Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73010 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73010 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
It’s a quick trip, and with two bags in hand, I find a bench and inhale the salty sea air, attempting to reconcile my conflicting emotions.
I lift my phone and text John. I got the part.
Congratulations!
Thanks. I’m actually glad not to hear the stiffness in his voice, though I know he’s genuinely happy for me.
Good timing, too, since you sold the house. Suppose this means you’ll be heading out?
I swallow thickly. In a few days.
You’ll keep me updated about how it goes? And about the divorce too?
Yeah, sure.
What about the boat?
Good question. Next on my list. Gonna ask around.
Good luck.
I’m so lost in thought I barely register Mr. Goodson sitting down and playing his ukulele. I acknowledge him with a nod, then relax and listen for a while, thinking back to our conversation when I first arrived in town, the better part of two months ago.
“Being married that long means you’ve both evolved into many different versions of yourselves. You’ll grieve who they were a million times over, but the key is to embrace who they’ve become.”
John and I have undoubtedly evolved apart and, in a sense, even together.
When he finishes the final stanza, I stand.
“That was lovely. See you later, Mr. Goodson,” I say, though that’s unlikely.
“All is not lost, young man,” he declares with as much confidence as he did that day.
I stare at him. “What do you mean?”
“I can see the pain written all over your face.”
“I…well, no. I just have a lot going on right now.”
He scrutinizes me for a long moment, and I wonder why I can’t just tell him the truth.
“I assume you’re leaving, aren’t’cha?”
That’s when I realize he’s privy to town gossip as well, must be hearing all the goings-on right from this very bench.
“Yes, sir. I am. And though I’m happy about my future opportunities, I feel conflicted about them too.”
“Always remember your roots.” He winks. “Good luck to you, young man.”
“I, um…thanks.”
As I walk away, I suddenly remember the rest of our conversation that day.
“Real love is eternal. It keeps you rooted even when you’re split apart.”
I deposit my groceries in the pantry before heading back to my car. Once I park at the dock, I walk toward the warehouse.
The same man wearing the Sleepy Slip storage logo on his shirt approaches me. “What can I do for you?”
“I was wondering if you know anyone willing to take my grandfather’s boat off my hands.” I look away from his probing eyes. “I live in LA.”
He adjusts the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. “I can ask around and keep an eye out. Plenty looking for boats around here. Not sure what you’ll get for her, though.”
“Yeah, I figured. But I did my best to clean her up and give her a good polish.”
He takes off his ball cap, scrubs his scalp, then flips it backward. “That’ll help.”
“Great. I’ll be leaving town in a few days and would like to rent storage for the boat again. Until she sells. So how about I give you my contact information?”
We trade information, and soon enough, I’m on my way back to my car. That’s when I see a familiar woman helping a man with a cane down the dock. When I realize who it is, I jog to catch up to them.
“Good to see you, Cap.”
He stiffens as he turns to look at me. He looks ill, and one side of his face is drooping from the effects of the stroke, which likely makes it hard to form words. “You…too…Micah.”
His daughter looks wary as she grips his arm. “He was determined to come here today.”
“Stubborn, huh?” I tease. “Can’t say I blame you.”
“Don’t want…to waste more time…staring at four walls…” He’s winded by the time he gets out the sentence, so I just smile and nod.
“Need any help?” I ask.
“All…good,” he says, and I know better than to try anyway. Instead, I speed ahead to hold the door open as she walks him to the bait shop and they step inside. Before the door shuts, I take stock of the supplies on the shelves, the bulletin board to share town news, and the peeling paint inside and out. As if I’m taking a snapshot of this moment, though I’ll undoubtedly be back again before I leave town.
I stand by my statement that some things are better left in their original condition. Because change is hard and nostalgia beckons the soul. Besides, there’s no telling what’ll happen in six months’ time for any of us.
31
JOHN
A few days later, I receive a text from Micah. How about a final boat ride?
As I drive toward the dock, I’m not sure how I could refuse him. This is likely it. Everything feels so final because it essentially is.
As soon as I see Micah standing on the casting deck of his grandfather’s boat, my breath catches. I will always have that image of him as my last.