Tag: short stories

Small Cuts (4) – Genevieve

~ Meg ~ 38 Comments

Find part one here, part two here, and part three here.

Beautiful Elaine. I watched her through my lashes. Beautiful, curvaceous, fecund Elaine. No wonder Oliver couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. His hands, either, for that matter. In comparison, I was a sallow, insubstantial, specter. Whatever fleeting and foolish love Oliver had felt for me in our early days had been completely and unabashedly transferred to the wife of his best friend. I shot a look across the table at James. He’d taken my hand in a gesture of understanding —as Elaine basked in Ollie’s attention— that he was in the same position as I. I turned my hand to link our fingers and whispered, “Thank you.”

“No, Gen, thank you,” he replied. And after a gentle stroke of his thumb to mine, he let it go.

He returned to his meal and I to mine, though I had little appetite. My stomach rolled at the sight of the medium rare red meat. I should’ve ordered something light like the soup. But in an attempt to feel ‘normal’ among all the other normal people, I’d ordered the steak. Oliver had been making snide remarks about my recent weight loss, as if I was doing it just to spite him.

He really had no idea…

For years I had counted on my career to supply the ammunition for my arsenal of arguments against reproducing. I really did see the most horrid side of humankind. But now I didn’t even have that any more. Three missed deadlines, three major screw-ups and I had lost one of the biggest donors the non-profit had on their list. I hadn’t told Ollie, even though it had been a week since I’d been ordered to clean out my desk. I still got up every morning, showered and dressed and left at the same time. However, instead of heading to my Center City office building, I bought coffee at the cafe and I walked. I walked and walked and walked for hours.

Failure. I was a failure. At everything.

That was the reason I didn’t want to have a baby. God, I was barely able to take care of myself. How was I supposed to care for another human being? A little person who had to depend on me for their very existence? It scared me to death. And yet my unwillingness to have a baby was just one more loss on my score card.

I was thoroughly convinced that my parents had had children out of a sense of achievement. As if it was another box to tick off in the accomplishments of life. And now they were exerting that pressure on me. If I didn’t fulfill this duty —this obligation— to produce offspring, it would be yet another demonstration of my incompetence. Yet, the more pressure they put on me, the more resistant I became toward the idea. I’d be damned if I was going to become Oliver’s brood mare just because it was expected of me.

Mother sent emails with articles about how much more difficult it was for women to get pregnant after a certain age —the age I now approached. My sister was an oblivious conspirator in this battle, in that mother had insinuated to her that Oliver and I were trying but failing to conceive. Allison now tried to offer comfort in not so subtle ways. She made remarks about my taking time off work to rest and get my health back —if she only knew— and how stress interferes with all sorts of things, especially fertility. I would laugh and say that would only be a problem if I was trying to get pregnant. And she would tsk and nod with pity and a knowing look.

I hated them all for their self satisfied, ‘I know better than you’ attitudes. It made me want to scream. I was never enough for anyone. No one was ever happy with just me. Why was I so unlovable? Did I not offer enough all on my own? I was a bad daughter, not playing by the rules. I was a bad wife, not yielding to my husband’s desires. I suppose my own desires were of no consequence in comparison. I was a freak of nature. A woman who ignored her biological and evolutionary purposes. I had failed my species.

And now I had even failed at the one thing I counted on for validation —my job.

And so I didn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep and I found myself I staring into an abyss of perpetual misery. I had no practical answers, no solutions to this predicament. I dreaded talking to Oliver. He would view my newly unemployed status as an opportunity. Or at least he would have a few months ago…

But now I watched him, gazing at beautiful Elaine, his eyes full of tenderness —he used to look at me that way long ago— and the emptiness and despair that washed over me was physically painful. As I looked across the table at James once again, the first tear spilled over and rolled down my cheek.

Continue reading here.

