Island Life Sentence Page 3

  “Nice.” Peg shook her big-hatted head.

  “So – Clark says this. Clark says that. What does Peg have to say? Do you even know anything about Key West? Do you want to make a change like this?”

  “Well, no… I mean yes… I mean… I don’t know,” Peg stammered. “With the company sold, we can do this, and,” she ahemmed, “speaking professionally, we’ll be getting the payout over ten years. It’s a compromise, sure, you know Clark really pushed for the lump sum upfront, but even he couldn’t fight the facts. The payout over ten years will be way more lucrative in the long run.” Peg’s boots skidded over an icy rock patch.

  Trudy microphoned her mitten and belted out, “Moneymoneymoneymonneeeyy.”

  Peg grabbed Trudy’s mitt-mike and spoke into it. “But seriously, I know I’m not going to convince you that Clark’s not a bad person. But he really wants this to be a second honeymoon for us. I feel like I need to do this in support of him and our marriage.”

  “You’re right.” Trudy gazed at the ground.

  “I am?” Peg looked astonished.

  Trudy smirked and ran ahead. “You’re not going to convince me that he’s a good person – he’s a dick.” Adding over her shoulder, “Again – not a swear.”

  Peg jogged to catch up. “Where’re the dogs?”

  Trudy pointed. “Over there, on top of the hill.” She turned to face the opposite direction. “Okay. Let’s think about this. You don’t have a job now that the company is gone. Clark will be doing consulting. What will you do there? What about friends and family?” Trudy swung around.

  “You’re my only family since Mom died. And you’ll come to visit me. Clark’ll be working from home. We’ll be together. We’ll do warm-weather things.”

  Trudy shook her head. “Do you even know how to swim?”

  “I can sorta swim. I took lessons… in like the third grade.” She took a breath. “It’ll be good for me. Change is good.” Wisely, Peg decided not to tell Trudy where she last heard that phrase.

  “So, in a nutshell, your life as you know it has been traded for a palm tree.”

  “It’s gonna be an island life.”

  “More like an island life sentence.”

  “I know you’re mad, and to make it up to you, I’ll go up the disgusting hill and pick up Tucker’s poop.” Tucker was notorious for having the longest trail of never-ending excrement – almost always a double bagger.

  Peg scrambled up the slippery incline, poop glove-bags on each hand.

  Trudy yelled, “Whatever. Sure. You must honestly be thinking that you’re moving to Key West if you’re willing to go to such great lengths to keep me happy. I’ll call you if my toilet needs plunging too.”

  “The house isn’t sold yet.” Peg used the heavy bags in each hand as ballast as she slid back to Trudy. “The market’s still bad. It could take forever!”

  Peg and Trudy stood side by side in front of the SOLD sign.

  Trudy pointed at the SOLD sign and stared at Peg.

  Trudy kicked the SOLD sign and stomped away.

  Peg stood alone in front of the SOLD sign.

  Garage Arbitrage

  “Thanks for helping me with the yard sale,” Peg said to Trudy. As they walked around the garage, Trudy’s feet made sucky sounds in her knee-high purple polka-dot rubber boots. Her hair stuck out of a golf visor with the well-known tree on a craggy cliff logo from Pebble Beach.

  “When did you go to California?” Peg pointed at Trudy’s visor.

  “Never been. This’s my lucky garage-sale visor.” Trudy took off her round glasses and cleaned them on her sweatshirt that said Don’t Trust Atoms, They Make Up Everything.

  “Sweatshirt too?” Peg grinned.

  “Yup. It doubles as a dress if I need to fancy up.” Trudy un-scrunched the sweatshirt from around her mid-section. It draped to touch the top of her boots.

  “That is fancy.” Peg linked her friend’s arm.

  “I still don’t see why you’re moving to Key West. It’s so random and unnecessary.” Trudy’s face reddened when she faced the front yard placard – HOUSE SOLD IN LESS THAN 30 DAYS. She unlinked her arm and shoved her hands in her gargantuan sweatshirt pockets.

  Peg turned her friend away from the sign. “Yeah, we’ve lived in this house a long time.” She avoided Trudy’s glare. “But,” Peg added with forced enthusiasm, “that means there’s a lot of crap to sell.”

