about it, and I’ve come to the determination that my happy ending means no to all men in my life. No more love for me because in my case, love is always wrong. I thought I was in love, and because of my stupidity, my entire life savings now consists of thirty-seven-dollars and all of my belongings fit into a duffel bag on the seat next to me.
“Here we are,” Millie announces as we arrive at the ferry parking lot. It’s a two-hour ride to Summer Island from here. We hop out of the car.
“You forgot the keys in the ignition,” I tell Cade.
“The Mercedes belongs to the drug smugglers and kidnappers,” he reminds me. It’s a long story, which they told me between kisses, but the upshot is that Cade and Millie are journalists, and they had a run-in with criminals, who they put in prison. Cade and Millie borrowed their car, which is fair because somehow the criminals took their clothes, or at least did something to their clothes, and now they’re wearing orange prison jumpsuits. Cade and Millie are getting more of their share of looks because of the jumpsuits, which takes a load off of me. I was worried that my ex-con status would be written all over me, but at least I’m not dressed in orange with Yuma Correctional written on the back. Next to Cade and Millie, I’m completely anonymous, and that’s exactly how I want to remain.
“I can’t wait to get home,” Cade says to Millie. “Your place or mine? Mine has satellite TV. The whole sports package. Yours just has cable.”
They kiss for a couple of minutes and then argue about the pros and cons of television coverage all the way onto the ferry boat. They sit inside, but I decide to sit on the top deck away from their kissing. Besides, I’ve just spent two years without a lot of fresh air, and now I want to take advantage of every available breath of oxygen.
It’s a gorgeous day without a cloud in the sky. Seventy-five degrees with a cool breeze. The ocean is pretty calm, and our ferry cuts through the water fast, like a knife through butter. In the distance, I spot a whale. I close my eyes and breathe in the sweet air. Paradise. Freedom. Finally, it’s a moment of serenity after years of sustained stress. I try to relish the moment. My resolve to never let a man ruin my life again and the promise of a fresh start helps me relish it.
This is my first trip to Summer Island. Supposedly, three generations of my family have lived on the island, but that’s three generations I never knew. As far as I was aware until two weeks ago, I’ve been family-less. My parents died when I was a toddler, and I was raised by foster parents, who died shortly after I graduated from high school. But two weeks ago, I was informed that I had an aunt. Since I’ve been family-less for most of my life, this news came as quite a shock. At first, I fantasized about Thanksgiving dinner at my aunt’s house, about shucking peas with her on her porch while we sat in rocking chairs, about her giving me my mother’s wedding dress, which she held for me all these years in an old trunk in her attic. I enjoyed all of these delicious fantasies for a wonderful thirty seconds upon hearing the news of her existence.
But not so fast, oh wonderful happiness bubble. My new-found aunt was already dead. Dead for only a few days. She had been alive for her whole life, and nobody bothered to tell me about her. She never bothered to tell me about her.
But now I know all about her. But she’s dead, and that’s why I was finally contacted about her.
I don’t have any living family members, but it turns out that I have a whole army of dead ones. Since I found out about my aunt, I’ve been told that about half of all the dead people on the island are related to me, and I’m the sole survivor of this once great extended family.
Having such a big, dead family hasn’t gotten me anywhere up until now, but that’s all changed. My dead aunt has left me something. As her sole surviving family
“Here we are,” Millie announces as we arrive at the ferry parking lot. It’s a two-hour ride to Summer Island from here. We hop out of the car.
“You forgot the keys in the ignition,” I tell Cade.
“The Mercedes belongs to the drug smugglers and kidnappers,” he reminds me. It’s a long story, which they told me between kisses, but the upshot is that Cade and Millie are journalists, and they had a run-in with criminals, who they put in prison. Cade and Millie borrowed their car, which is fair because somehow the criminals took their clothes, or at least did something to their clothes, and now they’re wearing orange prison jumpsuits. Cade and Millie are getting more of their share of looks because of the jumpsuits, which takes a load off of me. I was worried that my ex-con status would be written all over me, but at least I’m not dressed in orange with Yuma Correctional written on the back. Next to Cade and Millie, I’m completely anonymous, and that’s exactly how I want to remain.
“I can’t wait to get home,” Cade says to Millie. “Your place or mine? Mine has satellite TV. The whole sports package. Yours just has cable.”
They kiss for a couple of minutes and then argue about the pros and cons of television coverage all the way onto the ferry boat. They sit inside, but I decide to sit on the top deck away from their kissing. Besides, I’ve just spent two years without a lot of fresh air, and now I want to take advantage of every available breath of oxygen.
It’s a gorgeous day without a cloud in the sky. Seventy-five degrees with a cool breeze. The ocean is pretty calm, and our ferry cuts through the water fast, like a knife through butter. In the distance, I spot a whale. I close my eyes and breathe in the sweet air. Paradise. Freedom. Finally, it’s a moment of serenity after years of sustained stress. I try to relish the moment. My resolve to never let a man ruin my life again and the promise of a fresh start helps me relish it.
This is my first trip to Summer Island. Supposedly, three generations of my family have lived on the island, but that’s three generations I never knew. As far as I was aware until two weeks ago, I’ve been family-less. My parents died when I was a toddler, and I was raised by foster parents, who died shortly after I graduated from high school. But two weeks ago, I was informed that I had an aunt. Since I’ve been family-less for most of my life, this news came as quite a shock. At first, I fantasized about Thanksgiving dinner at my aunt’s house, about shucking peas with her on her porch while we sat in rocking chairs, about her giving me my mother’s wedding dress, which she held for me all these years in an old trunk in her attic. I enjoyed all of these delicious fantasies for a wonderful thirty seconds upon hearing the news of her existence.
But not so fast, oh wonderful happiness bubble. My new-found aunt was already dead. Dead for only a few days. She had been alive for her whole life, and nobody bothered to tell me about her. She never bothered to tell me about her.
But now I know all about her. But she’s dead, and that’s why I was finally contacted about her.
I don’t have any living family members, but it turns out that I have a whole army of dead ones. Since I found out about my aunt, I’ve been told that about half of all the dead people on the island are related to me, and I’m the sole survivor of this once great extended family.
Having such a big, dead family hasn’t gotten me anywhere up until now, but that’s all changed. My dead aunt has left me something. As her sole surviving family
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