Chapter Eight
“This is the day that the Lord has made,” a DJ on the local radio station cheerfully announced. “Let us rejoice and be glad in it!”
I quickly changed the station.
“God is good y’all,” a pastor from a radio broadcast exclaimed. “Ain’t He alright, saints? There’s nothing too hard for the Lord.”
I switched the station again.
“Jesus was born to die. But guess what? He rose on the third day!” another minister shouted across the airwaves.
I turned the radio off. After a deep sign, I repetitively tapped my thumbs on the steering wheel of my truck and continued the drive in silence. That’s what I needed, complete silence.
The morning was a rough start as I tossed a few items into my large satchel for the road trip: keys, cherry flavored lip balm, cell phone, a fifth of vodka, and the container of sedatives that had been prescribed to me by my shrink. No one knew it, but after Kevin tossed me aside like yesterday’s garbage I continued counseling alone. He was supposed to be my one true love, my everything, but my supposed fairy tale had a nightmarish ending. Maybe that was the problem; I shouldn’t have made Kevin number one in my life.
Just when I started to climb out of that pit of despair, needing my pills only once in a while, I found myself sinking back into it. Of course, the worst of it all happened on Good Friday. It was not so good for me.
“Hey lady, watch where you’re going!” an elderly, silver-haired pedestrian shouted at me.
I slammed on my brake and clutched the wheel. I shook from my daze and watched as the man who had grabbed his leashed dog grimace at me. He had every right to give me that knowing glare. I had no business driving forty miles per hour through an area where the speed limit was twenty-five. Not to mention that I almost ran a stop sign where he had the right of way.
“Sorry!” I raised my hand and shrunk behind the wheel.
He shook his head at me and slowly lowered his pup to the ground.
It was even hard for me to get a compassionate glance from a stranger these days. I kept my attention on the road as I drove past the angry man and rode in silence for the rest of the drive. Moments later, I eased into a parking space and stared out at the water up ahead. Despite my mood, it was such a beautiful morning. I stepped out onto the asphalt with my shoulder bag close at my side. The air had a hint of salt in it as the faint breeze randomly tossed it about. I closed my car door and locked it with the remote. I looked through the window into the back seat and stared at Sean’s car seat. Hopefully, one day he’ll understand.
I walked around to the back of my vehicle and popped open the trunk. I sat my shoulder bag on the ground and grabbed another bag with the rubber boots inside of it from the SUV. When I closed the trunk, I looked around. To my surprise, the place wasn’t a ghost town as I had expected. I figured that just about everybody and their mamas would be shouting, “Hosanna, Hosanna,” inside of church walls instead of out here, gazing up at the sky with different shades of color that looked as if a painter had perfectly sketched it.
“Isn’t it something?” out of nowhere, someone asked me.
I flinched and looked to my right. There stood a woman who appeared to be a few years younger than me.
“Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” she apologized, and then extended a hand in my direction. “Hi, my name is Vita.”
I stared at her hand that was suspended in mid-air in front of me. I wasn’t looking to make any new friends, especially not now, but I offered my hand in return with a reluctant smile anyway. “Melinda,” I flatly replied.
“It’s good to meet you, Melinda.” She shook my hand with a firm shake. “Wow, that’s a really nice sweater. Who’d thought sweaters would be needed this time of the year.” She smiled and motioned towards her zipper front jacket.
“I know … and thanks.” My eyes drifted down to my beige sweater with a colorful pattern just below the neck. It’s funny that a total stranger who has only seen me once noticed a new top that no one else had during the three times I had previously worn it. I wanted to wear something pretty, just for today.
Vita took hold of the camera that hung from a black strap that was draped around her neck. “I’m so enjoying this place.” She aimed the camera at the water where the reflection of the rising sun rested and captured a few frames.
“A tourist?” In an attempt to not be rude, I made small talk, splitting my attention between her and the view of the water.
“I guess you could say that.” Her nose crinkled as she smiled. “I’m just visiting.”
“Yeah, that’s one thing about the Low Country. Visitors just can’t seem to get enough of it.” Just as I returned a smile, the bag with the rubber boots began to slip from my hand. I readjusted the handles and held it close to my body. Immediately, my mind shifted back to why I drove out here in the first place. “Well, I’ll leave you to your photography.”
“Okay …” she responded. “It was nice meeting you.”
Vita looked as if she wanted to say more, but I nodded and quickly picked up the shoulder bag I had placed on the ground earlier. Immediately, I escaped to a secluded area that I had spotted quite a distance away from the few people who were also out this early morning.
When I could no longer see Vita, or anyone else for that matter, I dropped my bags on the ground and plopped down on a sand dune. It was a bit nippy, so I wrapped myself in the white shawl my aunt had given to me when I graduated college. It was a present she had made herself and it was absolutely beautiful. I remember how excited she was that I had gotten my Bachelor’s degree in Business and joked about us opening a consignment shop in the tourist district after her scheduled retirement six years later. Sadly, when her husband, my uncle, passed five years later it seemed as if her dreams died right along with him.
Some things are meant to be while others just aren’t, I supposed.
In a dreamlike gaze, I remembered what it was like to be out on that water in the boat with my father and my uncle. Me in my frayed Wrangler jeans and tattered old short sleeve shirt from high school, baiting a hook for fish while they casted their nets for a large catch of shrimp, fish, and crabs all at once. I used to come home smelling like an old fish house, but I didn’t care. I had fun. I had my father in my life.
After I had sat for what seemed like an eternity, I gently released a deep breath and slowly reached for my purse.
Once Upon a Sunday Page 8