  “Too bad you can’t sell Clark,” Trudy mumbled, surveying the treasures piled up on the card tables. “You know I can’t be mad during a garage sale, my Achilles heel. Last year, I got a video camera for twenty-five cents at an estate sale. I had to haggle with the widow. Tough old bird.”

  “You haggled with a woman… for her dead husband’s video camera… for a quarter?” Peg’s eyes grew wide.

  “Yes. But it didn’t come with a charger cord. That’s proved to be a problem.”

  Peg half-listened to her friend and scanned the drab, wet skies. She rubbed the arms of her down coat. “I hope the weather holds.”

  “A little freezing, slushy rain won’t hold back the diehard yard-salers.” No sooner had the prophecy been spoken than the junk junkies started to circle the cul-de-sac.

  The first customer gravitated toward the holiday table, and picked up one of the kitchen towels. The towel was embroidered with a Christmas tree and the saying I love you this and every other Christmas. Peg remembered when Clark had given her that towel. He’d wrapped it around a bottle of wine and placed it in a silver and gold basket with two green crystal wine glasses. The snowstorm had prohibited the usual family and friend festivities. The room had been cozy, Christmas music had played, the tree lights had twinkled and –

  The towel… I love that towel.

  Overcome with emotion, Peg lurched over the table and grabbed the towel from the unsuspecting shopper’s hand.

  Trudy hustled over to diffuse the situation. Waving three other colorful towels in the customer’s direction, she blurted, “These towels are a better deal – three for the price of one.”

  The woman initially resisted, until she saw Peg wipe her eyes and blow her nose on the Christmas towel. Making a face, the shopper snatched the three-pack from Trudy and tossed the towels in her plastic grocery bag.

  Meanwhile, Peg scanned the garage.

  In the corner, a grandmotherly looking woman inspected the glassware. She lifted the pair of green crystal wine glasses and held them up to the lamplight. Green reflections of cut glass discoed across the ceiling.

  The glasses… I love those green wine glasses. CLARK said they match my eyes.

  Satisfied with their condition, the grandmother delicately placed the crystal glasses in a silver and gold basket.

  The basket… I love that basket.

  It was too much. Peg made her move, but not fast enough. The elderly customer saw Peg coming.

  Assuming a sumo wrestler stance, Grandma was ready for a match.

  Peg bobbed.

  Grams weaved.

  Peg lunged.

  Grams lurched.

  “What are you doing?” Trudy grabbed Peg from behind, her hands hooked around Peg’s waist.

  “I can’t let these go.” Peg had a grip of one side of the basket handle. The resolute Grams matched her grip on the other side.

  The tug of war continued. Peg’s neck veins bulged. “This is my life here on display. For cents on the dollar.”

  “This was your idea!” Trudy said through clenched jaw.

  “I can’t do it,” Peg wailed as the basket handle snapped in half.

  The two glasses twirled into the air. Peg caught the stem of one glass at the same moment the other one shattered on the ground. Peg fell backward on top of Trudy.

  Other than a slight two-step and grimace, the old lady was unmoved both physically and emotionally. She shook her head in disgust, mouthing curse words as she walked down the driveway. Other shoppers in the garage chucked their possible purchases onto the closest table and f
ollowed suit.

  The two friends untangled their limbs on the cold cement floor. Tears flowed from Peg’s face as she cradled the goblet in the towel.

  Trudy brushed the green glass shards from her butt. “This is going to be a very long day.”

  Moving Out

  The team of suburban Chicago college boys from A+ Moving Company were fast and efficient. Their matching tee shirts, khakis, and polite enthusiasm gave them a boy scout quality. The foreman shouted echoey instructions up the hallway, while the men strapped impossible amounts of weight to their backs. They responded to the boss with effortless, cheery affirmatives. In less than four hours, the house was reduced to carpet imprints and nail holes. Peg wandered the rooms attempting to fluff the rugs with the toe of her shoe, but the holes were there to stay.

  The foreman closed the back of the moving truck with a loud clang and then climbed into the cab of the giant semi. He smiled and waved as the truck chugged away. Peg waved back limp-wristed and watched 20 years roll out of the neighborhood.

