Growing up, my mother was a big part my life -- I think I’ve mentioned that. I had a sister too. Both of them were wonderful women but they were family. There was only so much I could learn from them. Those special relationships between men and women -- like boyfriend and girlfriend, husband and wife were left for me to figure out on my own.

For years after leaving my parents’ home, I lived without a woman to share my space. Who knows, maybe I was baffled by the transition from women enjoyed as mother and sister to imagining them romantically and sexually. I do know it wasn’t my plan to live alone, or some antagonism toward women, it just turned out for years I didn’t meet anyone to fill that place in my life.

Then Carolyn came along, bringing two children from her first marriage. It was beyond beautiful; she was magnificent and I loved being a family man. Everything about my life improved. People said my preaching had more perspective. In the Protestant churches at least, ministers without spouses or families are viewed with some suspicion, so everyone was happier, including Carolyn and the kids. I loved her and she loved me. I still love her.

“Just come over,” she said in her phone message. I was glad to hear her voice. “Just come over.” I figured she was looking for a solution. So was I. I had gone over all these possibilities and didn’t see a way out but still I was optimistic, maybe foolishly so, that if I kept moving forward the road suddenly would open up to me and I’d be cruising in the sunshine again. Like I said, I’ve made a pretty thorough study of scripture and I always hold on to Jesus saying, “for man it would be difficult, but for God all things are possible.” I suppose I was holding onto that bit of faith as I backed out of my gravel drive and steered for Yacht Club Point where Carolyn’s mother, Mrs. Chisholm, lives.

I can tell you this, I never had any trouble with the “man and woman” thing with Carolyn. She is one beautiful woman, inside and out. Soft ringlets of strawberry blond hair that hang on her forehead and stick to her face when our energy flows and her skin begins to glisten -- yes, sex is what I mean. That awkwardness I’d known as a teen in the back seat of my friend’s car? With Carolyn, never a problem. Suddenly, it was like I’d been born knowing where to put my hand, my … you get the picture. She made me feel like such a man that at times I felt like a god.

So maybe she helped create a monster. At some point I stopped accepting the limitations most men feel. The creative power I’d already discovered in my head and heart, took it’s most commanding form when erupting from my loins, and in her arms I became a new creature. That familiar excuse, “you’re not God,” was no longer good enough. “You’re just a man,” no longer worked to lift me off the hook. My trip to a life in the kingdom hadn’t yet departed, but my ticket was in my hand. From that time forth there was no turning back.

If I felt compelled to do God’s will at all costs, to leave the ninety-nine untended in the wilderness while I pursued the one lost sheep, she had had no one but herself to blame. Her love had changed me from man to superman. Or so I dreamed.

Crossing the narrow bridge onto Yacht Club Point, the spoil island river refuge for a rich few, triggered a feeling I can‘t find a word for. What‘s the opposite of elation? It happened each time I came here and I‘m not sure why. I wasn‘t angry at the residents for digging out the river to make a home for their deep draft boats. I didn’t hate them for piling up the extracted river bottom and hauling in even more dirt to form a manmade island, manicured and decorated like a subtropical Disney paradise, even if it did interrupt the river’s natural flow and ruin the view of the mangrove islands shaped through the centuries by the hands of time. Maybe it’s because they needed to see their own handiwork as beyond anything God could make, just as they saw themselves as superior to God’s run-of-the-mill creation -- regular people like you and me. Maybe I saw that as a weakness and disliked them for it. But what’s new? We have been reworking God‘s efforts ever since the first settlers landed and started clearing the forests. They were no different; everyone has to live somewhere. Maybe I just couldn‘t stand how proud they are, or that I am just as proud in my own way. Maybe it was a failing on my part to let them irritate me. I felt better believing my dislike grew out of their insulation from the futility and suffering of the lost and lame, and their conviction that everyone gets what they deserve, rich and poor. But who knows, maybe I was angry because they sparked this feeling in me -- the opposite of elation -- and that alone showed me as vulnerable and just human.

I drove counter clockwise on Yacht Club loop. The houses of the residents -- all of them roofed with ceramic tile like the deep blue-green of the ocean -- rose to my right on the waterside of the island, while the Clubhouse and other amenities stood inland to my left. Carolyn’s not really one of them I told myself, but here she was living in the shelter of her mother’s shadow. I passed the Pinkerton house. I would never share the details of that night in the parsonage. Kids from good families, with good reputations, further polluting the life of one already labeled toxic. Why should I? Who would it benefit? Why spread the circle of pain? It was tempting, but Brad Pinkerton was a good kid. The Bentley daughter was a sweet child. They couldn’t help the accident of their birth anymore than Sagan could. They could recognize that privilege should bring with it a sense of responsibility, but what the hell, their parents didn’t see it so why should they?

Mrs. Chisholm’s Lincoln was not in the driveway. Off to her office on the ocean I guessed. The maid answered the front door bell and greeted me.

“Nice to see you Pastor Dietrich.” She was a daughter of the black family that had worked many years for the Chisholms.

“Nice to see you Lucile,” I answered. “Is Miss Carolyn home?” She had been “Miss Carolyn” to Lucile’s family since childhood. She and Lucile had been playmates but even then Lucile called her “Miss Carolyn,” just like her mother.

“Step in out of the heat, Pastor Dietrich,” I’ll fetch her for you.”

Lucile walked off and soon returned with Carolyn and a tray of iced tea.

Carolyn‘s smile looked genuine, welcoming. “Nice of you to come by dear,” she said, putting her hands on my arm and a quick kiss on my lips. “Iced tea?”

As my unease with the island built, I’d hatched a plan to step inside just briefly -- not even sit down -- and ask Carolyn to come to the parsonage later if she wanted to talk. I would make dinner and … but here was Lucile with iced tea. Southern hospitality said I couldn’t turn it down.

We followed Lucile out onto the enclosed patio. The sliding glass was in the closed position and the air conditioning made outside as cool as inside. Carolyn anticipated what I was thinking.

“Yes, I know, in the old days with a couple of Magnolia trees for shade and the breeze off the river a screened porch was really a screened porch. My mother doesn’t believe we should have to suffer this heat if technology can beat it. The shade trees and the river breeze … that was the old Florida she says.”

“It’s still Florida for most people,” I said. “I’ve spent a few evenings lately out on our screen porch. It’s been very comfortable.”

“I’m sure,” she said.

“Where are the kids?”

“Mother took them out on the boat. She got a new one you know. This is the maiden cruise. They won‘t be back ‘til late.”

“What was wrong with the old one? Too small?”

“No, this one’s the same size. Sixty feet. She didn’t like the master cabin in the old one.”

“Where’s her car?”

“Down at the marina. The people from the boat builder delivered it there last night and they’re crewing the shakedown cruise. She drove over to meet them this morning.”

“Bet she’s the envy of every boat owner on the island.”

“Well, fortunately, she didn’t add any length. You know how some men are about length.”

“Especially yachtsmen,” I said.

She smiled and so did I. When she was feeling frisky she liked to boost my ego by saying she loved my length. Of course, she wasn’t talking about boats. I didn’t even own one. I’d always been more for the physical sports. My water sport was swimming -- and body surfing. She may have had another form of physical fun in mind.

“Listen Carolyn,“ I said. “Would you like to come over to … to our house tonight; thought I’d make dinner and …”

“… what else?”

“… listen to some music … maybe talk about a few things like …”

“… but if I’m not in the mood for talking?”

“We could try whatever you are in the mood for.”

“Hmm,” she said. “Sounds interesting. Do you have any idea what I might be in the mood for?”

“I’m starting to get a feeling.”