Written for Thursday Inspiration #305 –
“What Difference Does It Make”.
Here’s my inspirational response.
Tag: Intrigue
Poetic Justice: Guest Post with Co-Authors Willow Willers & Dan Antion
On The Rocks – Part 2: After The Fall
The story continues.
Here’s Part 1.
The waiter silently glided up to my table carrying a silver tray with an empty glass, a decanter of ice cubes and a bottle of chilled limoncello. I watched as he expertly filled my glass halfway with ice, then with ease poured the moonglow yellow nectar over the cubes. I watched, mesmerized, as the oro liquido trickled down the inside of the glass and gently caressed the ice. A little twist of the wrist and he was done.
Not making eye contact, I thanked the waiter and told him to leave the bottle. He obliged.
I reached into my breast pocket and retrieved my silver cigarette case. Selecting a Muratti, I tapped it three times on the case and placed it between my lips. There was an ashtray and a book of matches on the table, compliments of the hotel; I lit my cigarette and inhaled deeply. I always got a rush from the feel of the slow burn of that first drag. I exhaled slowly watching the smoke rings break away and drift off.
Raising the glass of limoncello, I took a healthy sip and swirled it around in my mouth, savoring the refreshing lemony sweetness as I swallowed. I immediately began to feel a calm wash over me and I took another generous pull; it was unexpectedly heady. Placing the glass on the table, my hand remained suspended in midair as I spied the cursive inscription on my cigarette case:
To Nigel
From Camilla
Christmas, 2010
Plain, boring and emotionless …. exactly like Camilla was to me …. and I to her, no doubt. I quickly realized I hadn’t thought about her since that afternoon, since the accident. Even if there was anything left, which was doubtful considering the height of the cliffs and the number of times her frail body hit the rocks before disappearing into the choppy Mediterranean, there was no reason to assume it was anything but an accident. And that’s exactly what it was …. difficult to prove, though, if certain facts came to light
I put the cigarette case back into my pocket and thought about my next move. I refilled my glass, lit another Muratti and stared at the lights from the ships on the water. The longer I sat the more comfortable I became with my plan of action. It was imperative that nothing be rushed, not even a whiff of anything unusual lingering in the air.
Tomorrow I will leave Agrigento as planned. After lunch I’ll check out of the hotel; if anyone asks about Camilla, she had personal business to attend to. The concierge will arrange for my rental to be out front. Camilla preferred to travel light; it will be easy to add her bag to mine.
The waiter floated to my table, filled my glass with the last bit of limoncello, nodded politely and left, taking the empty bottle with him. I felt all traces of tension leave my body.
Tonight I will sleep peacefully.
To be continued….
NAR©2024
This is Umberto Tabbi with “Ciao Siciliano”
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and is not for use by anyone without permission. NAR©2017-present.
ON THE ROCKS
Ancient Greek temples dotted the hillside of Agrigento. “Aren’t they magnificent, Camilla?” I tried engaging my wife of twelve years in conversation.
Camilla always wanted to visit Sicily; now we were finally here but our vacation had been marred by the news of the death of Eunice, her closest friend since college. Actually, Camilla had been depressed ever since Eunice’s cancer was diagnosed two years earlier. She became morbidly preoccupied with illness and death and every little pain sent her running to the doctor. She had become lethargic and morose. The whole situation was tedious; I thought a holiday abroad would lighten both our moods.
“I don’t like this place, Nigel” Camilla remarked. “It reeks of death and decay. You can practically see blood stains on the ground.”
“Good God, Camilla! Why are you allowing your mind to give in to these macabre thoughts?” I questioned impatiently. “Feel the sun on your face. Look at the glorious Mediterranean surrounding us. Let yourself be transported to another era.”
“I have a ghastly headache, Nigel. Take me back to the hotel!” Camilla demanded.
“But we just got here! Look at these fabulous gnarled olive trees. Why, they must be as old as the ruins themselves. Impressive, aren’t they? Let’s sit and enjoy the view. You’ve always dreamed of coming here, Camilla. Enjoy it!“
“How can I enjoy myself knowing Eunice is gone? How can I enjoy anything ever again? She was my dearest friend.” Camilla buried her head in her hands, sobbing.
