I’m not getting a migraine.” She’d had migraines when she was younger, none for years though. But with the stress she’d been under, anything was possible.
The water was cold. It woke her even more, but the flashes of light were still there. She shook her head. Maybe some food will help. She spread butter on bread for pan-fried toast.
“Couple slices of toast with peanut butter, maybe a dab of grape jelly, nothing like a little comfort food.” Her voice in the empty cabin was quite loud.
Beth sighed. She still wasn’t used to being alone.
The tiny kitchen was just big enough for one person. She moved from fridge to stove with ease. Her dad had always let her help in the kitchen, even when she had been too small to reach things, he would sit her on the counter and hand her whatever needed to be stirred or peeled or opened or poured. She remembered very clearly the first time he let her chop vegetables . . . she’d felt so grown up. Abby had been the same way. She loved to help in the kitchen and sit on the counter. She especially loved helping her Grampa. They were so close.
Why are we always in such a hurry to grow up and leave, Beth wondered? She sat at the small pine table and pondered that question. It had been on her mind a lot lately. But of course it would; she was missing both her dad and her daughter. And her once-best-friend, Sam. But I won’t think of him. I just won’t!
The toast turned to sawdust in her mouth and the memories crowded around like crows on a highline wire. Just the thought of how Sam had been when they were first married was enough to bring on the tears.
Oh what fun they’d once had, hiking, camping, exploring, and traveling. Loving. It had been an endless summer vacation. Try as she might, Beth couldn’t really see where they’d gone wrong.
Heart heavy, she pushed away the once-good memories and poured herself a glass of milk. The toast she scraped into the garbage can. Now that she had let the memories in, they were rushing about her head just like the darting lights had done a few minutes earlier. “Sam, Sam, Sam,” she whispered, angrily swiping at the tears that kept leaking. “Why? I thought we had such a good thing. Twenty years . . . how can anyone just throw it all away? It would be easier if you’d died, like Dad. At least then my good memories would still be good—not tainted.”
She sat back down in the recliner and let the memories flow: playing catch with an old baseball in the backyard when they were in their twenties, her wedding ring flying through the air because she’d gotten so thin from, according to her dad, living on love.
How amazed she had been when her new husband had taken an old costume ring and tossed it from the same place she had tossed the baseball, and how the cheap ring had landed deep in the thick grass within a few inches of her own precious wedding ring. The one she couldn’t even look at now. The one that was locked up in her new safety deposit box back home, along with the twenty thousand in cash that her dad had left just for her in a thick envelope inside his old sleeping bag. Just in case you need some mad money, the note had read in his strong block print. That was what he always said when she was a teen and had first started going out with groups or on dates.
“Love you,” he would say. Then he would press a ten or twenty into her palm and whisper, “Just in case you need some mad money.”
She’d found out the hard way what he meant when she was barely sixteen and a school party had almost turned into her undoing. Rather than ride home with Cindy, her old friend and the girl who’d brought her, Beth had stupidly accepted a ride from a senior boy who just naturally assumed that since she was smitten with him, she was going to put out a little for his effort.
Fortunately, they hadn’t gone far when she figured it out by the way his hand kept straying to her thigh. She had jumped out at the first red light, headed
The water was cold. It woke her even more, but the flashes of light were still there. She shook her head. Maybe some food will help. She spread butter on bread for pan-fried toast.
“Couple slices of toast with peanut butter, maybe a dab of grape jelly, nothing like a little comfort food.” Her voice in the empty cabin was quite loud.
Beth sighed. She still wasn’t used to being alone.
The tiny kitchen was just big enough for one person. She moved from fridge to stove with ease. Her dad had always let her help in the kitchen, even when she had been too small to reach things, he would sit her on the counter and hand her whatever needed to be stirred or peeled or opened or poured. She remembered very clearly the first time he let her chop vegetables . . . she’d felt so grown up. Abby had been the same way. She loved to help in the kitchen and sit on the counter. She especially loved helping her Grampa. They were so close.
Why are we always in such a hurry to grow up and leave, Beth wondered? She sat at the small pine table and pondered that question. It had been on her mind a lot lately. But of course it would; she was missing both her dad and her daughter. And her once-best-friend, Sam. But I won’t think of him. I just won’t!
The toast turned to sawdust in her mouth and the memories crowded around like crows on a highline wire. Just the thought of how Sam had been when they were first married was enough to bring on the tears.
Oh what fun they’d once had, hiking, camping, exploring, and traveling. Loving. It had been an endless summer vacation. Try as she might, Beth couldn’t really see where they’d gone wrong.
Heart heavy, she pushed away the once-good memories and poured herself a glass of milk. The toast she scraped into the garbage can. Now that she had let the memories in, they were rushing about her head just like the darting lights had done a few minutes earlier. “Sam, Sam, Sam,” she whispered, angrily swiping at the tears that kept leaking. “Why? I thought we had such a good thing. Twenty years . . . how can anyone just throw it all away? It would be easier if you’d died, like Dad. At least then my good memories would still be good—not tainted.”
She sat back down in the recliner and let the memories flow: playing catch with an old baseball in the backyard when they were in their twenties, her wedding ring flying through the air because she’d gotten so thin from, according to her dad, living on love.
How amazed she had been when her new husband had taken an old costume ring and tossed it from the same place she had tossed the baseball, and how the cheap ring had landed deep in the thick grass within a few inches of her own precious wedding ring. The one she couldn’t even look at now. The one that was locked up in her new safety deposit box back home, along with the twenty thousand in cash that her dad had left just for her in a thick envelope inside his old sleeping bag. Just in case you need some mad money, the note had read in his strong block print. That was what he always said when she was a teen and had first started going out with groups or on dates.
“Love you,” he would say. Then he would press a ten or twenty into her palm and whisper, “Just in case you need some mad money.”
She’d found out the hard way what he meant when she was barely sixteen and a school party had almost turned into her undoing. Rather than ride home with Cindy, her old friend and the girl who’d brought her, Beth had stupidly accepted a ride from a senior boy who just naturally assumed that since she was smitten with him, she was going to put out a little for his effort.
Fortunately, they hadn’t gone far when she figured it out by the way his hand kept straying to her thigh. She had jumped out at the first red light, headed
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