CITY ISLAND LINES
Irene was inquisitive. Always had been. It was her nature. Arthur Conan Doyle and Agatha Christie had been her staples as an early reader, and she knew that this had honed her skills in finding mysteries all around her and solving them. She considered this her true talent, which she tried to utilise for the betterment of others. As she removed a jumble of socks and shirts and shorts from the dryer (it was her turn to do the washing this week), she realised that it had been some time since she’d solved a mystery. Was she becoming inattentive? Was she losing her edge? Was life getting too settled? These questions troubled her as she peeled apart T-shirts bound by static – she had forgotten to add the dryer sheets again. As she tugged on a particularly tenacious white shirt with some sort of beer logo on it, she noticed a single red hair.
Irene was perplexed. She had always been a natural blonde; well, pretty natural anyway. This hair was nowhere near her hue. As she looked closer, she found several more of the offending hairs in the lint trap. These were hairs from a true redhead. Neither tinted nor treated. They were silky and enviable and suggested seductive ruby tresses. Irene was confounded. How had these offending copper strands attached themselves to Bruce’s white T-shirt? Neither of them knew anyone with such lustrous red hair. And Bruce had never mentioned any redheads in the office. Yet there they were: clues in her latest mystery. Irene was suspicious. At dinner, Bruce was his usual self: affectionate and amusing. Still, Irene got the feeling that he was hiding something. Worse than that, he made no mention of their anniversary, which was today. That was unlike him. When he went to take the rubbish out (it was his turn this week), she grabbed his mobile phone and jabbed at the SMS/Text icon. She had to scroll quickly but soon found a short exchange with someone called Maxine. Bruce: Can I come on Thursday? Maxine: Of course. I am free any time on Thursday and looking forward to seeing you. Bruce: Perfect. Please don’t mention our plan to anyone, ok? Maxine:Of course! I understand and will be discreet. They must have met on Thursday, because the next thread read: Bruce: ‘Thanks for the amazing time today. I’ll see you again Friday. As I stressed, it is very important that Irene does not find out.’ Maxine: Don’t worry ! I’ll keep our secret! Glad you are happy and satisfied. J Irene was irate! How could Bruce cheat on her with Maxine (who was Maxine anyway!?)? And especially on the eve of their anniversary. Bruce returned from his rubbish expedition, and Irene was fuming. ‘I have a headache, and I am going to sleep’ she huffed. Bruce was taken aback. ‘But don’t you want to celebrate our anniversary?’ he spluttered? Irene was exasperated. ‘You have some nerve!’ she barked. ‘Wait here,’ Bruce replied, and he dashed back out the door to the car. He returned with a squirming bundle that he gently placed in Irene’s arms. A small, velvety, red head with liquid amber eyes gazed up at Irene, as she stammered some senseless syllables. ‘An Irish Setter puppy—like we’ve always talked about,’ cooed Bruce. ‘Happy Anniversary!’ Irene was elated, and she had solved another mystery.
1 Comment
Rose’s first memories were of snuggling up in his arms and sleeping. This she did frequently, as she was the runt, prematurely ejected from the family fold by her mother and immediately adopted by Bill. From the start, Bill took her everywhere with him. When he ate, she curled up on the napkin in his lap. When he slept, he tucked her into one of his big wooly socks and laid her next to his pillow.
It was just the two of them then. Bill was a widower with no children, and so he had nothing but time and affection for little Rose, his chocolate morsel as he called her. They played endless games together, including one where Bill would shoot rubber bands and Rose would gleefully chase the unpredictable projectiles until she was exhausted and would collapse in a happy heap at his feet. They especially enjoyed walks along the beach. As a well-bred Labrador, she knew not to chase geese or seagulls, although she dearly wanted to. Instead, she found delight in surging through curling waves to retrieve pebbles that Bill would toss for her. She would triumphantly return with the small stones and deposit them at Bill’s feet - celebrating with a satisfying whole-body shake to rid herself of the scratchy sea water that clung to her rich coat. Before clambering back into their car, Bill would gently wash her feet with clean water, tenderly removing any salt or sand stuck between her toes. On one of these joyous jaunts, Bill met a chatty young woman with chestnut hair as lustrous as Rose’s. The pair walked and talked intently leaving Rose to amuse herself. She nearly lunged at an unsuspecting seagull just to get Bill’s attention but thought better of it in the end. One walk led to another, and quickly the two two-leggeds were holding hands and knocking shoulders. Rose sniffed a saccharin sweetness. Lizette moved in with Bill not long thereafter but quickly decided to leave Bill and Rose to their beach walks, preferring to chat on the phone or rearrange the household furniture. After some months, Rose realised that Bill’s breath rattled and his stride had shortened. Their beach visits became briefer and briefer, until they ceased entirely. Rose committed her days to lying at Bill’s feet or attentively chaperoning him on his infrequent wobbles within the house. Eventually, her time was simply spent guarding the foot of his bed. Then, suddenly, the bed was empty. Lizette began bustling officiously about the house. The dry husk of sweetness that she had maintained until now fell away to reveal a thick and oily mean streak. She grabbed Rose by her soft red collar and shoved her into the car. Rose knew the road to the vet’s office, where she had always been greeted with treats and hugs. This time, however, the mood was dark. No one greeted her. She was taken to a back room, where a young man in an ill-fitting white coat simply said, ‘I’m sorry, Rose.’ As she closed her eyes and relinquished her final breath, she could not have known that reincarnation, the great leveler, would return her to the earth on two legs. Lizette, in contrast, would return on six. 7 Aug 2018 |
Proudly powered by Weebly