Wayward Paths and Golden Handcuffs

by S.J. Thomason

  “Want a beer?” He said to her as he reached into his cooler.

  “Sure,” Kirsten said, so he handed it to her. Without missing a beat, she used her other hand to crush the first can and shove it into the sand by her side. Her hands were larger than most women’s hands and could probably comfortably grip a football.

  “What an animal,” Nick thought. “I guess I’ll play along, as long as she’s playing on the other team.”

  Tanner made small talk with everyone. He didn’t seem interested in pursuing the last girl available, probably staying faithful to his girlfriend. The last girl was called Kelly and she was Irish-looking with a weak chin, freckles and a pair of tortoise-shell sunglasses.

  ***

  Two cases of beer later, the group made their way into the beachside restaurant where they ordered rum punches, which were served up in enormous fish-bowl types of glasses. Bob ordered floaters for everyone, which he generously dumped into each of their glasses. No complaints there.

  The singers were rocking on the stage, so they all decided to dance to the reggae music with their punches in hand. The rum punches were good. A little too good.

  Feeling buzzed and blurry, Nick soon realized that he needed to sit down so he walked over to the bar and grabbed an open seat. That’s when he noticed that the sky was swirling, and that Tanner was seated two seats away at the bar, staring blankly out into the ocean. Juan was dancing with Emsley and looked like a salsa dancer with perfect gyrations to the music. And Bob was dancing with the petite brunette with the moves of a drunken cowboy. The tall animal with the bushy brows and the Irish-looking girl were now dancing with each other. Nick couldn’t remember any of the girls’ names aside from Emsley’s. She was the hot one, but flypaper had dibs on her. He always had dibs.

  Nick looked over at Tanner and mumbled something about being hammered, but found he couldn’t string a full sentence together. His drink fell out of his hand in front of him and crashed and shattered on the floor.

  “Let’s get outa here,” Nick slurred as he got out of his chair to pick up the pieces of glass. A server came over with a broom to help him. “You ready?” Nick asked Tanner.

  “Yeah.”

  They signaled to Bob and Juan that they were leaving.

  “Rookies,” Bob called out shaking his head, “Hey, when’s the party at the McMansion?”

  “Soon,” Nick mumbled.

  They walked onto the beach and scooped up their belongings and headed over to the parking lot. After tossing their empty beer cans into a trash bin, they packed up their car and hopped in. Nick wasn’t concerned about driving under the influence; he was too buzzed to think about that.

  As he drove down the road along the beach listening to country music, his buzz became more intense; his head was spinning and he traveled in and out of coherence. It was 8 p.m. and the sun was setting, though Nick didn’t realize it as he was still wearing his sunglasses. Toby Keith was blasting on the radio, and Tanner was passed out in the passenger seat. He didn’t see the girl crossing the street, the eight year old trailing her parents to the beach. Swerving by, he barely missed her. Barely. Somehow they made it back to Orange Bay. Somehow. He dropped his friend off and drove to his house. After parking in the driveway, he made his way into the house, up the stairs, and into his bedroom where he passed out.

  Chapter 11

  The Lunch Date

  Braedon decided that khaki pants, loafers, and a button-down shirt would be the perfect outfit for his lunch meeting with Catherine that Saturday after the fundraiser. He arrived early in his Camry and parked a block away, avoiding the services of the valet.

  “Valets are too expensive,” he said to himself.

  After approaching the hostess, he requested a table for two near the window. She guided him to the perfect spot, which was the most romantic spot with a nice view of the bay. He positioned himself in a chair that faced the entrance, so that he could watch for Catherine. And he kept his eye on the door.

  Fifteen minutes later at exactly noon, Catherine arrived at the door. As the hostess guided her to the table, Braedon studied her outfit and her fashion sense. She wore a pair of black high heels, a tight pair of black pants, a powder blue silk sweater, and a matching chiffon scarf. Impeccable. What a contrast to the frump at home.

  Braedon stood up from his chair to greet her, flashing his pearly whites. “Right on time. Good to see you, Catherine.”

