The Sapphire Sea

Book 3: Outer Banks Novel

by Davis Bunn

Genres: Christian Romance; Women's Fiction; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

For readers of Nicholas Sparks and Karen Kingsbury, the life of a brilliant boy yearning to belong changes forever when he’s sent to North Carolina’s Outer Banks amid the mysteries, loss, and confusion of childhood in this heart-stirring coming-of-age novel by the international bestselling author of the Miramar Bay series.

Being himself is a challenge . . .

When it comes to the bittersweet memories of his late mother, Colin Eames is a relatable boy, recalling her tales of a faraway place called the Sapphire Sea where happiness forever is a way of life. Other than that, Colin is different. To Child Services, he is a prodigy to be nurtured. To his classmates, he’s an outsider. To his father, a man of political ambitions and unchecked rage, Colin is a trial, defying the narrowed path his father demands. When Colin is accepted into the Outer Banks Academy for the Gifted, it's his chance to slip out from under his father’s control, to chart his own course, and to embark on a quest for the one thing that eludes him: love.

Understanding himself is a wonder . . .

As the years pass and Colin’s freedom offers dream opportunities, his yearning to make a connection grows stronger. It’s a difficult longing for an awkward teenager for whom the simplest interactions are a mystery. Then he meets Mira, an empathic girl weathering tragic losses of her own. She’s there for him, supporting each new step he takes. Even those with Tiana, a history student from Hawaii who ushers Colin into a new world of first kisses, belonging, and trust—far from the confusion and loneliness of his childhood days. For Colin, maybe the promise of the Sapphire Sea wasn’t a bedtime story after all, but rather a true and genuine place in the heart—one worth searching and waiting for.

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 304

Sample

Rocky Mount, NC

November, 2005

By the time he turned six, Colin spent a lot of time at the living room window. He watched the cars come and go, traced designs on the glass made by the mix of sunlight and dust, and waited for his father to return home. Those very first signs of his father’s mood were crucial.

Soon after his mother’s death when he was four, Colin started reading. His father had increasingly become silent and remote, and Colin found comfort in the mystery of letters. He learned mostly through watching education shows meant for children twice his age. By five he had read all the children’s books available. By six he was reading everything he could get his hands on and was sneaking books on mathematics from the public library.

Their housekeeper was a heavyset woman named Adsila, whose mother was Cherokee and her father black. Adsila was as quiet as his father, who was sheriff of Edgecombe County. Colin’s father had done something to keep Adsila’s son from going to prison. Her loyalty to Sheriff Roger Eames was total.

The summer before Colin entered school, Adsila began taking him to the public library four blocks from their home. The Braswell Memorial Library had opened three years earlier and still shone like a new penny. Colin loved those visits more than anything. Adsila would lead him into the children’s section, then sit at a table in the Periodicals where she could keep an eye on him and read magazines for two hours. Adsila was fully aware of how Colin took books from the adult section. As long as he remained where she could see him, Adsila seemed unconcerned. Colin could have stayed there for years, surrounded by all these new friends.

His mother seemed very close to him then. Brenda Eames had often read her son to sleep, and occasionally Colin heard her now, whispering in that singsong manner she had used when he was still very young. Other times he sat and thought of their happiest moments together, days spent on the Outer Banks, Roger standing in the waves surf casting, his wife seated next to where Colin built sand castles. Brenda Eames could spend hours watching the ocean. She always came home smiling.

One day several weeks into June, Adsila told him, “I seen you in there, doing something on your daddy’s computer when he’s off working.”

Colin had no idea how to respond. Two years after she entered their home, his relationship with Adsila remained a mystery. The midday sun turned the sidewalk into a brilliant mirror. He walked alongside her, and remained silent.

Adsila continued, “You need to ask his permission.”

The words froze him. Colin stood in the heat and squinted up at her. “I can’t.”

