DEREK
Lubec, Maine and its lighthouse had been a destination for our family for generations. It was where my dad had grown up and where my parents first met on the dance floor in a bar tucked away in the center of the small town. Lubec was the town that never changed. The plaza still had kids running around barefoot their hands sticky from the bottles of coke they bought from the corner store and their mouths stained with the blood red syrup that came from the snow cone stand outside the post office. Surfboards, their patterns faded, laid propped against the sides of multicolored houses. I glance over at the redhead in the seat next to me. A slim ring rests on her right hand and the multiple diamonds glimmer in the light flowing into the dim car from the setting sun. The car ride up here had been uncomfortably silent due to the fight that broke out last night after a long 48 hours on call. We have been having a lot of those fights recently. The meaningless fights we used just to have an excuse to yell at each other. The fights that resulted in me being kicked out of the bed and onto the fold out sofa that sat in the middle of the living room dining room combo in the apartment. Some of the fights like this one became so bad that I would simply drive off. Usually, there was no destination in mind other than somewhere away from Addison but I almost always ended up knocking on Mark's apartment door. We hadn't talked since I picked her up from our apartment this morning but I now reach my hand over and place it over her's.
"I'm sorry," I whisper. I'm not exactly sure what I'm sorry for because I don't remember how the fight started. She swipes my hand away from her's.
"Look I don't know if I can do this anymore," she says her words cut into me like a knife and I can tell they also cut into her from the tears staining her face.
"Do what? What am I doing?" I question desperately. I pull off the main road and park the car in a dusty gravel parking lot because I know this isn't going to be the type of fight that can be resolved by a kiss on the cheek.
"I can't- I just can't Derek," She shouts and I just watch her the tense silence that we had in the car just moments beforehand now completely vanquished, "I can't keep watching you ignore me- you practically hate me and I can't keep pretending I don't see it," She continues her face is red and her cheeks are stained with the mascara that has mixed with tears and begun to drip down her face.
"Addie- I don't hate you. I know I've been working more and I'm sorry that I haven't been there for you. I promise I'll work on that when we get back. I can't wait for our wedding- I can't wait to spend the rest of forever with you. Addie, I love you so much- can you forgive me?" I beg desperately.
"Derek, you don't get it. You just weren't giving me enough," she says solemnly, "I slept with someone else," as soon as the words tumble out of her mouth I feel my entire body grow tense.
"Who?" I ask hesitantly
"Shit- Derek. Shit- I knew you'd ask. You don't need to know who I slept with all you need to know is that cheated on you," she snaps
"I have every right to know- I'm your fiance. Hell- we're getting married and I want a wife that's not afraid to tell me everything," I shout back. I watch Addie's face shift from anger to regret to a look I can't exactly place. It could be confusion or simply pain.
"Derek- you don't get what I'm trying to say. I cheated on you cause I could tell we were fading away to a smaller version of the people we used to be. We were both taking so much from each other and I- just wasn't getting enough back. I think I once loved you but I-I just don't love you anymore. I'm going to sleep in the motel across the way tonight and I will be gone tomorrow morning," she says in an almost calm tone as if she had scripted this fight. I stare at her unsure of what to say next. She has slipped off the ring that I thought she had once worn with pride and has it extended toward me.
"Can you at least tell me who?" I beg. I'm unsure of what this will give me other than more anger but my body itches to know.
"Mark Sloan," she whispers and I almost ask who just to confirm the name
"Were- were you at least drunk?" I question. When we had begun dating nearly 6 years ago there had been many nights where Addie would grow too drunk and throw herself upon any man in her eyesight.
"The first time- yes," I feel rage flood my system and I grip the seat to prevent myself from lashing out. Finally, I let the rage overrule me and I scream
"Get out of the fucking car- I hope you I never have to see you again. Just leave."
As I pull out of parking lot I expect tears in my eyes but instead, my hands just shake with rage. I withdraw the CD that sits in between my seat cushions. It's the first album made by the clash and Addie detested it so I turn up the volume and the shaking in my hand's stills. Addie was right in her own way. We had both taken so much from each other. I no longer listen to any music other than country due to Addie's likings. I never worked hours later than 9:00 because otherwise, Addie would expect I was cheating on her or accuse me of ignoring her. The music leads me down a series of familiar roads that lead to the ancient beach house. I pull the car up to the curb across from the house. There are already the 4 cars belonging to my younger sisters and the old dented car that belongs to my mom. The house looks the same. The sides are painted a faded yellow and the door is a bright red. The front porch is cluttered with fraying whicker and my mom stands on the front porch her sandy white hair waving back and forth in the wind. As soon as she sees Addie missing her face saddens and she just reaches out her hands that I fall into allowing her to stroke my hair, something she did when I was younger. She smells like a mix of spearmint gum and sea water and I don't even need to say anything as she leads me into the house. Somehow my incredibly nosy sisters are intensely quiet and I'm lowered onto the couch and all of my sisters and my mom surround me sympathetically waiting anxiously for the story behind what happened.