  “Good to see you too,” she said as she sat down in the chair opposite him and folded the napkin in front of her on her lap.

  “Well, shall we begin?” He asked as he pulled a package of photos from his brief case and started presenting them to her, one by one. “Select the ones you prefer and I’ll be sure that those are the ones used to highlight the fundraiser. I believe I’ve captured photos of all of the well-known locals, including the two area mayors, the university president, and several CEOs.”

  Catherine flipped through the pictures and identified a few favorites. “Nice work, Braedon, I’m impressed. You have a good way of capturing the mood as everyone appears jovial and confident.”

  “Thank you!”

  A female server arrived at the table and asked for her drink order. Braedon had already ordered himself an iced tea.

  “I’ll take an unsweetened ice tea.”

  “Okay, I’ll be back with your drinks and can take your order then, if you’re ready.”

  “Thank you,” she said without looking up from the pictures. The server headed into the kitchen.

  Braedon admired her appearance. She epitomized wealth, success, confidence and beauty. He wanted her. And that. Badly. In every way. He pictured himself with her in bed and drew a deep breath. She power.

  ***

  When she was finished selecting the photos she felt best presented the governor’s campaign, Braedon separated them and tucked them back into his briefcase. Just in time for the meals.

  “Two mahi mahi salads with the dressing on the side,” the server said as she placed their plates in front of them.

  “Thank you,” Catherine said.

  “Yes, thanks, Wendy,” Braedon added, reading her name from her name tag.

  “Delicious mahi mahi,” he commented in between bites. “What do you think?”

  “Yes, very good.”

  “Thinking of dessert?”

  “No, I don’t do dessert,” she said, “save for a red wine sometimes after dinner.”

  Braedon laughed, “Either do I. And red wine is my dessert too. That must be what’s kept you in such fantastic shape.”

  “Thank you for the compliment. Yes, I definitely watch my diet. Staying in shape isn’t as easy as it once was. I’m also an avid runner. I run at least three miles a day each morning before going to work, around 5 a.m.”

  “That’s great. I run sometimes too, but I mainly work out in the gym.”

  “I can see that,” she said, “you look good. Very chiseled.”

  “So where are you from, Catherine? Were you born in Florida?”

  “No, Chicago. How about you?”

  “Right here in Orange Bay. I left to go to college in Richmond, but then I returned. I love Orange Bay. It’s hard to leave.”

  “It is beautiful here. Richmond’s nice too. Do you have any family here?”

  “Yes. How about you?”

  “No. Everyone is up North. Nick and I will probably get up there this Christmas. It’s been too hectic at work lately to plan a family trip.”

  “Yeah, I imagine in your position that you cherish your free time.”

  “Yes, I do. I cherish my time with my son. There’s just never enough of it. But he has a life too. He’s at the beach today with his friends.”

  Braedon continued the small talk, sharing a few details of his past, but of course omitting references to his wife and kids and Mom. The Camry would be the only link he shared with her to his other life, if they took things furth
er. He’d cleaned it out and washed it, eliminating the fruit loops and crushed crackers in the back seat. The Camry was old and needed a new paint job, but at least it was paid in full. A newer car wasn’t affordable.

  She shared details of her background, which were mainly focused on her work experiences, and her work ethic. It was clear that she had a low tolerance for laziness and excuses. And people who made poor choices.

  “Lazy people ruin a society,” he said, trying to impress her with his similar beliefs. He wanted to be sure to point out any similarities between her life and his.

  She’d indicated that there was a husband, but she’d lost him eleven years before and didn’t care much about him. Loves and adores the son. The son. The very protective son. He’d need buy-in from the son. It was easy to relate to a person who didn’t love her spouse but loved her child, but Catherine wouldn’t be privy to that similarity.

  “It’s time to take a chance,” he thought. Rejection wasn’t something he’d experienced with women before, so he figured his odds were good.

  “Catherine, would you be interested in having dinner with me tonight? There’s a new Italian restaurant in the art district that I’d love to take you to for a nice meal and a bit of red wine.” He looked closely into her eyes and smiled, “I don’t get out much. It’s been a while since I lost my wife to cancer.”

