Destiny Ever-Changing

by Ivey , Tasha

  My father walked over to me and started rubbing my shoulder. "It doesn't have to turn out that way, son. Just think of it as a business decision, that's all. What's a year of being married to her going to harm? You're just thirty years old. And, hell, who knows, you may end up loving her; besides, I really don't see how you have any other options."

  I glared at him. "I don't have any options, because you're not giving me any."

  "So it's settled then?"

  I stood to face my father after a few seconds of hesitation. "You had it settled before I walked into this room."

  "I knew you would do the right thing!" He slapped me on the back. "I'll call Carl and arrange a time for the three of us to discuss the details. When should I tell him that you'll be proposing? Oh, never mind that, I know just the thing. We'll all be together tomorrow night at that charity dinner. That would be perfect."

  "Tomorrow? In front of all those people? Tomorrow?" No amount of repeating it made it sound any further away.

  "I guess you'll need the rest of the day off to pick out a ring, then," he said after nodding his head. "I'll call the jeweler we always use and tell him you're on your way. You remember where it is, right?"

  "Unfortunately, I do."

  He slapped me on the back again. "Get used to saying that, kid."

  I took as long as I possibly could to get there. How do you buy an engagement ring for a woman, if you can't imagine any enjoyment of slipping it on her finger? I spent nearly an hour sitting in that chair, staring at one glass case with at least fifty different varieties of rings, but I can't say that I ever truly saw them. I was in a daze; the last few hours changed my perspective on life in every way. All of the rings in front of me seemed to express "I love you" and "I can't imagine living without you." Neither of those are emotions that I felt for Jacqueline. I couldn't help but wonder if they made a ring that expressed something more like "You are a heartless, self-righteous wretch, and you are ruining my life." I guess most people wouldn't buy jewelry for those occasions.

  I am likely the unfortunate first.

  The gentleman that my father recommended checked up on me again. "Any luck, sir?"

  "None at all. This is a lot more challenging than it would seem."

  "If I may, sir, I would be grateful to assist you." He lowered his voice. "Your father called me just before you arrived and relayed to me the joyous news, though, I can see that you do not find it quite so joyous. He did insist that I shouldn't allow you to leave here without making some sort of decision, as you are very pressed for time. Miss Jacqueline is a good customer of mine, and I happen to know a ring that she would adore. Would you like to see it?"

  "No." I said coldly. "Just get it ready and charge it to the family account. I'll pick it up tomorrow afternoon." If my father was going to insist on me marrying her, he could pay for the ring. It was a business expense, after all.

  "Very well, Mr. Tucker, sir. I'll have it prepared for pick-up tomorrow."

  The next day, before I went home to get ready for the charity dinner, I went by to pick up the ring. I still couldn't bear to look at it. I realized that I would be missing out on something that was especially important to me.

  I always wondered what clever way I would propose to the woman that I loved, and how anxious I would be, tormenting myself over whether or not she would say yes. I always imagined my beautiful new fiancé crying tears of delight after she accepted my proposal, wrapping her arms around me. Of course, I could always divorce Jacqueline and eventually have my fantasy proposal. It's just that I only wanted to do this once in my life for one very special womanwith whom I would spend the rest of my life. That has been stolen from me; I can't ever get that back.

  Everything went just as I suspected that evening. After my father announced to everyone at our table that I had something to say, they all turned to me with a fabricated look of wonder on their faces. Every single one of them knew.

  I turned to Jacqueline with the ring box in my hand. "Jacqueline . . .I . . ."

  "Yes, sweetheart?" she replied as she fluttered her eyes and attempted to look unsuspecting.

  "I just . . . need to ask . . ." Before I could get another word out, she spotted the ring box and snatched it out of my hand.

  She opened the box and squealed. "Oh my goodness! Are you proposing?"

  The sick feeling returned, and I could feel all of the blood draining out of my face. All I could do was nod.

  "Yes! I will marry you, Joshua!" She jumped up at once to parade the ring around to her family after she slipped it onto her own finger.

