M.J. Rodgers - Father By Choice

The scene materialized so clearly in Brad’s mind that it made him wish he’d had such a sister.

“My pass to the ceremonies tomorrow is for two,” Ed said. “You can be my date if you promise not to wear anything too low-cut.”

“I’ll see what I have in my wardrobe,” Brad said dryly. “If you were me, how would you approach her on this?”

“Beats me.”

“Come on. You’ve known her all your life. You must have a feel for what would work?”

“It’s precisely because I have known her all my life that I can assure you nothing will work. Emily’s made up her mind to have this kid alone and raise it by herself. And that’s what she’ll do.”

Brad looked out at the night, hoping for inspiration. But his mind was as hazy and blank as the starless sky.

Ed grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him to his feet. “Come on. We’re going back to the bar and tie one on.”

“You think getting drunk is going to help?”

“I sure hope so. Tomorrow, I have tickets to the hottest event of the year and look who I’m taking.”

THE TEMPERATURE WAS IN the seventies, the air a fragrant kiss across Emily’s cheek. In the distance, the Pacific Ocean whispered against white sands. To the north, south and east, the steep mountains circled into a soft blue sky. The gardens all around her were ablaze with sunlight and the beauty of growing things.

“You even arranged for us to have perfect weather,” Dorothy said near her ear. “I am impressed.”

Emily sent her friend a smile.

The Botanical Gardens were filled with the by-invitation-only spectators. Chief of police Max Zirinsky was among them and so were a lot of his plainclothes officers, unobtrusively milling about and keeping a watchful eye.

On a slightly raised platform sat the city council along with Phoebe Landru and Oliver Smithson, Dorothy’s fellow members of the managing board of the Historical Society. The local KSEA TV news crew had set up cameras. Ken Kerr, the society’s photographer, was busy taking pictures with his thirty-five millimeter.

“All we need now is the mayor,” Dorothy said glancing at her watch.

As though hearing his cue, the newly elected mayor, Patrick O’Shea, turned the corner. The TV crew immediately aimed their cameras at him and started to roll. Emily went over to greet him.

The mayor shook her hand warmly, wearing a genuine smile. In Emily’s experience, there were two types of people who went into politics—egoists and idealists. The preponderance of officeholders fit into the first category. Patrick O’Shea, thankfully, fit into the second.

He’d been fire chief before running for mayor, not the kind of job that most candidates for public office held. But maybe the kind that they should. O’Shea knew how to put the welfare of the people of Courage Bay first.

Emily accompanied him to the platform and showed him to his seat. Dorothy had taken her place next to the other members of the Historical Society. The clock in the Botanical Gardens’ Heritage Museum was striking the hour. Everything was in place and on time.

As Emily turned to the crowd before her, she felt proud to be a part of this historical moment for Courage Bay. Raising her hands for quiet, she caught sight of her brother at the right of the large crowd and smiled. When she saw who was standing beside him, the smile froze on her lips.

Oh, no. What in the hell was he doing here?

Emily forced herself to turn her eyes and thoughts away. She was going to let nothing and no one interfere with this momentous occasion. “Ladies and gentlemen, it is my great pleasure to welcome you to our Founders Day Celebration. And it is my deep honor to present to you the mayor of Courage Bay, Patrick O’Shea.”

Emily took her seat beside Dorothy as Mayor O’Shea approached the podium accompanied by enthusiastic applause. When it had died down, he turned to Emily and publicly thanked her for all her hard work in making the celebration a success.

Dorothy rose and began to clap. The crowd quickly joined her as the mayor, city council and other members of the Historical Society’s managing board also got to their feet and applauded. All this focused and very unexpected attention made Emily glad she wasn’t a blusher.

Once the audience had sat down again, the mayor faced forward.

“I want to tell you a story my father told me when I was no more than five,” he began. “It’s a story I’ve passed down to my children. It’s one I hope you will pass down to yours.”

The crowd listened with hushed attention.

“In January of 1848, an American ship called Ranger was caught in a terrible storm at sea and blown off course to these Southern California shores,” O’Shea said. “When the ship was struck by lightning and began to sink, its exhausted crew would certainly have drowned if not for the brave Indians of this land who risked their lives fighting the raging current to bring them safely to shore. In honor of the selfless act of their rescuers, the survivors of Ranger named this settlement Courage Bay.”

Emily knew this story well. Still, she never tired of hearing it told. These events were a proud heritage that she and all the residents of Courage Bay shared. She found herself caught up in the favorite tale.

“When the Indian chief invited the shipwrecked crew to stay, they readily agreed,” the mayor continued. “Protected by this steep mountain range rising on three sides, our quiet community of Courage Bay remained virtually isolated from the outside world until the late nineteenth century when a road was cut through from the north. Even so, it wasn’t until 1904 when the citizens filed their town map with the county recorder’s office that Courage Bay was officially founded.”

Mayor O’Shea paused as he turned toward the large stone sundial to the right of the platform.

“As a marker of that historic event, the leaders of Courage Bay buried a time capsule beneath this enormous sundial they set in the heart of their community park, a park which has grown over the years to become our beautiful Botanical Gardens.”

He faced the crowd. “Today, exactly one hundred years later, we will remove the cover and open that time capsule. I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait to see what our city’s founders have preserved for us.”

Emily nodded to the man sitting in the seat of the crane. He turned on the engine and swung the telescoping crane arm over the sundial.

Earlier that morning she’d supervised the operator and his rigger as they’d dug around the eight-foot-diameter stone they would have to lift. After inserting wedges in several spots, they’d slid a metal plate beneath the sundial to protect it from cracking when it was raised. Slipping three sets of straps beneath the plate, they’d tied them together above the stone.

Lifting it now was a simple task. The rigger on the ground grabbed the steel hook at the end of the crane’s telescoping arm and fixed it beneath the sturdy straps. He then signaled the crane operator to hoist the stone away.

As Emily watched the progress, she’d found herself wondering what it was the founders of Courage Bay had bequeathed them. The sundial had been chiseled when the time capsule had been buried beneath it, specifying when it was to be opened. On the Roman numerals marking the twenty-four-hour segments were the initials of the men who had been selected to set the stone in place.

But nothing on the sundial gave a hint as to what was to be found in the chamber below. If she were to bury a time capsule today, what would she put inside?

Emily’s musings came to a quick close as the stone sundial was lifted and set aside on the cushioned platform prepared for it. The TV camera crew changed position to get a better angle, shining bright lights into the dark chamber below. The big moment had arrived.