Once Again, Long Island
by L.S. Johnson
Smashwords Edition
*****
Once Again, Long Island
Copyright 1999, 2012 by L.S. Johnson
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Once Again, Long Island was originally printed in Transfer magazine, issue number 77.
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*****
Once Again, Long Island
The boat was rocking gently in the waters of the Long Island Sound and if Pete closed his eyes he could feel the deck and how it would move under his feet, and how the waves would slap its white underbelly, and how the salt would stiffen his hair and fill his mouth with the taste of the sea. He was unable to tear his eyes away. There was something about certain boats, about the way they seemed to catch the light. He was certain, for instance, that the cabin was paneled in wood, and that there was a leather couch. And playing cards, for rainy nights. And wine. There must be red wine. And two windbreakers hanging from pegs near the steps, and more in the closet for company . . .
He turned back to his car, parked on the quay. His wife was picking at her cuticles, careful so as not to chip the polish she had applied the night before. This habit irked him. She thought they would be late, that was it. Well, so what? He went over to the car and leaned his head in.
“There! Do you see that beauty?”
Marie nodded without looking up. “I see, Peter.”
Peter. He pushed the fullness of the name away. “My God, what a boat. Could you imagine? Fishing on a boat like that? Why not? We don’t work anymore. It’s just us. Why not?”
He stood outside for a few minutes more, watching. A man emerged from the cabin, a carton of juice in his hand. Pete watched as he drank the juice, put the carton down, and began to untie his boat from the dock. His bitterness found a focus. Son of a bitch, he thought. You lucky rich bastard.
He got back into the car and drove down the avenue towards the restaurant where Daisy’s reception was being held. Marie stopped picking at her cuticles and exhaled noisily. Pete’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, but he kept silent. After the reception. Think of Daisy. But he would have to say something.
Marie’s voice was distant, annoyed. “Do you think there’ll be a lot of people?”
“I dunno.”
“I hope so. It will be nice to meet some of his family.”
“Maybe.”
She watched as the stores flew by, and spoke in a sudden rush. “Do you remember when we first moved here?”
“I remember you weren’t too pleased about coming here.”
“Well, the house upstate was so pretty, it had the birds in the back and the little creek. Do you remember? You were so sure, and then I thought it might be silly. I cried all afternoon. I remember because I went right away and began packing the silver.”