Love Was Made for Me and You

The rain was heavy and Link swore to himself. He hadn't anticipated the damp conditions and was forced to walk home from the WYZT studio in his good suit. It was abnormally chilly for Baltimore, Link noticed, and he wrapped his arms around himself. He should've taken Seaweed up on his offer for a ride, but he hadn't known about the weather outside. Link had to maneuver his way around the puddles that had collected on the ground as he walked.

He figured that he'd probably be late for his date with Tracy if he wanted to change out of his wet clothes. They were going to meet at her house and then go to the beach, but Link supposed there would probably be a change in plans. The beach wasn't really all that hip when it was raining.

Link turned the corner near the fire station, wishing that he lived closer to the studio. He usually drove there, but tonight his father was borrowing his car. Link was going to borrow Seaweed's to get to the beach, but decided that that wouldn't be necessary. The rain was coming down harder now, and they felt like little rocks pelting down upon him. His hairspray had rinsed off, leaving a sticky film at the base of his neck. Normally, he would've been concerned that his hair had deflated, but he was too busy with thoughts of catching pneumonia.

Finally, he saw his house at the end of the street. It was a two-story house made of gray brick; not the Ritz or anything, but it was home. His neighbors were all elderly retired couples, who had come out to Baltimore to enjoy the rest of their lives, however short of a time they had left. They were all nice; sometimes Mrs. Baker, the widow that lived across from Link, would invite him over when Mr. Larkin was running late. She'd make him cookies and he'd swing dance with her, although he'd have to go pretty slow because Mrs. Baker was almost seventy years old. Mrs. Baker would always tell him that he looked so much like her late husband when he was younger, and Link would always thank her for the compliment, although he'd never seen a picture of Mr. Baker.

He walked up to the front door and pulled his keys out of the jacket pocket. With a jingle, he unlocked the door and pushed it open, closing it behind him. He hated the smell of his own house; simply put, his father had a penchant for cigarettes and Link didn't. Whenever he came home, he made sure to walk straight to his room, the only room in the house that smelled somewhat decent. But today was different.

It had been a few years since Link had been in his father's study. That wasn't on purpose; he just had no reason to go. There was nothing of value to him in there, maybe with the exception of a few records his father owned. Yet there he was, standing in front of the intimidating oak door to the study. He hesitated for a moment, and then grasped at the doorknob pulled.

The room was much smaller than he remembered it being; the desk stood in a corner, cramped between a torn globe and pile of books. There was a cupboard on the far side of the room, and Link was suddenly struck with the memory of his mother storing his father's Christmas present there.

"Don't say anything to him, Link," she had warned her son. "I finally found the perfect hiding spot."

Link smiled bitterly as he recalled how he had ended up telling his father the gift was there anyways, and he'd ended up opening it early. It had been a small box of golf balls. His father had laughed about how he hated golf and told his son to keep it a secret as he skillfully wrapped the present back up, making Link wonder if he had peeked at his presents before.

The deafening ring of the phone disrupted Link's thoughts, and he tore his gaze from the cupboard. He quickly shuffled out of the room, being careful to shut the door behind him quietly. Link wasn't sure why he did this.

He jogged over to the phone and picked it up on the fourth ring.

"Hello?"

"Link, I'm gonna be late again tonight." His father's voice sounded gravely over the receiver.

Link didn't even pretend to sound disappointed. "Okay."

He knew that when his father said he was 'staying late' it meant that he had found another easy chick that thought balding advertising agents oozed sex appeal.

"...Well, I suppose I'll see you in the morning," he said in a business-like tone that made Link cringe.

Just when he was about to respond, Link heard the gaudy dial tone sound in his ear. He placed the handset back down onto its holder and headed out the door.

…

This story will be continued, and I think I'm going to have an update in the next few days. Thanks for reading!