  “I’d love to have dinner with you.”

  “Excellent. I’ll pick you up at 7.”

  Chapter 12

  Bless the Lord O My Soul

  When Nick awoke on Sunday morning, he couldn’t recall how he’d gotten home. He looked in the garage, but his car wasn’t there, so he popped the garage door open to check the driveway. “There it is,” he said, feeling a sense of relief. “Man, I’m lucky to be alive.” His Mustang was half parked on the lawn and half parked in the driveway, offering him a glimpse of his condition the night before. A few feet away from it sat an old faded Toyota Camry.

  “Must be the maid’s car.”

  He went back upstairs and showered, humming Carrie Underwood’s “Jesus Take the Wheel.” After finishing and toweling off, he put on a pair of khaki pants and sat down on a chair in his room to reflect on the day before.

  “Where’d I go wrong?” He said aloud, “Next time, I’ll bring fewer beers and tons of water. And sodas. We needed sodas yesterday. And sandwiches. Did I even eat last night? That would’ve helped for sure. What a loser.” He was mad at himself for letting the liquor get control of him.

  He recalled a little girl crossing the street in front of his car with others. Could have hit her. Could have killed her. But instead he skidded by her.

  “Thank God.”

  Pulling himself up, he made his way to the bathroom to look at himself in the mirror. The mirror was fogged up, so he wiped it with his hands in a circular motion. His reflection showed his bloodshot eyes and razor stubble.

  Grabbing his razor, he attempted to shave, but his hands were shaking and his eyes felt fuzzy and unable to focus. And they itched. But he couldn’t give up. Half-way done. “Keep going. Concentrate.”

  “Okay, good,” he said. Shaving took longer than usual with three unexpected nicks, but his face was now free of stubble.

  “Eye drops, where are the eye drops?” He moved bottles around in his medicine cabinet, shoving them back and forth.

  “Perfect,” he said as he pulled out a bottle and squirted a few drops into his eyes. “Now I just need something for the pounding.” He grabbed an aspirin bottle from the cabinet and popped the cap open, somehow losing control of it. The bottle was now on the floor and aspirin tablets were scattered all around it.

  “Oh, come on!” He knelt down and picked up the aspirin tablets and placed them on the countertop, catching a whiff of his breath. “Ugh.” He got up while gulping two aspirin without water and reached for his toothbrush.

  “Hopefully they won’t smell the alcohol,” he mumbled as he brushed his teeth for the second time and swished some mouthwash. The alcohol was still in his system.

  ***

  A short while later, he walked into the church and sat himself in a seat in the back, hoping to be as inconspicuous as possible. Still smelled.

  The service opened to much singing, loud singing. The choir belted out the songs and the audience sang along. People were clapping and swaying to the music. They seemed happy, truly happy. Nick felt happy too; something about the songs made him smile. They were uplifting and in praise of God. Two of the songs were from Matt Redman, “10,000 Reasons (Bless the Lord),” and Chris Tomlin, “How Great is Our God.”

  When the songs ended, the pastor stepped onto the stage. He quoted Psalm 103 (ESV) as he announced, “Bless the Lord O my soul and all that is within me, Bless His holy name!” He shared a story.

  “There’s a story in the Bible about a rich man and a beggar named Lazarus in Luke 16:19-31, which I’d like to share with you in today’s context. Living in Florida, I’m sure you’ve had the opportunity to witness the lifestyles of both the rich and the poor. Well imagine this. Imagine that you grew up in a modest home across the street from a family with two sons in a middle-class neighborhood. Things were tight, but their parents worked hard to make ends meet. Both sons went off to college and became successful.”

  “Twenty years after they’d graduated, they were both living in lavish multi-million dollar homes. Their parents were still living in the same house, which was falling apart, yet the sons paid no attention to that, or any of their parents’ needs. Both sons were too busy attending to their own needs. And they needed the services of a lawn man, a pool company, and a maid.”