  It's Brooks. I grumbled to myself.

  She didn't shed any tears of joy. She didn't wrap her arms around me. She didn't even speak to me after she accepted, but I wasn't complaining about any of that. I was actually relieved.

  Everyone at our table, including some spectators from nearby tables, began cheering and clapping. Numerous people came over to shake my hand or pat me on the back, but I don't really remember it. I was numb.

  My father clinked his fork on his wine glass in an attempt to silence everyone for his own announcement. "I have an engagement gift for the lovely couple. As you are all aware, we own a vacation home on the beach in Rock Cove, Virginia. I would like to give the home to my son, and I'm temporarily relieving him of his duties at work, so he and his beautiful fiancé can have a few months to themselves before the wedding."

  He turned to me. "Jacqueline requested that you two get away for a while. You'll leave for Virginia at the end of April, so you'll have just over a month to make arrangements and get packed. We're planning an August 31st wedding."

  "That's an 18 month engagement!" I murmured to him furiously.

  He leaned over to whisper in my ear. "No, son, August 31st of this year. Just over five months away. Almost like ripping off a band-aid, if we get it over with real fast, you won't feel a thing."

  "Five months . . . won't feel a thing . . ."

  Now, here we are. It's the beginning of May, and we've been in Rock Cove, Virginia for a week. The weather is absolutely perfect here right now, but things aren't so perfect between us. We have been arguing the entire time, and I am positive she's doing everything in her power to make me miserable. I haven't smiled or laughed a single time since we've been here.

  Well, not until I made the courageous undergarment rescue today, that is.

  I keep thinking about that woman, Laura, wondering about her situation. When I saw her today, she looked like she had been through hell and back, so perhaps that is why I am strangely enthralled with her; I am sympathetic. I know she's moving, so she has either left somewhere that she didn't want to leave, or she is going somewhere that she doesn't want to go. Maybe both. Again, I can sympathize with that.

  After I finish butchering the shrubbery and get the trimmer put away, I can't imagine anything better than to take a long, hot shower, but I certainly don't want to go in the house. I know as soon as I walk through the door, either one of two things will happen. She will either make a snide remark to start a fight, or she'll try to seduce meafter I shower, of course. I think I'll sacrifice taking showers for a while and just stay outside. Most men would jump at the opportunity to be with her, and I have desires like any other man. I'm just not that needy right now, nor do I presume to be anytime soon.

  I walk into the storage room in the back of the garage to break into my secret supply of cold beer. Jacqueline believes drinking beer is for "low class" people. She insists that we drink expensive wine or champagne; neither, of which, do I actually enjoy. My top-secret hiding place is just the fridge in here, which is perfect, given that she would never set foot in a grimy, old room full of tools. That would mean she would have to do work. Another good hiding place is the oven or the cleaning closet. She wouldn't dare to open either one.

  I throw some ice in a bucket along with several beers, and I go to my truck to grab a pair of shorts and quickly change. I sneak through the backyard, staring into all the windows at the
back of the house. I have to be certain she can't see where I'm going, or she's likely to follow. I can finally see a television flickering in the den, and after glancing at my watch, I know she'll be occupied with her daily ritual of watching talk shows for at least another hour.

  Perfect timing.

  I slip through the back gate, being sure to latch it back, or she would definitely know where I am. The house is right on the beach where the bay meets the ocean. There is a twenty-foot bluff just a few yards from our privacy fence, so in order to get down to the beach, you have to descend a weather-beaten, wooden staircase. At the bottom of the stairs, there is roughly a mile of reasonably secluded shoreline in either direction before you reach the more popular areas. I see a sporadic runner or couple on a romantic walk, but generally, when I come here, I'm alone. Solitude is what I need right now.

