A while ago I found a photo on Dreamstime,
my go-to site for royalty-free pics, and it sort of haunted me in the way that
images can, when they settle deep into your mind and imagination. Then recently
I rewrote a short story that didn't turn out the way I expected, so it no longer
fit the publisher's call for that particular anthology. It didn't fit in *any*
publisher's anthology call.
Somehow that photo and the story just
seemed to belong together, and they spurred me to take a chance. So this is
Falling Again, my first self-published short story, and it'll be available on
Amazon on October 13th.
~ * ~
Falling Again
5625 words
Thanks to a lucky win on the Power Ball Lottery, Joel has fulfilled his ambition - an island of his own. All he needs to do now is show it to Gray, his best friend and ex-lover, who had shared that childhood dream. But life moves on and people change. So do connections. They can transmute into something wonderful and lasting, but only if both men want the same thing.
Excerpt
"I. Don’t. Like. Boats." The words were bitten out with an
ice-cold precision that should have warned Joel to back off. But never let it
be said that a Considine ever did anything as sensible as taking heed of
warnings.
"It's only a small boat,"
he coaxed in what he hoped was a persuasive tone.
"The size," Gray Marchant snapped, "is inversely
related to how much I am not going to get into it."
"I'm not asking you to row the fucking Atlantic,"
Joel cut in, rapidly losing patience. They'd been friends since first grade, had explored their sexuality with each other
in their teens, and had been lovers all through their years at UCLA. Everything
had changed when they went their separate ways after graduating.
When they'd first reestablished
contact in the summer of last year, Gray had been his old warm expansive self.
They'd been meeting once a month since then. Because Gray avoided
planes when he could, Joel was the one who visited. Friday evenings, he would
catch a flight to Miami,
spend two nights alone in Gray's guest room and fly home Sundays. At first their
friendship had seemed as solid as ever. But lately Gray had become remote,
inclined to acid retorts, and Joel had found himself wanting to punch him more
than kiss him. Gray hadn't shown any signs of wanting to resume the sexual side
of their relationship, so no matter how much he'd like it to happen, Joel had
let it lie, rather than risk driving Gray away.
All told, he had a lot invested in this weekend get-together. He
needed to reaffirm his old closeness with Gray. But it wasn't working out the
way he'd hoped.
"All we have to do is cross a narrow stretch of water between
here and the island. Where," Joel continued, inspired, "there's a
roaring log fire, steaks with all the trimmings waiting for me to cook them,
beer, spirits and wine. What more could you want?"
"A bridge," Gray cut back, hunching further into his heavy
woolen overcoat. It hung around him like a pall, disguising the lean, athletic
frame beneath. Why Gray needed a coat in the first place, Joel couldn't guess. Even
though the sun was setting, the temperature was a comfortable seventy-four
degrees, and he himself wore jeans and a tee-shirt.
"What the shit is the matter with you?" he demanded, his
irritation and disappointment coming to the fore. "It's not my fault Larry
and his girl had to cancel! Her mom was rushed into the hospital, for God's
sake!"
Among other things, Joel had
been looking forward to showing the three of them, but especially Gray, his recently
acquired haven on the outskirts of Glen Burnie.
At just under four acres, the island was a pocket wilderness of trees and
glades, a boathouse, and a rambling three bedroom cabin with a wraparound porch.
Conoy Island, a few hundred yards offshore in
Marley Creek, was all his.
Last year Joel had been part of a seven-man consortium who'd won the
Powerball Lottery, and he'd ended up with more than five million bucks in his
bank account after taxes. After he'd gotten over the first shock, he'd purchased
new homes for his mom and his brother. Then he'd spent just under a million
fulfilling a childhood dream—to own his own island.
That had been a lucky time for him. Two months before his big win,
Joel had reconnected with Gray. In the five years between UCLA and now, they'd
become reasonably successful in their chosen careers: Gray in Miami-Dade's
District Attorney's Office, Joel in the offices of one of Baltimore's premier corporate law firms. Right
now, that reconnection was looking more than a little shaky and he didn't feel
inclined to take the diplomatic route.
"Do all the men in your family hit the male menopause at twenty-nine,
or something?" he asked snidely.
"Oh, it's something, Considine! You never said anything about
boats!"
"I didn't know I had to. You knew it's a fucking island!"
"So build a fucking bridge!"
"You're just being unreasonable! And juvenile!"
"Juv—!" Gray took a deep breath, his mouth pinched to a hard
line. "That's it." He turned on his heel and stalked away, footsteps
making sharp retorts on the wooden planks.
"Oh, no, you don't!" Joel barked. He made a lightning-fast
grab at Gray's shoulder and spun him round. Gray jarred Joel's hand away with
an equally swift block, stepping sideways—and his heel caught on a mooring
ring.
With a squawk of outraged surprise, Gray dropped his duffel and fell
back. Joel lunged to catch him but was not quite quick enough, and Gray
disappeared off the edge of the jetty. Seconds later, in a geyser of spray, he
vanished into the brackish water of Marley Creek.
~~~ * ~~~
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