Eileen Slovak

Chapter Forty-one: Putting One Toe in & Getting all Wet

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and locales are products of the author’s imagination. They are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is coincidental. Copyright © 2024 by Eileen Slovak.

Scarlet       

I saw the calls from Maggie come in on my cell throughout the night but didn’t answer or text back. She left three messages. I’m only just listening now.

      Message one: “I can’t believe Corky got to be a fly on the wall of your date! I’m totally pissed! Call me back.”

      Message two: “You better call me as soon as you get home. I want details! Bye!”

      Message three: “Hello? I hope you didn’t go to bed without calling me.”

      It’s late but knowing Maggie, she’ll still be up or at least will have her phone on. I hit her speed dial. She picks up on the first ring.

      “It’s about time! Is he still there? Are you calling me from the bathroom?”

      “No and no. He didn’t come in. It went fine. The waitress was awful. She dropped a glass of red wine on me. It almost ruined the night. But then we talked for hours.”

      “Wait a minute. Nothing? Not even a decent kiss with tongue?”

      “It was pretty uneventful. He smells good, like clean towels and new Levi’s.”

      “When are you seeing him again?”

      “I don’t know. We didn’t officially plan another date, but the option is open.”

      “What! Are you kidding me? Maybe he likes guys. Don’t let it get you down. I knew he was a little too good looking.”

      “I’m fine. I didn’t set my hopes too high to begin with, remember?”

      “That was a waste of a good outfit, a Saturday night, and Valentine’s all rolled into one.”

      “What’s left of my outfit. I just bought this blouse. I should have ordered white wine. How is your weekend getaway going?”

      “Fantastic. Except, Joe’s been asleep since nine. We were both on the 6 a.m. shift. I think I’m in love, Scar. He’s the sweetest man I have ever known. He gave me diamond stud earrings, chocolate, and roses. I almost fell over. I’ll see if Joe has a friend for you.”

      “Please, no more dates. I need to recover from this one first. I’m going to bed, blissfully alone. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

      “Unbelievable. Goodnight.”

      When we were kids, our family vacationed every summer with Aunt Grace’s family, the Sullivan’s, at a campground on Misquamicut Beach. Long days at the beach were followed by cool August evenings, with the scents of charcoal, burgers and burnt marshmallows. We played flashlight tag under the stars, and told ghost stories until the campfires fizzled out.

      One summer, when I was eight-years-old, busy trying to keep up with Catherine, twelve, and our cousin Mike, ten in the ocean. A storm a few days before our arrival left powerful swells in its wake. Playing chicken in the breakers, we bounced around like ping pong balls. We belly surfed and rode until the waves slapped us on the sandy shore, leaving us stranded like jellyfish. More than once, the water pulled me under and spun me like a beach towel in a washing machine.

      “Just ride it out. If you panic, you’re sunk,” Mike said.

      An enormous surge rapidly approached. I stood staring at the fierce wall of water.

      “Ho-lee crap!” Mike shouted.

      “GO UNDER, GO UNDER!” Catherine screeched.

      They both dove under, but I stood motionless, in fear. The wave hit me so hard it sent me up before I went down like a lead weight. Cold frothy water swallowed me whole. I heard distant noises above me, a faraway dream. Sandy water swirled all around while I tumbled in a disoriented circle.

      The next thing I knew, I was lying on the sand wrapped in towels. My family members peered down at me with worried expressions. Mike had reached in and pulled me out. He always could swim like a fish.

      “Why didn’t you go under the wave?” Catherine asked me.

      I couldn’t answer. I had no idea why.

      It’s the same way in my relationships with men. I never seem to know when to dive in or when to stand my ground. Then comes that awful sense of drowning. Not ready to admit defeat, on Sunday, Scott calls to ask me for a second date. Apprehensively, I agree to see him next Saturday. Although based on how the first date went, I’m not sure there’s much point in going forward. In the end, I agree out of sheer curiosity. At the moment, I don’t have any other prospects. Plus, he smells amazing.