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Three tick bitten, camo-clad young men trudged off the mountain, mud caked up to their knees, encased rifles strapped to their packs. Minds set on hot coffee, they passed two buffalo chewing their cud beneath the eucalyptus grove. Two German men hauling lobster traps glanced up as they passed by.
A woman emerged from the store smiling down at a new ring she had just bought herself. Although it was her birthday that's not why the thin woman dressed all in black had bought it. She had bought it because it felt right. Ever since he had said he wanted to marry her, she had been struggling with how to tell him that she didn't want a ring--didn't need a ring. This one, though, seemed perfect. She slid the small stone circle of soft unpolished jet onto her right ring finger. He's Irish after all. The one she bought for him for $4.95 was in a small bubble wrap bag at the bottom of her coat pocket. Being stone, they would wear away or eventually crack but that didn't bother her. There wasn't anything on earth that could alter or destroy the phenomenal devotion and passion she felt for him. No ring, no stone, no vow, no license dictated or defined the overpowering unconditional love and compassion she felt for him. These black stone rings were just perfect and she beamed at the synchronicity at having found them at the only store in the smallest town on the far end of the island.
Hearing footsteps she looked up to see men walking towards the cafe, heads down against the wind driven rain. She saw the historic Banning House Lodge where she was staying perched on the hillside and tossed her head to flick the raindrops off the lip of her hood. Rivers of mud streamed down the dirt road. Anticipation of a hot tea before a roaring fire and hopes of his arrival drove her forward.
He watched her climb the hill carefully, using the meadow rather than the roadway and clinging to the railing as she strategically maneuvered up the mold covered stone stairs. He had come in on the ferry earlier and seen her wander the town from the corner booth where Cassy, the dimpled waitress, had seated him. His jacket hanging on a nearby hook dripped onto the wooden floor. With steaming mug cupped between his hands, he watched her.
He'd received the e-mail and had read the invitation to join her on the island for her birthday. They had not talked for months and he hadn't phoned to tell her that he would come. Hadn't contacted her at all. He didn't know what to say or how to say it. He had been the one to end it; he had turned his back on her. He had proposed, then had changed his mind as if he were as fickle as the weather. Only, he wasn't really. His love for her still made his heart pound and his head swim as if he weren't a well rooted, stable, self restrained man. The first week after he'd met her, he'd been a mess, paying bills twice, walking away with someone else's food cart in the grocery store, walking into telephone poles. After all he'd done, after all this time, of one thing he was absolutely sure. He loved her still with all his soul and would remain constant until the day he died. Yet, now, as the three hunters who had just entered the cafe shook water off their heads like wet dogs, he wondered why he had come. He doubted himself all over again.
What had he expected? What had he thought would happen? That just as he disembarked, the breeze would magically change directions making her look up from the meadow flowers that she would nonchalantly be picking? That among the hoards of tourists she would notice him and come flying into his arms as if nothing had ever happened? He was out of this blooming mind. Women don't easily forgive and they sure as hell never forget. He'd returned the black diamond ring he had bought her believing she'd have been offended that it wasn't the real McCoy. How could he show up empty handed. Feeling the fool, he stewed in self imposed perdition.
He watched a heron stalk fish bay side and a pelican perched on a bopping bouy spread it's wings as it lost its balance. Two British couples seated nearby recounted with great humor how seasick one of the wives had become on the channel crossing. Then, he remembered that she had smiled as she had stepped out of the store. The thought of her purple happy eyes, high cheekbones and smiling luscious mouth sent joy radiating through him slowly replacing the residue doubt. He stared into his cup seeking answers. What the hell had he come here for? What the hell should he do? He look towards the bar pleadingly, thinking it perhaps not too early for something stiffer. He sought out Cassy, the young beautiful woman with the strong yet coy face but she was occupied. He heard her ask a table of retired teachers why polar bears don't eat penguins. As they pondered the riddle, he glanced back up the hill and the panic and confusion that had momentarily consumed him dissipated. Tossing bills on the table, he walked out the door into the blustering storm.