“I know it’s difficult, my dear, but try not to dwell on it. Here, listen to this.” Retrieving a brochure from my pocket, I began to read. “‘In mythology, Agrigento was founded by Daedalus and Icarus.’ Just think of it – these temples have been here since the 5th Century B.C.! The contemporary glass and steel buildings back home can’t compare to these majestic structures!”
“Nigel, please! You think I give a damn about any of this? It’s meaningless without Eunice. Meaningless, I tell you! She was the light of my life.”
Camilla stared at me with frenetic eyes. I was beginning to believe she was losing her mind.
“Your life is meaningless? What about me, Camilla? I’m your husband, for crying out loud! We’ve been together for twelve years. Does that count for nothing?”
“Oh, come on, Nigel! Isn’t it about time we admitted the truth. Our marriage is a sham! And now Eunice is gone! There’s nothing left for me!” Camilla turned and started walking away.
“Eunice! All you ever talk about is your beloved Eunice!” I yelled after her. “You’ve been obsessed with her for years! I always wondered but now I know why you were never interested in sex, laying in our bed with about as much enthusiasm as an earthworm. You and Eunice were lovers, weren’t you?”
“Yes! I loved her and she loved me passionately, deeply. I never loved you, Nigel. Never!” Camilla looked at me with intense loathing and I became enraged, jealous of her dead lover.
“I’m glad Eunice is dead, Camilla. I hope the cancer slowly gnawed away at her and her life was one of incessant pain. Oh, I’m so glad she’s dead and now you’re in agony without her!” I spat out dreadful words of rage.
Camilla picked up a rock and threw at me but it fell short. She started running and I caught up with her, reaching for her arm. She screamed “Don’t touch me, Nigel! Just go away and leave me alone!”
Pulling away, Camilla ran toward the craggy cliffs. In a horrifying instant she was gone, plunging headlong against the rocks, her body shattering like an empty vessel, and disappearing into the sea.
Aghast, I stood staring into the abyss. “Goddamn, you, Camilla!” I shouted. “Goddamn you! Go be with your precious Eunice!”
After a long while alone on the cliffs, I walked back to my rental and drove to the hotel. I saw no reason to rush back home. Perhaps I’d extend my holiday indefinitely, head to the Amalfi Coast. I realized it had been ages since I’d had any time alone. I inhaled the heady fragrance of the plumeria and eucalyptus. I exhaled slowly, relishing the soft breeze in the evening air.
A glass or two of limoncello on the rocks would be the perfect way to end the day.
NAR © 2023
This is “Love On The Rocks” by Neil Diamond
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and is not for use by anyone without permission. NAR©2017-present.
WHY?
There wasn’t anything particularly special about the guy; he was actually rather ordinary looking but something made me uneasy. He just stood near the entrance, silently watching.
It was the usual Wednesday morning story time in the children’s room of the Lansing Library. Parents running errands could drop off their kids knowing they’d be safe and well-cared-for. The children listened intently as I read “The Adventures of Frog and Toad“.
I couldn’t shake the uncomfortable vibe I was getting from that guy. I caught the eye of my assistant, Grace, and with a slight tilt of my head I motioned toward the man. She glanced over and casually made her way across the room.
With cautious confidence Grace walked up to him and in a quiet but stern tone said “You’ve got thirty seconds to explain to me what you’re doing here”.
The man seemed rattled by Grace’s demand and stumbled over an apology. “I’m terribly sorry! I didn’t mean to alarm anyone. I’m here to pick up my son.”
“Oh, really? Who’s your son?” Grace asked.
The man replied “Nathan … Nathan Fletcher. I’m Jacob Fletcher. My wife Emily isn’t feeling well. She asked me to come fetch him. She’s pregnant, you know.”
“Yes, Emily. Of course! Such a lovely woman” Grace said. “Sorry to hear she’s ill. She seemed fine when she dropped Nathan off.”
“Yes, she was” Jacob agreed. “It’s the morning sickness; it really knocks her for a loop sometimes. Emily said she would notify library security that I’d be picking Nathan up.”
Before Grace had a chance to call the security desk to verify Mr. Fletcher’s story, Nathan spotted his father; the boy was overjoyed to see his dad and happily raced to greet him.