  A few minor thunderstorms blew through earlier leaving only a few clouds behind. Even though it's barely over an hour until sunset, the sun is still somewhat intense. I place my bucket under the stairs out of the sun, and I sit on the bottom step to take my shoes off; there's nothing better than sand between your toes. I walk out just far enough that the cool waves reach out and touch my feet, and that's all it takes for me to take my shirt off, fling everything in my pockets into the sand, and wade out into the water. This may possibly be my only "shower" for the day, after all.

  I swim out until my feet can't reach the bottom, and I make a brief dive underwater to look for any fish. The pull of the waves gradually brings me back to the shore, and I go out yet again. I catch sight of someone walking along the beach, and there is a certain familiarity. I see long, dark hair blowing in the gentle breeze and a slender, womanly frame. Could it be Laura?

  I make it to the shore just as the woman approaches, and, fortunately, it's not Laura. It was merely some teenager chatting on her cell phone. I don't understand why I instantly assumed it would be her; I realize I won't ever see her again, which is for the best. I am very unhappily engaged, of course.

  I proceed back out into the water, determined to forget my troubles. This time, I simply swim against the waves, trying to wear myself out completely and alleviate some of this stress. I stop swimming once I have made it out considerably far, and I allow the waves to carry me back to the sand again. I continue to go out again and again, until I can hardly swim any more. I make my way up to the shore for the final time, and I sit at the water's edge for a few minutes and catch my breath.

  Once my arms and legs no longer feel like noodles, I trudge back up and take a seat on the bottom of the stairs, reaching underneath to grab a bottle. I twist off the top and guzzle it, a little too quickly, and I treat the next few in the same manner. I decide that I should probably take it easy, or I just might be waking up on these steps with a hangover in the morning, since I seldom drink. I grab another, but this time I drink it much more leisurely, appreciating the intensely relaxing effect washing over me. Leaning back onto the steps, I try to unwind and admire the alluring waterscape as it transforms before my eyes.

  Sunsets here are like no others I have ever witnessed. The sky is turning so many assorted shades of orange, pink, purple, and the most brilliant shades of red I've ever seen. All of those colors are shimmering off the crystal, blue water, which contrasts with the sugary, white sand. There are no words to express how breathtaking it is.

  I'm watching the sun turn a deep shade of crimson as it melts into the horizon, radiating its luminosity onto the clouds, water, and sand. This is the best time of day to be out on the beach, and it's apparent that I'm not the only one that feels that way. I observe a couple taking a sunset stroll, and that teenage girl is coming back from her walk. A combination of the day's events, too many beers, the darkening sky, and the hypnotic sound of the gentle waves are all making me feel so tranquil that I could easy sleep right here on these stairs. I close my eyes for a few minutes to enjoy the sounds and smells of the ocean, and I soon realize that I'm going to have to head back up toward the house before I doze off. I try to open my eyes, but they are fiercely resisting.

  "So we meet again," Laura says, startling me from my almost slumber.

  I must be dreaming.

  Chapter Five — The Journal

  Laura:

  It's obvious that Nana doesn't want to talk more about it right now, so I decide to let the issue with the man in the locket drop for now. When we finish our talk, she goes outside to work in her beloved flowerbeds. She is glad that we had a little rain shower right after I arrived, so the watering is already done for her.

  I try to read a book, but I can't focus; I keep reading the same page repeatedly. I, then, try to watch television, but there's nothing on that even remotely interests me. I call Fawn to let her know where I will be staying for a few days, in case she attempts to call me. The last thing I need is for her to call my aunt and uncle to look for me. I don't want them to know anything is amiss until I go back home.

  I don't know what else to do, so I go out, sit in the swing on the back porch, and watch the rain clouds roll out. It appears the evening will be clear and beautiful. I can see the shimmering ocean from here, and I would love to go for a walk on the beach. Nana said she would be starting dinner soon, so I'll wait until after we eat. Maybe she'll even join me. When I would visit her as a young girl, we would go down to the beach every evening.

  "Oh, there you are, Laura!" Nana steps out the creaky back door. "I thought you were reading."