Three tick bitten, camo-clad young men trudged off the mountain, mud caked up to their knees, encased rifles strapped to their packs. Minds set on hot coffee, they passed two buffalo chewing their cud beneath the eucalyptus grove. Two German men hauling lobster traps glanced up as they passed by.
A woman emerged from the store smiling down at a new ring she had just bought herself. Although it was her birthday that's not why the thin woman dressed all in black had bought it. She had bought it because it felt right. Ever since he had said he wanted to marry her, she had been struggling with how to tell him that she didn't want a ring--didn't need a ring. This one, though, seemed perfect. She slid the small stone circle of soft unpolished jet onto her right ring finger. He's Irish after all. The one she bought for him for $4.95 was in a small bubble wrap bag at the bottom of her coat pocket. Being stone, they would wear away or eventually crack but that didn't bother her. There wasn't anything on earth that could alter or destroy the phenomenal devotion and passion she felt for him. No ring, no stone, no vow, no license dictated or defined the overpowering unconditional love and compassion she felt for him. These black stone rings were just perfect and she beamed at the synchronicity at having found them at the only store in the smallest town on the far end of the island.
Hearing footsteps she looked up to see men walking towards the cafe, heads down against the wind driven rain. She saw the historic Banning House Lodge where she was staying perched on the hillside and tossed her head to flick the raindrops off the lip of her hood. Rivers of mud streamed down the dirt road. Anticipation of a hot tea before a roaring fire and hopes of his arrival drove her forward.
He watched her climb the hill carefully, using the meadow rather than the roadway and clinging to the railing as she strategically maneuvered up the mold covered stone stairs. He had come in on the ferry earlier and seen her wander the town from the corner booth where Cassy, the dimpled waitress, had seated him. His jacket hanging on a nearby hook dripped onto the wooden floor. With steaming mug cupped between his hands, he watched her.
He'd received the e-mail and had read the invitation to join her on the island for her birthday. They had not talked for months and he hadn't phoned to tell her that he would come. Hadn't contacted her at all. He didn't know what to say or how to say it. He had been the one to end it; he had turned his back on her. He had proposed, then had changed his mind as if he were as fickle as the weather. Only, he wasn't really. His love for her still made his heart pound and his head swim as if he weren't a well rooted, stable, self restrained man. The first week after he'd met her, he'd been a mess, paying bills twice, walking away with someone else's food cart in the grocery store, walking into telephone poles. After all he'd done, after all this time, of one thing he was absolutely sure. He loved her still with all his soul and would remain constant until the day he died. Yet, now, as the three hunters who had just entered the cafe shook water off their heads like wet dogs, he wondered why he had come. He doubted himself all over again.
What had he expected? What had he thought would happen? That just as he disembarked, the breeze would magically change directions making her look up from the meadow flowers that she would nonchalantly be picking? That among the hoards of tourists she would notice him and come flying into his arms as if nothing had ever happened? He was out of this blooming mind. Women don't easily forgive and they sure as hell never forget. He'd returned the black diamond ring he had bought her believing she'd have been offended that it wasn't the real McCoy. How could he show up empty handed. Feeling the fool, he stewed in self imposed perdition.
He watched a heron stalk fish bay side and a pelican perched on a bopping bouy spread it's wings as it lost its balance. Two British couples seated nearby recounted with great humor how seasick one of the wives had become on the channel crossing. Then, he remembered that she had smiled as she had stepped out of the store. The thought of her purple happy eyes, high cheekbones and smiling luscious mouth sent joy radiating through him slowly replacing the residue doubt. He stared into his cup seeking answers. What the hell had he come here for? What the hell should he do? He look towards the bar pleadingly, thinking it perhaps not too early for something stiffer. He sought out Cassy, the young beautiful woman with the strong yet coy face but she was occupied. He heard her ask a table of retired teachers why polar bears don't eat penguins. As they pondered the riddle, he glanced back up the hill and the panic and confusion that had momentarily consumed him dissipated. Tossing bills on the table, he walked out the door into the blustering storm.