This Far Away

~ Meg ~ 60 Comments

Since I’m reimmersing myself in my novel series universe for NaNoWriMo, I thought I’d share one of my favorite short stories with you. These are characters from that world and I feel a particular affinity for them. And… I fantasize regularly about running away, so this story, although somewhat humorous in nature, is close to my heart. Enjoy…

It had taken Kerry Donovan 18 hours to reach St. Martha’s Cove, Florida. His parents had moved to the tiny Gulf Coast town after retiring a few years back. Since then, Kerry and his brother Leo had taken over their father’s construction business. The sun was just lightening the sky as Kerry pulled into his parents’ driveway. They weren’t expecting him. He had thrown some clothes in a duffel bag and taken off without telling anyone where he was going. Leo was going to be pissed.

Ryan Donovan was sitting on the front porch with his coffee and the newspaper. He tossed it aside and stood when he heard the crunch of gravel. Kerry saw him open the front door and yell inside. No doubt announcing to his wife, Sophie, their son’s unplanned arrival. Kerry cut the engine and got out.

“Kerry,” his father said, striding over and pulling him in for a hug. “What the hell’s going on, son? You ok? Is it Leo?” He gripped Kerry by the shoulders and stared at him hard. “Brianna.” He muttered a curse. “What happened?”

Kerry gave him a shaky smile. “I took her over to show her the house.”

“What? She didn’t like it?” Ryan asked. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

Sophie Donovan ran outside, still in her pajamas and bare feet. “Sweetheart! What on earth…?” she began. “Come inside, you look exhausted. We can talk over coffee.” She held Kerry’s arm and led him to the house, peppering him with questions the whole way. Ryan got Kerry’s bag from the truck and followed them inside.

Sophie directed her son to the kitchen table and set a cup of coffee in front of him. “Now, tell us what’s going on,” she ordered.

Kerry covered his face with his hands, resting his elbows on the table before speaking. “She called off the wedding.”

“What?!?” Sophie cried. “With only three weeks to go? Oh, sweetie, why?”

Kerry rubbed his eyes. They felt like sandpaper. “She’s decided she can’t spend the rest of her life with me.”

“Why the hell did she say yes in the first place?” Ryan growled. “It’s not like this was a whirlwind romance. You guys have been dating for almost two years.”

“I don’t know, Dad,” Kerry sighed. “I’ve been asking myself that question for the past 18 hours.” He gave them the whole story, detail by sordid detail. “That’s it. We’re finished.”

“Did you tell your brother?” Ryan asked.

Kerry shook his head. “No.” He paused and blew out a breath. “Not ready for the pity party.”

“Well, you can stay here for as long as you like, dear,” Sophie said patting his hand. “But you have to call Leo and tell him. He’ll be worried.”

“Yeah. Not right now, ok?” He drained his coffee cup and stood. “So can I bunk over the garage or do I have to squeeze into that closet you call a spare room?”

“The rooms over the garage are all yours, sweetie. Let me go get you some towels and sheets,” his mother said, rising. “Then I’ll fix you breakfast.”

“Sounds good, Mom.”

***

The setting sun shining through the west-facing window finally roused Kerry from his slumber. He trudged into the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. His dark stubble was past the five o’clock shadow stage but he couldn’t have cared less. On returning to the bedroom, he checked his phone. There were three missed calls, all from Leo, and one voicemail. Maybe he’d try and sweet talk his mom into calling Leo back for him.

He pulled a pair of cargo shorts out of his duffel bag and tucked the phone in one of the pockets. His parents’ bungalow was quiet when he entered through the lanai in the back of the house. “Mom? Dad?” he called out. No response. He found a note in the kitchen, ‘Kerry, we ran out for some extra supplies. Shouldn’t be gone too long. Help yourself to whatever you find in the fridge. Love, Mom.’

He opened the fridge, didn’t see anything that caught his fancy. He felt like a big greasy burger and about a gallon of beer. He ran back upstairs for his wallet, left a note for his parents and walked toward the town, looking for a bar.

He found a place facing the beach, right on the edge of town, called Martha’s Tavern. At first, he thought it was named for St. Martha’s Cove but as he got closer, he saw in smaller letters beneath the sign: ‘And this Martha ain’t no saint’. He chuckled. This was just what he was looking for. He poked his head in the door and saw a few customers sitting at the bar, a few more playing pool in a small room off to the side. It looked like a mix of locals and a couple of stray tourists. He found an open seat at the bar and sat down.