Adsila was a handsome woman, in a strong and somber way. She inspected him for a time, then asked, “What is it you do online for all those hours on end?”

“I go to Davidson School.”

“And do what, exactly?”

“It’s called Plan Day.”

“You mean, Play Day.”

Colin saw no reason to correct her. “Will you tell him?”

Adsila studied him a moment longer, then started on, “Let’s get out of the heat.”

Over the past two years Colin’s father had undergone a gradual transition that worried Adsila and terrified his son. Colin always took the same position when he heard the car pull into the garage. His father was a big man, well over six feet and heavy with hard muscle and a harder life. When he was sober, his father’s tread held a dancer’s grace, quick and natural.

On the bad days, Colin slipped up beside the opening where the parlor met the hall running the length of the house. Standing half in and half out of the kitchen. Waiting to see if his father headed for the cabinet beside the refrigerator where he always kept a half-gallon bottle of Maker’s Mark. Something about those bad afternoons left Roger carrying a barely controlled fury.

On the worst days, Roger stopped at a bar frequented by off-duty police. Then he arrived late and stumbled his way through the normal motions of crossing the garage and locking away his weapons. He came in and ignored his dinner in the warming oven and took out the bottle and a glass. The first drink went down before he even seated himself at the table. He would sit there and glare at the opposite wall, muttering disconnected words about how the region was turning into a place he no longer recognized. Those nights, Colin scampered upstairs, often not venturing down for dinner. A night’s hunger was far better than confronting his father in a rage.

As his father’s drinking came to dominate most evenings, Adsila began staying longer. She was comfortable with word less hours, drifting through her housework with scarcely a sound. His father seemed to find an odd solace in her silent presence. On occasion Roger talked politics with her—politics in their hometown, politics at the state level, or the awful government in Washington. Adsila often hummed a tuneless note, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, saying almost nothing.

Colin’s entire world changed the year he entered school. It happened on the nineteenth of September, the hottest autumn day anyone could remember. When Colin thought back on it later, it seemed impossible that so much could have been compressed between one rising and setting of the sun.

The events began as soon as Colin entered the kitchen. He was still rubbing the sleep from his eyes when his father turned from spooning coffee into the machine and said, “I’m making us breakfast. Where is Adsila?” When Colin pointed to the washing machine running in the garage, Roger said, “Go tell her to join us. I’ve got something you both need to hear.”

Colin remained where he was, watching this man who looked like his father and wore his father’s uniform. But the words did not make sense. His father never did anything in the kitchen except eat and drink. He never spoke to anyone at the start of his day. Putting on his game face was how his father had once described it over a glass of Maker’s Mark. Getting ready for whatever the streets threw his way.

“Did you hear what I said?” He used what Colin called his cop’s voice. Hard and definite. “Tell her she needs to get in here on the double.”

The laundry room was located in what once had served as a bathroom for workers. Their home was surrounded by almost two acres of lawn. Every day he wasn’t on duty, right through the winter months, Roger Eames was out trimming and weeding and mowing. When Colin entered, he found Adsila standing by the ironing board, watching. He relayed the message and raced back into the kitchen. “She’s coming.”

“Make yourself useful, why don’t you. Get out the butter. You want some eggs? Sure you do, you’re a skinny little runt, you need to put on some weight.”

Colin squeezed himself into the corner between the fridge and the sink and watched as his father used a fork to swish the eggs around the frying pan. Colin knew the Teflon coating might get scratched, but he didn’t say a word. When his father was in a rage, going unnoticed was safest. Only his father didn’t look angry. Colin decided he had no idea what his father’s mood might be.

Soon as Adsila entered the kitchen, his father started talking. “Big things are happening for me. Big tidings I got to share. I want you both to pay careful attention. I don’t have time to be repeating myself. Not today, and not for a lot of days to come.” He turned and used the fork to point Colin into a dining table chair. He waited there, motionless, until they were both seated. Colin watched half-cooked egg drip from the fork, wondering what it all meant.

