Cottage Confession

A little something something I pieced together from spare thoughts, left over ideas, and a stirred imagination. The high dose of caffeine I ingested this morning may have had something to do with it, too. Let me know what you think, feel or predict. Perhaps a follow up will reveal... well, you'll just have to read the story below first... Enjoy.
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It was a brisk walk back to the cottage. Mother Nature’s schizophrenia was once again on full display, having taken the day from a sunny forty-six degrees at noon to a chilly twenty-five degrees with a light snow in just nine short hours. He didn’t mind and still wore a smile on his face. He loved that little bar, and considered it his own personal “Cheers.” Everyone knew his name. Of course, they all called him “Jake” instead of “Jack,” the name he usually went by, but he didn’t mind. In fact, it was endearing. He was theirs, and they were his, and they had a symbiotic relationship: They fed off of his stories, and they in turn fed his ego as they listened intently. The part they didn’t see, though, was when the smile faded as he put his key in the door to the cottage and stepped inside, alone.

The place was cozy. Sitting at the end of the inlet, the waters the cottage watched over were typically calm, and peaceful. That was why he chose that particular place in which to live. Calm and peace were two thing things he seldom experienced. The cottage was rustic; an old post and beam structure dating back to an earlier time when the area was utilized mostly by ice fisherman brave enough to venture out onto the frozen bay. In the summer the shore teamed with summer visitors. When he bought the place it really wasn’t fit for year-round habitation, but a year and a half worth of hard work and a couple tens of thousands of dollars later and you would have thought e place was a hidden getaway for the rich and famous.

The wooden beams had been returned to their splendor, the walls repaired and painted, and the kitchen completely gutted and updated. Once a two bedroom cottage, it now had but one sleeping space, the other converted and combined with the small bathroom to create a large open space complete with Jacuzzi tub, cascading shower, and a half-moon window overlooking the bay. That wasn’t his favorite part, though. His favorite was the fireplace.

Fashioned from large cobbles, the fireplace took up a good portion of the center of the wall facing the water. On one side of the stone structure was a floor to ceiling window; on the other, a French door of the same style, which led to the deck beyond. He wasted no time starting a fire, and was soon bathed in the glowing warmth emanating from his hearth. The room quickly filled with the aroma of the cedar chips he had tossed in as kindling, and the scent mixed perfectly with that of the single-malt scotch he sipped. Collapsing into his favorite, old leather chair, he flipped on the light beside him and picked up his book. Reading was his passion, and one entire wall of the cottage’s small living room was covered from floor to ceiling in overstuffed bookshelves. Tonight’s pleasure was Cloud Atlas. He was about forty pages in when he heard a knock on the door.
           
“Who in the world could that be?” he asked himself aloud. A quick glance to his watch revealed that it was nearly 1:30 in the morning. Confused and wary, he stood, slipped his bookmark neatly between the crisp pages, and went to the door. Cautiously, he opened it, and then stood bewildered.

“Mercedes? What are you doing here?” he asked with shock. Mer, as the called her for short, had originally supposed to have met him for drinks earlier. She never showed. That had become a typical occurrence, and one for which he held her no ill will. He would be there anyway, and knew enough of the locals to make the evening enjoyable even without her company. Still, she made the evening that much more pleasant when she joined them. 

“I figured you got tied up and weren’t coming out tonight,” he continued as he stepped aside and invited her in.

“I told myself I wasn’t going to come here tonight. I,” she stammered. There was pain, and if he wasn’t mistaken, regret in her voice.

“Mer, what’s wrong?”

When she turned to face him, he saw the tears in her eyes. “Jack, something happened, something that shouldn’t have happened. And now I’m afraid.”

Without asking her what she had done, Jack reached forward and pulled her towards him, and held her tightly. “Mer, it’s ok. What ever it is, it will be ok,” he whispered reassuringly.

“No, it won’t,” she protested as she pulled away.  “You don’t understand. Jack, you don’t get it.”

“Tell me, Mer. You know you can tell me anything. What’s going on?”

Mercedes’ lips began to quiver, and Jack knew that if he didn’t do something, her emotions were going to explode. He pulled her back into a hug and gently stroked her hair. He could feel her every breath, and the dampness of her tears where she pressed her cheek against his neck. They stood like that for a good five minutes, neither uttering a word. Jack just let her breath, and cry. Finally, she pulled back, placed her hands on his shoulders, and looked into his eyes.

“Mer, talk to me. Please.”

Mercedes took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I did exactly what I told myself what I promised myself I wouldn’t do.” She turned now, unable to face him. “I swore, Jack, I swore I wouldn’t let it happen, but it did, and now I can’t stop it.” Mercedes moved to the window and stared out across the bay, watching the moonlight dance across the water’s undulating surface.

“Mercedes, what did you do?”

Abruptly, she turned and answered him. “I fell in love, Jack! I didn’t want to, but it happened. I fell in love and I swore I wouldn’t, but I did!” Her voice was frantic now.

“With whom?” he asked softly, and simply. Mercedes stood before him, her eyes welled with tears and anguish. Though her lips parted to speak, the name sat on her tongue and refused to reveal itself. She wanted so desperately to tell him, but uncertainty prevented her from doing so. She wanted to tell him. She needed to tell him. Jack was her best friend, and it was his reaction she feared the most.

“Mer, just tell me.”

Mercedes look up at him, and again her lips parted to speak. For a brief moment, the only sound to be heard was that of the crackling in the fireplace.


© J.J. Goodman 2013. All rights reserved.