A mountain of a woman came over to take his order. She was at least six feet tall and built like a line backer. She had a mass of black hair pulled back in a braid and the tattoo of a snake coiling from her thick wrist to her impressive bicep. She smirked at Kerry’s shocked expression. “Somethin’ a matter, sugar?” she drawled.

Kerry blinked and mentally smacked himself. “Uh, no, no. Nothing’s the matter.”

“Aw, a Yankee boy. You down a visit, honey?”

“Uh, yeah, my folks live here,” he replied.

She cocked her head to the side, swinging her long dark braid behind her. “You sure they ain’t nothin’ wrong, darlin’?” she asked. “Lemme getcha a drink and you can tell me ’bout it. Whatcha havin’?”

Three shots and three beers later, Kerry’s head was spinning. He hadn’t eaten anything since his mother had forced breakfast on him that morning. Martha had matched him shot for shot and didn’t seem fazed in the least. Before she set his fourth beer in front of him, she went back to the kitchen and returned with a big burger on a kaiser roll, a pile of fries and a pickle. “Chow down, honey. Else I’ll have to call you daddy to come getcha.”

Kerry shook his head to clear it. “How’d you know…?”

She laughed and patted his hand. Kerry dug into the food while Martha moved down the length of the bar to take care of her other customers. He groaned with pleasure – this might be the best burger he’d ever had. Getting a little food in his belly helped to clear his head somewhat, too. When Martha had refilled everyone’s drinks she came back to Kerry and leaned in close. “You wanna talk about it?” she asked gently. “Might help.”

Kerry found himself pouring out the whole story. How he’d bought an old run-down house and remodeled it for his new bride. The time and attention he’d put into restoring every detail in the beautiful Craftsman style bungalow. Hardwood floors, wood trim, tile in the kitchens and bathrooms. Stained glass in the window of the front door. It was his wedding present to her and she’d dumped him on the front porch.

“That girl be crazy, let a handsome young fella like you get away.” Martha patted his cheek. “She don’t deserve ya. That’s what. You better off without her.”

The phone in Kerry’s pocket vibrated. It was probably his mom worrying that he wasn’t home yet. He answered without looking at the caller ID. “Hello.”

“Kerry, it’s me,” Brianna said quietly. “Can we talk?”

Kerry’s stomach knotted and the shock must’ve shown on his face because Martha frowned. “What do you want Bri?”

“Kerry, I’ve been thinking… Maybe… maybe you were right, I was just getting cold feet. I’m sorry. I’ve made a huge mistake. Can you forgive me? Will you please let me come over so we can talk?”

“Forgive you? Come over?” Kerry repeated into the phone. “Just like that?” He swallowed hard. “Bri, I’m in Florida at my parents’ house.”

Across the bar from him, Martha mouthed “That her?” and Kerry nodded. Martha snatched the phone away from him and hung it up. “Hey!” Kerry protested.

“No good a come from that, sugar. She just sweet talk ya into takin’ her sorry ass back.” She pushed a fresh beer in front of him. “You will find the right girl, doncha worry none. In the meantime, set a spell and keep ole Martha company.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Who knows, maybe you’ll meet somebody here.”

Kerry drank deeply from his pint glass and shook his head. Then for the first time in the last 36 hours, he smiled. Yeah, he would be all right. He could stay here, fish in the gulf, get himself a tan and help his Dad fix up that old boat he’d bought. Leo could manage without him for a while. Winter was coming and business would slow down anyway. Besides, the weather here was beautiful. And even better, Brianna was 1100 miles away.

Kerry was concentrating on his burger when someone slid onto the stool next to his. He turned his head, intending to be polite and found himself face to face with a stunning brunette. He managed a smile and forced himself to keep his eyes from drifting south to her sinful curves. With thick black hair, huge dark eyes and full kissable lips, she was breathtaking. She smiled and Kerry went weak in the knees. Martha cleared her throat, “Sugar? Lemme introduce you to my baby sister.”