  Peg noticed Trudy coming up the driveway while Clark made room for Nipper in the car’s back seat, amidst lampshades and plants. The dog sat at attention. Unblinking, he willed the humans into the car. Peg’s legs felt weak.

  “You are such a bitch.” Trudy’s lip quivered.

  “I know I am.” Peg’s voice cracked.

  And then the dam broke. They sobbed in each other’s arms until Peg pulled herself free and jammed herself into the passenger seat. As the car backed away from the curb, she could hear Trudy crying out through tears and cupped hands, “Clark, you’re an asshole. You suck.”

  Clark rolled up the car windows.

  They turned right at the corner past big-boobed Barb’s house and then right again toward signs for Route 355 South.

  Peg cried. She wept. She bawled. Nipper licked her ear. Clark glanced at her sideways. “Adventure time,” he said with a big smile. “It will all be fine.”

  Peg lifted her head from her hands, blew her nose and mustered up a non-gasping breath. “I know,” she lied.

  The Drive

  Nipper settled easily into the 26-hour journey. He enjoyed the cave-like enclosure of the back seat, the humming of the engine and the proximity of his humans. When the car stopped, he would perform the obligatory squirt on rest-stop garbage cans, happy to take in the exotic scents of all who went before him.

  First hour of the drive:

  Clark: “What d’you want to listen to?”

  Peg (massaging Clark’s neck with her left hand): “I don’t care, whatever you want.”

  Clark: “I’m turning on the air conditioning. I don’t think I’ll need the heated steering wheel anymore.”

  Peg: “Look, the trees are blooming already down here. It’ll be nice to see flowers earlier in the year.”

  Clark: “There are flowers year round in Key West, not to mention sunshine. I’m so sick of gray and gloomy.”

  Peg: “I’ll like that and Nipper does love to sunbathe. He’ll be happy too.”

  Clark: “Happy dog, happy life.”

  Peg: “I have to pee.”

  Clark: “Sure. We’ll stop at the next exit.”

  Peg: “I love you and my bladder loves you.”

  The fourteenth hour of the drive:

  Clark: “I’d like to drive all the way through today.”

  Peg: “What? That’s another 14 hours. We did 12 yesterday.”

  Clark: “I’m not staying at another fleabag doggie hotel. It cost a fortune and was a dump. I’m on a roll and wanta get there.”

  Peg: “My butt hurts already and it’s only been a couple of hours.”

  Clark: “And don’t drink any liquids ’cause I’m not stopping.”

  Peg: “My bladder has changed its mind about you.”

  The twentieth hour of the drive:

  Peg: “Why are we listening to Spanish music?”

  Clark: “It’s not Spanish, it’s Cuban music.”

  Peg: “Oh.”

  (Pause)

  Peg: “Why are we listening to Cuban music?”

  Clark: “We’re going to be living 90 miles from Havana. We need to start acclimating.”

  Peg: “Listen, Ricky Ricardo, it’s been eight solid hours of salsa. Can we please listen to a song in English?”

  Clark: “It’s not salsa, it’s rhumba.”

  Peg: “Okay then – listen, Ricky… um… Martin, turn it off. We’re in Florida and I can get a gun at the nearest grocery store. I’m not afraid to use it.”

  Clark: “Fine.”

  (Silence)

  Clark: “Ricky Martin is Puerto Rican – just so you know.”

  Peg: “Stop at the Minimart right now.”

  Passing Miami after 23 hours in the car, Clark opened the window to let in the sea air. Nipper’s ears and lips flapped behind the driver’s seat. When the car approached the first bridge, Peg felt her lungs and stomach combine to make a new body organ.

  Google says there are 42 bridges. Okay… breathe… sing.

  “When the red, red robin comes bob, bob, bobbin’ along. Like a bridge over troubled–”

  No, stop. Bad song.

  “This little light of mine. I’m gonna let it shine.”

  Clark remarked, “Singing seems to be working.”

  “Kind of. But I’m not driving and these have been short bridges.” Peg flapped her hands to increase blood flow.