His father turned back to the stove and said, “Got a call from the mayor yesterday.” His fork moved with blinding speed, whipping the eggs before he lifted the skillet and spilled the contents onto three plates. “The mayor himself. Seems the movers and shakers have been talking about me. They decided I should become county commissioner. The fellow they’ve backed for ten years has a family crisis. He’s just been reelected, so he’s waiting until the start of next year, then he’s resigning. They’ll back me, and the other commissioners have all agreed to do the same. Two years they want me in that job. One round. Then it’s on to Raleigh. They want me to run for the state senate.”

He carried over two plates and deposited them in front of Adsila and his son. Returned for forks and his own plate. He seated himself between them and began eating. His motions were jerky, like a dog used to fighting for scraps, that was how it seemed to Colin. Like a man who was so excited he was almost angry. He said between bites, “You and me, boy, we’re going to be in the public light. That was the real reason why the mayor called me. To make sure I understood. We understood. That things are changing for the better. And to make it work, we have to be a team. You’re going to be out there in the public light with me.” He took aim with his fork. “Adsila, now, your job is to get my boy ready when it’s time for him—”

“I don’t have nothing to do with any of that.” Adsila rose to her feet. She stared down at Roger, her gaze as hard as her tone. “You want me to clean your house, that’s fine. But what you got to understand is, this boy of yours is nobody’s puppet.”

Colin tried to remember another time when Adsila had stood up for him, and came up blank. Clearly his father was just as surprised. “Who said anything about that? I need him—”

“And I’m telling you this isn’t just about what you need.” She planted fists on hips. “You lost your wife, you been dealing with it best you can. But the truth is, you’ve had the heart ripped out of your chest. And that blindness means you don’t have any idea how much that boy is hurting, same as you. His momma is gone and his daddy …” She stopped, huffed once, then quietly declared, “Your boy is special. It’s high time you see that for yourself.”

His father stared at the empty doorway as her gentle tread made the kitchen floor creak. Only when the garage door clicked shut did he jerk slightly. He examined Colin and asked, “You going to give me any trouble?”

Colin had no idea what his father was talking about. Even so, he knew it was safest to shake his head.

“Good.” His father picked up Adsila’s plate and shoveled the contents onto his own. The bullet head bent back over and he resumed eating. His father’s hair was cropped so short the scalp was visible. “Eat your eggs.”

On the school bus and in the hallway and as he entered class, Colin mulled over what had just happened. It was the first time Colin had ever heard Adsila mention his mother. Recalling the words made his eyes burn.

He was usually the first to sit down. School was an enormously confusing place, loud and rough, the children constantly doing things he didn’t understand. The classroom was quiet, at least until the bell rang. He liked the smell of chalk and dust and the cleaner they used on the floor. The teacher was strange as well, how she exuded such delight over the simplest of things, shining down her special joy when a student got something right.

“Colin, good, I was hoping you would be here.” She entered and smiled in her lovely, special way. “Will you come with me, please?”

He looked at the clock on the wall above the door. “It’s almost nine.”

“What do you know, you can tell time.” She walked over and smiled down at him. “Those are the first words you have spoken in this classroom. Ever.”

He had no idea how to respond except, “Class is about to start.”

“It is. But there’s someone I want you to meet, and she has time for you now. Her name is Celeste Talbot. She’s a very special lady, and she’s come a long way to meet you.” She offered her hand. “We don’t want to keep her waiting.”

They walked like that, him holding the teacher’s hand, through the crowd of noisy children, all of whom watched the two of them. The girls stared, the boys laughed out loud. Colin felt his face flame red, but for once he did not mind. He liked her closeness, the scent of lilacs in her clothes, the warmth in her hand as she guided him forward.

They entered the principal’s outer office, where a dark, heavyset woman stood by the window, studying a file. She turned toward them and said, “Is this the man of the hour?”

“Colin Eames, can you say hello to Dr. Talbot?”