MEREDITH
My bare feet hit the concrete and I feel them tingle slightly from the heat coming up from the sun heated pavement. I stare up at the new house. It's new construction and it looks exactly how the picture in that magazine that appeared in the mailbox depicted it. The bricks skirt around the outside walls and are bleached white. There are wide windows overlooking the sea and the tops of other houses. As the evening light sets the soft glow from the lighthouse sweeps across the granite driveway.
"Mer," her dad calls from the back of the car where he has his head stuck in one of the many boxes they had packed stuffed full of lamps and books. His voice is filled with exhaustion and a bit of impatience that hasn't left in the past 6 years.
"Yes, what is it?" I ask. I know what's coming next isn't going to be an I love you but instead a command so I stay in the same spot watching sailboats float across calmer harbors and surfers trying to catch the last of the breaking waves before the sun sets. As much as I seem like a spoiled brat, by my large house I've lived in, the private school with fancy button-down uniforms I went to, or the Ivy League college that I'm going to I don't like to think about myself that way. At 18 I have more dark memories than most people have had in their lifetime. I have seen my parent's marriage fall apart leaving me at 6 to never be able to talk to my biological father again. I called 911 after the first time my mom tried to kill herself, and the next time. I watched my dad sneak bottles of whiskey into my sister's dance recital because he couldn't go a couple of hours without booze and I dragged his drunk ass up the stairs in the early morning after he had a late night at the bar. I feel that because of my dark and twisty past I can give myself a break every once and a while so I don't run to my dad's side right away but wait in my spot.
"Can you take Matthew and Maggie to the plaza and see what you can pick up for dinner?" He asks. This is what happens most nights for dinner whether we're on vacation or not. Some nights we'll pick up Chinese from the shop with the red and white booths, sometimes we pick up pizza from one of the classic New York pizza spots, and sometimes when I become too lazy to call for delivery I will prepare one of the dozen boxes of Kraft mac and cheese from the pantry.
"Sure," I respond and I hear the rustle of unbuckling seat belts. Matthew comes up to me first. He still has his teenage mutant turtles backpack on and a wide lopsided grin across his face. He's the youngest at only 6 and sometimes I wish to be him and to have only been a baby when his life fell apart, at least then he doesn't know anything better. He doesn't own any of the harsh memories that Maggie and I share. Maggie follows close behind him. Her jet black curly hair is a tousled mess from the breeze. Although Maggie's only 12 she has no limit on how much makeup she can wear so every day she applies a dark ring of eyeliner around her deep brown eyes. I understand it. I went through a similar period in middle school. I had bright pink hair with dark circles made around my eye with a combination of tears and drugstore black eyeshadow.
"Alright let's get going," I say breaking the serenity we all had felt overlooking the harsh waters breaking against sharp cliffs. I begin walking, leading the way but only about 100 ft down the road, my bare feet already stinging from the many rocks that had pricked the surface, Maggie corrects my direction,
"We went North East to go away from the plaza meaning we can't go North East to get to the plaza. We're supposed to go the other way. I wanted to see how long it took you to figure it out but my feet were starting to get tired," she says. This is the most she will ever speak in public even if it's on a vacant road. Maggie had learned the struggles of name calling early after her dramatic lisp had earned her the name of Lil' Maggot. I still hate when I am reminded Maggie is a child prodigy and she can outsmart me in almost every subject.
"Asshole," I mutter under my breath, making sure neither Maggie nor Matthew hear me. I then abruptly turn around following the edge of the road into the rather crowded center. There are street vendors selling ice cream and snow cones and although I'm tempted by the idea of a crispy cone and sugary ice cream dripping down my wrist I look at the 20 dollar bill that remains in my wallet and I drag myself, Maggie, and Matthew into the gas station selling foot-long hot dogs for 50 cents. Once I buy the 4 greasy hot dogs and they are packed into a thin plastic bag as well as a bottle of whiskey for my dad I begin to rummage the cluttered shelves for breakfast tomorrow and snacks tonight. I see a bag of potato chips and grab them off the shelf, brushing off the layer of dust that has collected on them.
"Are you new here?" a man grabbing produce from the adjacent shelf casually asks. He has a cloth bag slung over his shoulder and smiles when he talks. On closer inspection, he appears to be about thirty and has blue eyes that shimmer in the fluorescent lights.
"What makes you say that?" I question
"Well, first I've been coming here for 30 years and I've never seen you here. This place never changes and now there's a new house down the street and then I meet a new girl in the store so I guess I kind of assumed. So what's your story?" he says breathlessly. His cheeks are slightly flushed.
"My story?" I repeat, "I have no story. I'm just a girl."
"I'm just a guy," the mysterious man replies. I feel a blush growing in my cheeks and quickly look away. A high pitched giggle leaks out of my mouth followed by his chuckle.
"Well... bye, I guess I'll see you around," I tell him
"See you around town," he says a wide smile on his shiny white teeth.