  “Okay, listen, we’re halfway down the Keys. Let’s stop in Islamorada for a dog and–,” Clark exaggerated a head swirl to look at Peg, “mental health break.”

  “Good idea. I need a walk to reset my central nervous system.” Peg wiped her clammy fingers on her shirt.

  They pulled off Route 1 and into a large open park area. Peg got out of the car, placed her hands on her hips and arched her achy back. “Ahhh. Freedom. Feels good to be out of the car. C’mon, Nipper.” She opened up the back door and the dog bounced to the pavement.

  “I just have to check some messages. Gonna make sure the moving company didn’t reach out with any problems.” Clark stood next to the car with his phone in his hand.

  “We’ll be walking over there.” Peg saw that Clark was already plugged in to his phone. “Okay?” No response. “I hope we don’t get eaten by zombies.”

  “That sounds good,” Clark muttered.

  “All right then. Let’s go, Nipper, and watch out for zombies ’cause we’re on our own apparently.” The dog beelined up the concrete steps to a large monument in the middle of the square. Dragging Peg behind him, he stopped short of a plaque and lifted his leg.

  “Nipper, no. This is history you’re peeing on.”

  Peg read the historical marker:

  “DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF THE CIVILIANS AND WAR VETERANS WHOSE LIVES WERE LOST IN THE HURRICANE OF SEPTEMBER SECOND 1935.”

  Nipper stopped mid-squirt, then continued on full stream ahead when he realized that Peg wasn’t paying attention.

  Hurricane. So awful. Hundreds of deaths. No escape.

  Peg glanced away from her reading and saw the yellow puddle at her feet. “C’mon, Nipper, let’s go before we get arrested for defacing public property.” The dog trotted next to her as she yelled-slash-jogged back to the car. “The entire railroad system was destroyed. The whole thing.”

  “What?” Clark looked up from his phone.

  “The hurricane took out everything and everyone. There are pictures. It’s horrific.” Peg pointed to the placard by the monument that now had a distinctive yellow line running down the middle of it.

  Clark shook his head. “That was a long time ago – before early-warning systems and advanced technology.” He got into the driver’s seat and started the car engine.

  Peg opened the door for Nipper and he snuggled into his back-seat burrow. “I’m sorry, but being on a bridge is scary enough, but driving on one during a hurricane? It’s–” She shut her car door.

  Clark interrupted her, “–not going to happen. You’ll be fine.�
� The back tires spun in the gravel as they merged back onto Route 1.

  Peg averted her eyes as they passed the rusty cadaverous remnants of the old Flagler railroad looming out of the ocean. Its lifeless form a constant reminder of the brute force and unpredictability of Mother Nature.

  Stop imagining people careening off the structure and being swallowed up by the raging waters. Helpless. Screaming.

  Her newly formed lung-slash-stomach welcomed the intestines to the party.

  Then – IT appeared.

  Out of the clear blue skies, there IT was.

  The SEVEN-MILE BRIDGE.

  Strung out like a lounging snake, IT bided ITS time, waiting to take ITS prey.

  “I think I’m going to faint. I really can’t breathe,” she wheezed.

  “I can’t stop here.” The oncoming traffic whizzed past. “Try singing again.”

  “Passing out… not kidding.”

  “Do you think it’s safe for me to be distracted, worrying about you, while driving on a bridge that you are afraid for me to drive across?”

  Even in her oxygen-depleted state, she had to admit that he did have a point.

  “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. Even though the sound of it is something quite atrocious,” Peg squeaked.

  Clark’s neck vein receded and a tiny smile formed. “If you say it loud enough you’ll always sound precocious.”

  Peg focused her stare at her husband’s profile, and her voice gained strength. “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.”

  Laughing in unison, they launched into, “Um-dittle-ittl-um-dittle-I, Um-dittle-ittl-um-dittle-I…”

  And so they sang until the song ended and the bridge connected with the earth. She had made it – as a passenger – across a BIG bridge.

  “See? You were fine.”

  “I know.”

  But she wasn’t.

  Meeting the Neighbors

  “Hallooo.” Peg’s voice echoed through the empty house.

  All of Peg’s secret wishes for a botched closing so they could move back to Chicago were dashed.