Seaside Thoughts 2.0 (Blogophilia 25.12)
Note: this is a rewrite of a story from several years ago. It fit the prompts and I wanted to go back and revisit it.
The cabin was a weathered gray stack of sticks sitting squat on the bluff near the inlet. There were four rooms and a dock on the side. The boards on the porch were groaning under the breeze. It had been gracious of Jack to let him use the place for a few days. They had had their differences over the years, but guilt and shame have a way to loosen these kinds of favors. It wasn’t every day your daughter twists the knife into her ex and made you pay for it. He sat in an Adirondack on the screen porch, watching the tide flow out to sea, like his life.
It felt like astral projection, this trip to Kiawah. He’d killed a half a bottle of Wild Turkey and the rest of the case was in the trunk. Somehow, he kept it between the lines and the State Patrol was none the wiser.
The breeze freshened. Gun metal clouds were gathering on the northeast horizon, lightning flashing under them like a broken neon sign. White caps on the summer shore were late, though. The later they were, the worse it would be. Uncle Archie had told him that. He remembered the trip on his boat so many years ago. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen him go from drunk to sober in an instant.
Funny, he was so much like mother it was scary. But unlike her, he knew when to keep it together. Why couldn’t he have been more like him?
The glass floated at eye level. He’d caught her and Savage in full stroke in his bed. Watching her leathery skin squishing and squeaking like trash had been painful. Now she wanted to rub his nose in it. Winning another round in the sadomasochistic game they had played since high school.
The rain pelted against the screen, but he was so drunk it didn’t phase him. He chugged the remaining liquor and hoped the roof held.
The other question was: why did he even go? One of his buddies had a condo in Cherokee with a $250 players card. Wouldn’t that have been better? Sitting in the smoky casino, watching the wheels turn?
Humming an old George Jones tune, he brought the old jelly glass half-way up without losing a drop. The eyes were dry now. The surf and clang of the skiff in its moorings had quieted his rage and focused his thoughts. The divorce wasn’t finalized. Everyone knew it and no one said a word. Father Terry could ignore a lot, given the rumored large donation to the building fund to make this debacle happen. Half a bottle kept him quiet in the corner.
Yeah, he loved being the butt of a joke.
The procession was very nice, candlelight and Dubonnet on ice. Yeah, right. More like a train wreck. Slipping in the side door as soon as the music started, nobody took notice of him. Savage stepped out of the altar door wearing an ill-fitting tux. He smirked at the congregation. Jack looked like he had been shot as he escorted her pregnant ass down the aisle. There was a running bet in back of the sanctuary when labor would start.
Just before the vows, she caught sight of him. Shouting and fingers began pointing his direction. He left the same way he came in, but not without leaving a gift, a single black rose. He left another gift in their trunk.
The rain began to slant in through the screen, briefly sobering him up. Standing, he brushed droplets off his slacks and grabbed the glass and bottle. Ambling inside, he noticed the table clock said 10:59. He picked up the remote control and turned on the TV. He stood there watching as a coffee-colored piece of eye candy appeared and began to speak.
“Good evening and welcome to the WSOC Nightbeat. We open with breaking news out of Georgia. Two people are confirmed dead when a car crashed on I-75 south of Macon after some sort of an explosion…”
Punching the off button, he drained his glass and smiled.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Topic-Colleen Keller Breuning
Pic guesses: Moorings (in blog), surf and clang (in blog), Dinghy, Whaler, Skiff (in blog), calm seas, low tide
Comments
Post a Comment