“Daddy! Daddy! I’m so glad to see you. Is Mommy here?” Jacob gave Nathan a big hug and scooped him up in his arms.
“Hi, buddy! Mommy’s resting. She asked me to come get you.”
“Yay! Can we get some ice cream? We can bring some to Mommy, too” Nathan asked, bubbling with excitement.
“Sure!” Jacob replied laughing. “C’mon! We better get going.”
Grace looked questioningly at me and I nodded in approval, smiling at the happy duo of father and son.
The two left, hand in hand, Nathan gleefully skipping along beside his dad. All was right in the library once again.
Later that night as I watched TV, the show was interrupted by a news bulletin:
“A police alert has been issued for the whereabouts of five-year-old Nathan Fletcher and his father, Jacob. The two were last seen leaving Longford’s Ice Cream on Lansing Street around 12:30 this afternoon. The body of Emily Fletcher, Jacob’s wife and the mother of Nathan, was found in the family’s home this evening by her sister. She had been stabbed to death. Mrs. Fletcher was six months pregnant. At this time police believe Jacob Fletcher is the only suspect in the murder of his wife, unborn child and the abduction of his son.”
I sat in abject horror staring at the TV screen; in the upper right corner of the screen was the face of the man I had seen in the library.
How could I have made such an unforgivable error in judgement? Oh my God! That poor woman! My heart froze when I thought of Nathan.
Why didn’t I follow my instincts?
NAR © 2021
| Reposted for Fandango’s FOWC – http://fivedotoh.com/2023/02/10/fowc-with-fandango-entrance/ |
SWEPT AWAY
The afternoon was damp and raw, sleet stinging my eyes. I huddled deeper into my parka, pulling the hood tighter over my head. As I waited at the busy Brooklyn intersection for the ‘walk’ signal, I caught a fleeting glimpse of a woman in the distance. It was just a brief sighting but she bore an uncanny resemblance to my late fiancé Maggie.
The woman’s clothes were nondescript – dark jeans, a silver puffer jacket and a knit scarf – but it was her black and silver sneakers and the all-too-familiar shock of flaming red hair blowing wildly in the wind that gave me pause. She ran up the front steps of a condo – the same apartment we shared for three years before Maggie died.
My mind raced back to the day of Maggie’s death. We were vacationing by Lake Michigan with our friends Jeff and Rachel. Looking for a bit of adventure we decided to go jet skiing, something new for all of us and rather dangerous considering the lake’s infamous rip tides, caves and groottoes. Feeling overly confident, we took off like the daredevils we were. We all fell off several times, laughing, but kept on going. It was an exhilarating experience.
Maggie was a gorgeous creature. I couldn’t take my eyes off her as she rode the waves, her exquisite breasts barely contained in a tiny white bikini while crimson tresses whipped around her face like the tail of a dragon. She and Jeff were natural athletes and it was difficult for me and Rachel to keep up.
Rounding a bend in the lake, we were thrown off our skis by a large wave. I lost my bearings in the current and when my head finally emerged from the water, I spotted my jet ski and swam to it. Rachel wasn’t too far away, clinging to her craft, but Maggie and Jeff were nowhere in sight. Mounting our water bikes we began our search, frantically calling out their names as we scoured the area. Unable to locate them, we headed for shore and alerted the authorities. Maggie and Jeff’s jet skis were found but there was no trace of them. After two days the search was called off. Rachel and I had no choice but to accept they had been swept away.
After the accident I returned to New York but didn’t have the heart to stay in the condo where Maggie and I lived. I drove to our beach house in Amagansett, leaving the apartment untouched; I hoped one day to return when I summoned the courage.
Now I found myself back in Brooklyn staring at my old condo and seeing ghosts.
An overwhelming force drew me closer. Slowly I entered the building and climbed the stairs to my apartment. Approaching the door I could hear faint music, laughter and the sound of familiar voices. A man and a woman were inside, unaware of my presence. I stood outside the door for what seemed a lifetime. My heart pounding, I raised my fist to knock on the door, then stepped back. Resolutely and silently I walked away.
NAR © 2021
Reposted for Sadje’s picture prompt on What do you see #164 December 12, 2022
The Elephant's Trunk 