“How do you do, Colin?” She did not seem to expect a reply. Instead, she motioned to the principal’s open door. “Why don’t we go inside?”

Colin knew they probably expected him to be frightened, especially when his teacher remained in the outer office. But there was something about this big woman, a deep, penetrating force to her gaze, that left him feeling okay. He liked the way she studied him. Like she saw him. Like she cared.

The room was empty save for them. The lady pointed him into a straight-backed chair, then pulled another one in so close they almost sat with their knees touching. She looked even bigger from this angle, a dark mountain of a woman encased in a navy suit. “I want you to call me Celeste, all right? Adsila is my sister-in-law. She’s married to my older brother. She’s spoken about you a few times, and I’ve also heard some things from your teacher. I’m going to give it to you straight. Most of the time I’m called in when a child has troubles. Problems at home, in the street, maybe even problems inside themselves. I’m supposed to deliver a first assessment. That’s a fancy word meaning I’m supposed to check you out. See if you need help. Are we clear so far, Colin? Are you paying attention?”

“Yes.”

“That’s good. Real good. Because the only way we can make this work is, first, you need to be paying careful attention. Second, you need to tell me what’s on your mind. Will you do that?”

He nodded.

“There, see? I knew you were going to be a great one to work with. Do I scare you, Colin? Are you frightened?”

He shook his head.

“Can you say that out loud for me?”

“No, I’m not scared of you.”

“And what a lovely voice you have. Okay, Colin. I want to ask you a question. And I want you to give it to me straight. Tell me the first thing that comes into your mind. Just let it out. Nobody else but us two here is going to hear what you have to say. What is it you’re thinking?”

It just popped into his head. Like a tiny electric spark he had not even noticed until that moment. “What is a tempest in a teapot?”

She actually laughed out loud. “What on earth?”

Colin liked her then. She had a laugh like a big human bell. “It’s something I read last night.”

She lost her smile. “You read it.”

“Just before I went to bed. The last thing.”

“Where did you read this, Colin?”

“The Raleigh News and Observer editorial page.” He was sorry to see her smile go away. “I know what a tempest is. And a teapot. But the two words together, they don’t make sense. The editorial had it in there twice. Once, maybe it was a mistake. But not two times.”

She reached for her purse and drew out her phone. “I think maybe I’d better record this conversation. Is that okay with you, Colin?”

“I guess.”

“What do you think tempest means?”

“A big storm. Violent. Dangerous.”

“That’s exactly right.” Her words came more slowly now. Careful. Precise. “A tempest in a teapot means someone or something is making a big fuss about nothing.”

Colin rocked back and forth. “Wow.”

“Okay, Colin, remember what I said at the beginning? I need you to be honest with me. I can almost see the gears in that beautiful little head of yours grinding away. Tell me what you’re thinking. Let me share in what’s happening here.”

He loved how she watched him. Totally focused on him. There was nothing else in the world except her and him. Together. Talking with her was as easy as being silent most of the time. “I love having things become clear. What you said, it makes me understand the editorial. The person writing—his name was Doctor Arthur M. Bell—he’s angry because the Supreme Court wants a university in Wisconsin to change its admission policy to promote affirmative action. He says a state university should be allowed to make its own mind up. Not follow rules laid down in Washington.” He stumbled twice in explaining, over affirmative and admission. “Long words are hard.”

“Yes, they most certainly are.” She seemed to find a need to draw in closer still. “Do you like reading the editorial page?”

“I like how it shows the way people think.”

“Why does that interest you, Colin?”

Suddenly he found himself wanting to cry. Since his father had started drinking most nights, he’d come to hate it whenever Colin cried. Stop acting like a baby, he’d said, shouting at Colin. Stand up and be a man.

Colin swallowed hard and said, “People are so confusing.”

She reached out and gripped his knee. Just for a moment. But in the touch Colin felt the same warm strength he saw in the woman’s gaze. “Do you like numbers?”

