Page 2 of Life, Love and the Pursuit of Happiness

“I’m tempted, but no, I’m not ready to leave the teams.” JAM shook his head for emphasis. “I know it’s crazy, but I feel as if there’s something important I’m destined to do yet, as a SEAL.”

“You mean like a God-ordained thing?” Merrill asked, and he wasn’t kidding. JAM had studied to be a priest at one time.

“Maybe.” JAM shrugged.

“You’re full of shit.”

“Probably.” JAM paused. “Don’t shut the door on me, though, buddy. I might change my mind down the road a ways.”

“Anytime,” Merrill assured him.

When JAM went to the men’s room, Merrill glanced around and realized that another reason he was feeling so off balance today was that he sat at a table with a handful of his SEAL buddies in full white dress uniforms, while he was in civilian attire. Yeah, it was a tux, since he was a groomsman at this hokey-ass, Independence Day–themed wedding, but it was a white tux, which was not the same thing as white formal military duds. Not at all! He knew from vast experience that women went gaga over men in uniforms. Not so much men in tacky white tuxes with pink ruffled shirts and pink boutonnieres to match the bridesmaids’ attire. Ethan’s preteen daughter by an earlier marriage apparently had a thing about pink.

The whole town of Bell Cove had shown up to support Ethan and Wendy, their native son and daughter, who’d finally gotten their acts together, a celebration of what they called “a forever kind of love.” Did I mention hokey? The event was being held at the mansion owned by architect Gabriel Conti, descendant of the Conti Brothers who founded Bell Forge, for whom the town was named, more than a century ago.

Even though the Fourth of July was a few days past, the theme of the nuptials was a red, white, and blue extravaganza, complete with flags and rockets and sparklers—the whole patriotic stars-and-stripes works, thanks to local do-gooders who’d taken over the festivities, making it as much a town event as a personal celebration of love. In fact, a marching band had led the wedding party from Our Lady by the Sea Church to the mansion on the bluff overlooking the Atlantic Ocean on one side and Bell Sound on the other. Some couples have a wedding march, these dodo bird townies insisted on “Yankee Doodle Dandy.”

The reception was being held both indoors, via the open French doors, and under a massive tent outside with panoramic views of the water for the overflow crowd. The caterer’s serving staff wore Uncle Sam and Betsy Ross outfits. I kid you not! Not to mention punch with red, white, and blue vodka ice cubes. There would be a fireworks show later over Bell Sound.

When Ethan and Wendy had protested the extent of the patriotic decorations and themed activities surrounding their event—How much was this stuff costing anyhow?—the mayor and town council had told them not to worry, that lots of the decorations were left over from the Fourth of July celebration and, in fact, could be saved and reused for the newly planned Labor Day Lolly, or Lollypalooza, not to be confused with the music festival by that similar name, although it was a town known for its bells and bell music. So why not? Also, maybe some of these decorations could even be incorporated into their second annual Christmas Grinch celebration come December, the mayor had mused. “Grinch what?” you may ask. Hah! Suffice it to say, you do not want to be “grinched” in Bell Cove.

All of this was cornball to the max, but kind of nice, in an innocent Aunt Bee/Sheriff Taylor/Opie/Barney/Goober kind of way. Yeah, I’m an Andy Griffith Show fan. So shoot me! Which was probably why Merrill had decided to settle here in small town, USA. Being estranged from his own family for so many years, he was probably looking for family in this community. That was more important at this stage in his life than leaving the adventurous life of the teams. How pathetic was that?

Not that he was giving up adventure. Not with a new shipwreck salvaging/treasure hunting company. Still, his motives for this big move would be fodder for a psychiatrist’s couch.

In any case, Merrill’s mellow mood was helped by the six “dead soldiers,” i.e. empty longneck bottles of beer sitting in front of him, two empty champagne glasses, and the sight of the vision which just appeared in the far doorway. A late arrival.

Even with all the loud music, the town square bells could be heard ringing out the hour. The two churches, the town hall clock tower, and God only knew what else. Everyone and everything here came with bells. Right now, it was as if the bells were announcing a personal alert to him: Hot Babe on the Horizon.

Delilah Jones.

Oh, boy! Ever since the babe had put the deep freeze on him, he’d decided to cut his losses. No more passing idly by the 1950s-style diner and motel she was renovating. No late-night beach visits. No more looking for a sighting of her around town. Nope. Instead, Merrill was devoting all his time to the launch of his new business enterprise. And he’d almost succeeded.

Until now.

“Oh, boy!” someone said aloud, reiterating his thoughts. It was another of his longtime friends, Captain Luke Avenil, who sat on his other side at the circular table. “Slick,” the senior of his old teammates, had to be close to forty now, which was old for a SEAL. But then, Merrill was thirty-five. Not much difference. Slick elbowed him and asked, “She the one?”

Merrill ignored Slick’s question as he watched the blonde bombshell in a white halter sundress edged in red, with a shiny red belt, and white high-heeled sandals walk across the dance floor. She was heading toward the dais, carrying a gift-wrapped package, presumably to greet the newly married couple. The band Nostalgia, a popular Outer Banks classic rock group, was playing that old Springsteen song, “Born in the U.S.A.,” and, without doing anything overtly sexual, Delilah’s stride kept beat to the music.

Boom-chick-a-boom-boom-boom. Born-in-the-U-S-A. Boom-chick-a-boom-boom-boom. Born-in-the-U-S-A. That’s all Merrill’s brain, and eyeballs, registered. But then, he was more than a little bit buzzed, from alcohol and unrequited lust.

The Boss’s rendition marking Independence Day in his own inimitable fashion was not your usual wedding song, but then this wasn’t your usual wedding celebration. And, yeah, it wasn’t really a song about patriotism, but the people of Bell Cove, who’d taken over the planning for this wedding reception, probably didn’t know that—or care.

Belatedly, he responded to Slick, “The one what?”

“Don’t play dumb, Mister Genius. Your one and only,” Slick replied. “In other words, the one you’ve had a hard-on for the past three weeks.”

“How would you know? You just got here yesterday.”

“News travels fast.”

No kidding! The gossip grapevine in Bell Cove was remarkable, but it was nothing compared to the SEALs and WEALS—Women on Earth, Air, Land, and Sea, the female division of SEALs—both of whom made minding each other’s business an art form.

“Is she the one who’s got you dragging your tail and sighing with luuuuve,” added another of his table mates, Navy SEAL Ensign Hamr Magnusson, a former NFL quarterback called “The Hammer.” With mock seriousness, Hamr wagged a forefinger at Merrill. “You’re gonna give SEALs a bad name, buddy, even if you’re not in the teams anymore. Women chase us—we don’t chase them.”

“Bite me,” Merrill offered, and tossed a handful of USA flag–foiled Hershey’s Kisses at Hamr’s grinning face.

Hamr grabbed a few, midair, and lobbed them back at him.