instructions from Joe.
Everything went on as usual, yet, to many, it felt that life as they knew it had come to a halt. Joe was gone.
Chapter 4
Stewart Grenville went to Portland every Tuesday for therapy. It was an ultimatum by his wife, Katye, who had set it as one of the terms for the continuation of their marriage. As a priest in the Church of Anglican Piety, because of his recent choices, staying in the church as active clergy had not been an option.
“You are a good man, Stewart,” the Bishop had told him. “I hope, for your sake and others, that you get to the source of this disappointing behavior. You are grounded until all of this is sorted out.”
He had come to Safety Harbor with Katye when she had taken the job at the community college.
Stewart’s father had been a grocer in the small town of Smith Springs, Nebraska. His mother reared three children while her husband worked, day and night, to feed the family. It was an area deprived of culture and knowledge of the world beyond corn and bean prices and whether the Smith Springs Spartans were having a winning year.
As he grew older. he realized that their life at the Holy Spirit Baptized Church amounted to a good amount of incongruity and unintended outcomes. It was too hard to keep all the rules, riddled with pietistic hang-ups.
At the holy roller church, as people in town called it, you got married early. Normal dating wasn’t allowed because kids could get in trouble if they went to dances or football games or anything out of town. This meant that the church offspring often did get in trouble, as they put it then. After all, what they could do together on a date was so limited that it left them way too much time.
As a result, nature took its course and there were many young parents in the congregation. Fortunately, there was no infant baptism, so no one was faced with a public event featuring parents who had been married for fewer than nine months, presenting a child for baptism, a scandal in that time. A considerable number of babies seemed to come early! But, since marriage was always within the congregation, it was just one big family, literally. Church secrets were family secrets and vice versa.
The sting of parental disapproval over his not going on to the religious college of their choice was soon soothed by the wonderful new world of Saint Gustavus Adolphus College. There, he could think his own thoughts and meet people for whom conversation about ideas was stimulating. Often, their discussions were lubricated by a glass of wine or a mug of beer.
Still, he felt himself to be a bit of a slug and an anomaly. Others seemed to have a kind of understanding of the way the world is, as if they knew a secret about that life he did not know. It was as if someone had taken something out of him earlier that was precious, had not given it back, and he didn’t know where to find it.
As he reflected on those days, his older model Volvo made its way up over the Coast Range. Coming down out of the gentle mountains, the highway now widened into four lanes and the pent-up mountain traffic came spouting and rushing from behind as if a bottle of soda had been shaken and the cap removed.
He made his way through Newberg and the quaint little town of Dundee. He rounded the curve into Tigard where he took Highway 99 to I-5 North to Portland. Dr. Fred’s office was in the Pearl District, a renovated area of old warehouses and abandoned breweries that had been converted into upscale shops, restaurants, professional
