I picked my way through piles of corrugated tin, broken toilets, and lawnmower parts and came to a halt when I saw the blue uniforms and the wheel-less old Lincoln Town Car, with the smashed-in engine compartment, sitting on concrete blocks. Mullins had said it was an Inevitable Case when he'd called me, but I'd never get used to seeing the various ways that could play out. What we referred to as an Inevitable Case was a street whore or hustler some john or pimp had taken for that final ride.
I came in from work about noon on Friday. I had been gone for a little over two weeks. Pulling in the driveway, I noticed that my daughter's car was gone but her best friend's car was parked in front of the boat on the far side of the carport. You talk about a pair to draw to; those two were it. My daughter is tall, dark, and slender, Sissy is even taller, blonde, and equally as slender.
Tom was sitting in coach seat 23B, the middle seat. The seats on either side of his were empty, for now. The passengers were streaming onto the plane in that herky-jerky hurry-up-and-wait mambo that is repeated a million times a day on every flight to everywhere. As each passenger approached, Tom silently evaluated them and put them into one of two categories.
The summer of 1976 was especially hot. It was late August and I was studying in the library at college but found it impossible to concentrate. Every time I looked out of the window I could see carefree people in the quad, laughing, enjoying life, making the most of the wonderful, warm weather. I felt left behind, stuck in this mausoleum reading but not taking anything in. I was feeling restless and thoughts of sexual activities were assaulting my brain.
After a short courtship, Mara and I married in a small ceremony with only a few close friends and family members present: her mother, my mother and father, her brother, and of course, my son Luke.
Luke was 11 years old now, not the best age to go through such a large life change as getting a new stepmother, but then again, is there ever a good age for that? In any case, he was clearly feeling better than he had just after his mother died. He was performing better in school, and he seemed to be bonding with Mara.
Dawn felt the big boat move, and tensed, remembering again where she was. She sat up straight, and looked out the window, watching the jetty recede, and the people still milling about on it get smaller. The boat rocked faintly, and she swallowed. It was not as bad she had originally thought, but what on earth would she do if this thing capsized? She couldn't swim, and she knew no one on the boat. She opened her pocketbook and searched for the little notepad and pen.
He had just turned sixty when his wife passed away. Along with her passed the dreams of a retirement of travel with her as his constant companion. They had planned to travel the world together, but it was not to be. Now he moped about their home with no ambition or desire to do anything, including keep the house clean. He sometimes straightened a little, knowing how disappointed she would have been to see her home in such disorder. He couldn't bring himself to show much interest in anything, until finally, his children told him he had to clean up his act.
Brad McGibbon was not coping well following his wife's decision to leave him to live in a warmer climate because her joints were playing up. Brad's were too, a bit. He thought Heather should have hips, knees and anywhere else that was painful replaced instead of sloping off to a warm climate where one sweated all day and perhaps half-froze at night.
She chose Hawaii while he stayed put in Twin Forks on the John Dee River.
The summer of 1970 was the time, and the place was Holland Patent in rural central New York State.
Arthur Connors was a recently retired man of 65 with a lot of time on his hands, and after his wife of 36 years had passed away a couple of years ago, that time seemed to pass more slowly.
Deciding to take up gardening, Art cleared out the area near the fence out back that divided his property from the Miller's spread next door, and began planting tomatoes.
All characters in this story are above the age of consent (18). The story and its characters are all fictional (even though I wish they were not). I love hearing your comments so please leave one. I love to get messages from my readers.
Behind schedule, over budget, and never good enough for the client, status quo for a creative director; that was my situation when Sandra popped unexpected and uninvited into my office.
"Somebody has a crush on you." She chirped.