The Long Run Home, Pt. 2

The Long Run Home
Part Two

Watching the sunrise on the water is such an awesome setting. I used to sit out here with dad all the time, and listen to him ramble on about things beyond my understanding. The old man had stories out of this world! Somewhere along the way I picked up some of his wisdom, and some of his habits, both good and bad. There’s always someone telling me that I’m just like my old man. I’ve always taken great pride in the comparison, whether the person delivered it as a compliment or an insult. The Harvey reputation around here is rather sketchy to say the very least. I say we’re a regular family, just a bit misunderstood.

Normally I match my dad’s pace when we’re on our morning run, but today he announced that the last one to the dock was cooking breakfast. I took off like Carl Lewis, summer 1988. What can I say? The man makes a mean stack of blueberry pancakes. Now I’m sitting here on the dock awaiting his arrival, as I watch the sun’s reflection dance on the water. My phone vibrates in my pocket and I ignore it, because I already know who it is. She’s been calling me all morning, and I’m tired of seeing those conniving, piercing eyes and long black hair flash across my screen every time I pick up my phone. This time, I just didn’t bother acknowledging it at all. In my twenty-seven years, I’ve been tangled up in plenty webs of deception, I just chalked it up to karma returning the crude gesture. I’ve never been in anything so crucial that I couldn’t get out of, or the old man couldn’t pull his rank on. This time I’m up the creek without a paddle in sight.

“BJ, you didn’t have to burn me like that, son!” my dad says as he jogs his way to the dock out of breath. He brushes off his shirt, probably still had some of the dust I kicked up when I left him on the trail.

“Hey old man, cut me some slack here. I haven’t had your pancakes since I went away to school, what did you expect?” I jokingly ask. He doesn’t look as if he’s about to sit down, so I rise to my feet and brush the dirt off the back of my shorts. I take one more glance at the dancing sunset before I head towards the house with my tuckered out dad.

“I hope you aren’t expecting blueberries, because we’re fresh out”, he says. I hear the sound of tires disturbing the gravel and peer beyond the light fog hiding behind the trees. I see a car slowly approaching, and I instantly notice the make and model. I take a deep breath, because there is no telling what trouble is creeping upon us behind the wheel of this white car.

“Sorry, you know your mother makes fresh muffins every other morning,” he says, obviously thinking my exasperated sigh was in response to having non-blueberry pancakes.

“That’s okay Pop; hey I’ll meet you inside. I need to run around to the front to get something out of my truck,” I lie quite relieved that he hasn’t noticed our slowly approaching, unwanted guest.

“Sure thing, kid,” he says before the backdoor to the house closes behind him.

The white BMW had come to a stop about a hundred feet back. I lift my head to the sky a brief second for a bit of guidance before heading in the car’s direction. I see those piercing eyes stare at me more intensely with each step I take forward. She is wearing this smile that can’t possibly bring any type of joy to anyone. It’s a twisted smile, a smile that is giving me a nauseated feeling in my gut. Needless to say, I am no long in the mood for pancakes.

“What the hell are you doing here, Laura?” I angrily ask, matching her piercing glare.

“Well it’s nice to see you too BJ Benjamin. I see you’ve been ignoring my calls”, she says with that wicked smile still plastered on her face.

“Look, I want out of this Laura. If our parents find out we’ve been seeing each other, we’re both dead”, I say looking back toward the house and making sure no one is watching us.

“Relax BJ, my father already knows about us. That’s why I came here, to give you this,” she hands me a white envelope.

I stare at her for a moment in disbelief that her father knows anything about our relationship, if one can even all it that. I always assumed my head would be on a platter if he caught even the slightest inkling of us being together. Perhaps he does, I haven’t read what’s in the envelope yet. I slowly take it from her hand, never breaking eye contact.

“Bye BJ”, she facetiously waves, as she begins backing away slowly. The gravel is crunching under the tires again, causing more of a disturbance to me this time.

I look at the white envelope in my hand. God, what could possibly be written inside? My guess is a death threat. As I start to open the envelope, I discover that it’s not addressed to me – it’s addressed to “Georgia Harvey” – my mother.

 

To be continued…

Written by Tamica Nicole © 2016

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