  “Five more years went by and the first son’s lawn man’s wife was diagnosed with cancer. The cancer bills started piling up and they were forced to move out of their small home and into an apartment, which they rented. His wife died. He was devastated and struggled to come to grips with his wife’s passing.”

  “His work suffered and he lost several major lawn accounts. He could no longer pay his bills and had little food. Soon his landlord kicked him out.”

  “Feeling he had no other choice, he went to the son he’d worked for in the lavish home and knocked on the door. Wanted to know if he could borrow some money. The son told him he needed to work harder and to take care of himself. ‘God helps those who help themselves,’ he said, smugly. Plus, he’d noticed too many weeds on the side of his house.”

  “Soon both the son and the lawn man died. The son found himself in hell perched over a raging fire, while the lawn man was carried to Abraham by angels. The son saw the lawn man standing next to Abraham and asked him to send him some water, because hell was blazing hot. Abraham reminded him of all of the good things he’d had in life and of all of the bad things the lawn man had had. Now the son was in agony, while the lawn man was in Heaven and a great chasm was between the two that couldn’t be crossed.”

  “The son begged for pity, asking that the lawn man be sent to warn his brother. Abraham declined, telling him if he didn’t listen to Moses and the prophets while on earth, he wouldn’t believe in someone being raised from the dead.”

  Nick thought of his mom and her position in her company over thousands of workers and cringed.

  “Wonder if anyone ever asked her for a loan. Wonder if she helped the entry level minimum-wage workers who were likely struggling to make ends meet.”

  He recalled the homeless man from the restaurant, whom she’d shunned. Who else? She needed to be warned, but would she listen?

  Chapter 13

  Visions of the Hatteras Dancing in His Head

  When Braedon awoke on Sunday morning, he found himself lying next to Catherine and wrapped in silk sheets. As he scanned her bedroom, which was expansive and tastefully decorated in creamy sand and ocean hues, he noticed a large picture window opened to a panoramic view of the bay, which was breathtaking and peaceful.

  “This is living,” he thoug
ht as he gazed out the window and watched the bay. A sailboat moved along the water and he imagined himself at its helm with Catherine by his side. And his two kids in the back. He’d somehow integrate them into the picture. Just needed a good story. Stories were his life, so surely he’d come up with something reasonable.

  “I could get used to this,” he said to himself in his dreamy state, “Not a care in the world.”

  Then his thoughts were shaken with a nasty memory of his frumpy wife sweeping around the house. “Poverty sucks. Focus on the boats, Braedon. The boats and the water. This is where you need to be.” He tried to expunge his wife from his thoughts, but couldn’t.

  He recalled the excuse he’d used before heading out for his date with Catherine the night before. “Don’t wait up. It’ll be an all-nighter. Sunday morning press release. I’ll catch you guys after church.” She always believed him and never even checked his stories. “Gullible,” he thought.

  The clock in the room read 11:15 a.m.

  “Can’t believe we slept this long. I thought CEOs were early birds.” He thought. “Then again, we probably didn’t get to sleep until around 4.” 11:16 a.m. “I need to get going. In a nice way. Don’t want to blow it here.”

  He put his arms around Catherine and spooned himself against her body. She moved her body in acceptance but didn’t say a word. It had been a long time since he held a woman closely and had physical relations. He hadn’t slept with his wife since well before the twins were born.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  “Good morning to you, too.”

  “Last night was incredible Catherine. I haven’t had such a good time in so many years. Dinner, dancing, and wine with the most beautiful woman in the world was no less than amazing. I felt so alive. Everything was just so perfect. Especially the end. Making love to the most incredible woman in the world was a gift from God. You are so passionate and loving and smart. I think I’ve met my soul mate.”

  “I enjoyed the night too, Braedon. Thank you. I haven’t had such a good time in a long time either. You’re a great dance partner.”

  From the corner of his eye, Braedon noticed the dog sitting in a chair across the room. It appeared to be a small schnauzer and it was glaring at him, growling. Immediately he decided that he didn’t like the dog.