Page 35 of Someone Exactly Like Me (Wounded Hearts 1)
You.“Are there any good sushi places?”
“Oh yeah. Hana Sushi. Their food is so good. I’ll pull up the menu.”
We place our order and I insist on paying since it was my idea.
“Want to eat out by the fire? Sunsets here are amazing.”
“I can’t say no to that.”
“We’ll start the fire while we wait for the food.” She gets up and goes out to her back porch.
Grabbing some wood, she places it in my arms and carries a few pieces herself. She heads down the few steps into the sand and out to a fire pit. Two white, weathered Adirondack chairs sit close to the circle of rocks creating the pit. Taking her pieces of wood, she forms a teepee and reaches out for my pieces.
“Do you want s’mores after we eat?” she asks.
“Sure. I know what they are, but I’ve never eaten one.”
Placing the piece of wood in her hand onto the sand, she whips her head toward me. “You’veneverhad a s’more?”
Her surprised reaction makes me laugh. “No, I haven’t.”
“Well, that changes tonight. We’re making s’mores,” she says, standing up and dusting off her hands.
“You make them?”
“Yup, you’re going to toast marshmallows and make your very first s’more.” She smiles at me and nods then heads back to the house.
Lifting the lid of a large round woven basket, she reaches in, pulls out two blankets, and hands them to me. Then she goes inside and comes back out with a two dinner trays and a candle lighter in her back pocket.
“It can get chilly as the sun goes down. We’ll get the fire going. Food should be here soon, they’re not far away.”
I follow her back to the pit and put a blanket on the back of each chair while she sets a tray in front of each and lights the wood.
When the food arrives, she puts everything on plates and we bring them, a bottle of wine, and glasses out to the pit where the fire is flickering and crackling. I pour us wine as she pokes at the fire. Then we settle into our chairs to eat.
“So, I know what your mom does. How about your dad, what does he do?”
“He’s retired now, but he worked for the government.”
“Retired. Good for him.”
“What about your parents?” she asks.
“My mom was a housewife and raised me and my brother until my dad passed away. Now that we’re grown, she likes to keep busy working at a small clothing shop in the town where we live.”
“I read that your dad passed. You were pretty young.”
I clear my throat. “Yes, I was. Twelve years old.”
“He died young then. I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you. It was these.” I take the pack of cigarettes out of my pocket and shake it, eager for a drag. “These took him from me.” I pause. “Excuse me.” I get up from my chair, walk to the shoreline, and touch the flame of my lighter to the end of a cigarette. Taking a long drag, I watch the tip burn in toward me, a tiny vibrant fireball. Half closing my eye, I send the smoke down to my lungs, relaxing into the calm that spreads through my body. I exhale out my nose, watching the smoke curl and dance in front of the sun.
Looking out to the horizon and the sun about to touch the edge of the water, my dad stands by my side. A ghost. The sun is a searing white, feathering out to a bright yellow then fading to a softer daffodil-yellow to tangerine and then orange. I watched so many sunsets with my dad after a day playing at the beach. If I stay still, I can almost feel him holding my small hand. Together, staring out at the waves as they mesmerize us.
Placing the cigarette to my lips, I suck in my death, yearning for one more day with him, making sandcastles at the beach. One more sunset.
The foamy water splashes onto my feet. I bend down and let it extinguish my cigarette.Help me, dad.