  "No, I just couldn't concentrate on anything, so I came out here where my wandering mind can go where it pleases."

  "Ah, I see," she says. "I'm going to go in and get myself cleaned up, and we can start dinner. How does fried chicken sound?"

  I lick my lips.

  "Fried chicken, it is!" Nana exclaims as she reenters the house.

  I stay out on the back porch for a little longer, and when I hear her in the kitchen, I go inside to wash up and lend a hand. She works methodically around the kitchen, seeming as happy as a lark. She loves to cook, but she rarely has the opportunity to anymore. She sometimes has a friend over for lunch, but she's usually home alone.

  I peel the potatoes and put them on the stove to boil, right next to the corn-on-the-cob. Meanwhile, Nana fries the chicken and makes her scrumptious homemade biscuits. Once everything is finished and put on the table, we realize that we've cooked for a family of 10.

  "Looks like we're having leftovers for lunch tomorrow!" I laugh.

  She stands back in awe of the amount of food. "It does appear that we went a bit overboard. I guess we'd better get started!"

  We both sit down at the table and silently stuff ourselves until we can't eat another bite.

  "I think you're right, Laura. We'll be having fried chicken for a few days."

  "I am so full!" I say as I take my plate to the sink. "You can't cook like this anymore while I'm here, or I'm bound to gain twenty pounds!"

  Nana winks. "I told you that I was going to fatten you up. You could stand to gain a few pounds."

  "I'll gain more than a few if you keep this up. In fact, I was thinking about taking a walk on the beach after my stomach settles a bit. I have to do something to keep this fried chicken off my rear end. You should join me. It will be just like old times."

  "Oh, I can't walk like I did back then. I'm lucky to make it down to the beach and back. You should go, though. It will be good for you to have that time to yourself. You knowto think."

  "Maybe you're right," I admit. "Before I do, though, I'm going to bring in my things from the car. Am I sleeping in the loft bedroom?"

  Nana shakes her head. "I guess I never mentioned it to you. I changed the loft bedroom into my sewing room."

  "Oh, that's fine," I say. "I can just sleep on the couch."

  "Nonsense, you're not sleeping on that tiny couch. I had all of the furniture moved from the loft bedroom into the room above the garage, so you can sleep up there."

  "I thought that was Grandpa's office and storage room
."

  "Well," she explains, "After your Grandpa Sam passed away, I went through a lot of that stuff and gave it awayonly keeping a few special items. I knew I would need a guest room if anyone visited, so I hired someone to remodel it. The men even moved the furniture for me, since I cooked a nice meal for them."

  "Oh, okay. I'll get my stuff out of the car."

  I grab my toiletry bag and a small overnight bag with two changes of clothing in it that I packed in case I stopped at a hotel on the way back home. I'm a little worried about the sleeping arrangements for the next few days. I remember my grandpa's office was a dingy, dirty mess. There used to be papers piled everywhere, boxes piled against every wall, and the smell was that of an old locker room. It was terrible, but he never would allow Nana to clean up there. He would tell her that it was his room, and he'd clean it if he thought it needed it. I guess he never thought it did.

  As I close my trunk, Nana is coming out of the house, carrying a set of keys. We walk to the garage and enter the side door. Turning the light on, Nana shows me up a short flight of stairs against the side wall that leads up to an old wood door, the same one that has always been here. She unlocks it and stands back for me to enter ahead of her.

  I can't believe what I'm seeing. The room is better than any bedroom I've ever had. The walls are a vibrant ocean blue, and the plush carpet is the color of sand, giving you the feeling that you're at the beach. There is an antique four-post bed with a matching white dresser and bookshelf. Separated by a half wall, the back of the space has a little living room with a small sofa, coffee table, and television. Hanging on the wall over the bed, there is a large print of a lighthouse with an ornate gold frame, and there are various pictures of family around the room. There are two doors along one wall of the room: a bathroom and a closet. Just past the living room, there is a set of double doors that lead to a balcony, which overlooks the backyard and the ocean.