He nodded. “A whole lot.”

“I’m going to skip over the simple stuff and go straight to the gravy. Can you tell me what is seven times eight?”

“Fifty-six.”

“Okay. Good. How about fifty-three times one hundred and six?”

“Five thousand six hundred and eighteen.”

She studied him a moment, tapped on her phone, studied him some more. “Do you know what a square root is, Colin? No? Okay, the square of a number is when you multiply it by itself. So the square of seven is …”

“Forty-nine.”

“Right on the money. So the square root is the opposite value. When you multiply it by itself, it gives you the original number. So the square root of seven, what do you think that is?”

“That’s a hard one.”

“Why is that?”

“Because the numbers just keep going on and on.”

If anything, the fire in that dark gaze grew fiercer still. “Give me just the first five numbers.”

“Two point six four five seven.” His heart raced with the thrill of learning something new. Square. Square root. He was going to have fun with those.

She rose to her feet. “You just wait right there. I won’t be a moment.”

Celeste Talbot moved fast for a woman her size. Colin heard voices in the outer office, then Celeste returned holding a newspaper and a book. “Okay, now. Have you seen today’s paper?”

“No. I only read it after school.”

She handed him the front page. “So tell me what it says here … let’s see, this article looks safe enough. What does this headline say?”

“‘Deal with Iran’s regime back on the table.’”

“Do you know what that means?”

“Not exactly.” Colin saw her register a genuine disappointment. He suddenly found himself wanting her to be pleased. So he rushed, “I mean, I know they’re negotiating”—another tough word—“and Iran is saying America has to lift sanctions. But I don’t know what’s happened since yesterday because I didn’t read the paper yet.”

“Iran has dropped their demands for us to take the first step, is what I think they’re saying.” She was flipping through pages of the book she held as she spoke. Then she handed it to him. “Can you read this?” She saw he was looking at the three people now crowded into the doorway. “Don’t pay them any mind, Colin. Just read this text, please.”

He leaned over the page and read where her finger pointed. “‘All too often in childhood the fires of genius falter. There is a very great risk that unless proper care is given, the fire may become snuffed out.’”

“All right, that’s enough.” She took the book from him. “Do you understand that term, snuffed out?”

“Like when a candle stops burning.”

“Exactly. And that’s what I want to speak with your father about. Keeping your candle lit.” She was intent upon him, laser focused. Which meant she saw his sudden flash of fear. She glanced at the trio in the doorway, then looked down at the file in her lap. She turned a page. Another. “Your father is the sheriff.”

She had not asked a question, and Colin saw no need to respond.

“Your mother passed away when you were very young. I’m so sorry. You must miss her very much.” She closed the file. “I think maybe you and I should have a talk with your father.”



The day took on a pristine quality, as if sunlight itself was transformed into a gift. On the one hand, everything remained the same. Colin returned to his boring classes. During recess and mealtime, he stayed on the periphery as usual, observing the other children, staying safe. Just the same, the hours passed in a steady flow of mystery and change. Colin could not identify precisely why he felt that way, except for how eyes followed him everywhere.

When school ended that afternoon, Adsila stood on the sidewalk beyond the playground. Another first. She took him to the neighborhood diner. They had been there once before, on his sixth birthday, when his father had spent the afternoon at what Adsila called the cop bar. Colin ordered the same meal, cheeseburger and fries and root beer. Once he finished, she walked him down to the library, pointed at the adult section, and told him, “You don’t need to sneak around anymore. Just go read what you want.”

If he had needed any indication that the day continued along an amazing course, it was here and now.

Colin spent a few minutes walking along several of the aisles. He had heard the librarians refer to them as the stacks, a name that he liked very much. All the rows of books rising up higher than he could reach, even if he stood on one of the little ladders on rollers. Now and then he touched a title imprinted on a book’s spine. Gently saying hello to friends he had not met.. . .