Groovy Kind of Life

Chapter One

It was hotter than hell and the damn mosquitoes were like demons from the fire itself. Sydney sat in the back courtyard, smoking a cigarette, ears turned to the small monitor for the slightest sound of movement from the bedroom.

The air was heavy, so heavy it seemed to make movement harder somehow. It made a person lethargic, lazy. It seemed to suck the life right out of you.
She exhaled a stream of smoke, half expecting the smoke to be absorbed by the clinging, inescapable humidity. The bayou was silent tonight. Everything was silent. Even the wind chimes hung stick straight. It was silent enough to give one the chills if one was superstitious enough. She wasn’t. But maybe a little gris-gris was just what she needed.
With a sigh, she stubbed out the cigarette and picked up the cell phone on the side table. No more putting it off, it was time. He was asking for them.
………………………………………………………………………………………….
He ducked behind the cover of a building. His rifle was heavy in his arms. Sweat dripped down his forehead underneath the heat of his helmet. He could hear shots in the distance. He heard a noise behind him, he tensed.

“Get out!”
Gage shook his head, trying to shake off the remnants of the nightmare. . “We’re on the road. Are you nuts?”
“We’re at the levee, Gage. You passed out just outside of Baton Rouge.”
Her face glowed green in the car and suddenly Gage knew she wasn’t joking, she was kicking him out.
“Oh, hell, Dani, what brought this on?
“We’re going nowhere, you’re going nowhere, and I’m tired of it. Jesus, Gage. Your dad owns half of Lafayette parish and you take it for granted. You’re self-destructive and selfish. You’re bringing me down with you. Look at you. You haven‘t shaved in days, your breath smells like a brewery, and it‘s not even 7:30 and you‘re passed out.”
He felt his well-known temper flare. The temper that had caused more than one scar from bar fights.
“Maybe at one time, I was a sucker for lost causes.” She started the ignition. “Not anymore. Get out”
“It’s the middle of the night!”
“I’m sure your drinking buddies will come get you.”
“You’re crazy you know that! Nuts!” he slammed the door shut and kicked a spray of dirt and rock at her car as she backed up. He watched her glowing taillights fade in the darkness, listened to the growing night sounds of the Atchafalaya. He cursed again and kicked another spray of dirt at nothing in particular.
He blew out a sigh and grabbed his cell-phone.
“Hey man, where you at?” he listened for a moment then spoke again, “Man, come get me. I’m at the levee, near Angelle’s.”
Another pause, then, “Yeah, she kicked me out again. Damn crazy woman. Bring something to drink with you.”
“Cool man, thanks.”
He clicked his phone shut, then it was silent. Only the swamp noise remained.
Carly stifled a yawn as he started story number twelve about why his relationships haven’t worked out. Maybe if he’d stop talking and actually listen, he might have better luck. And maybe, just maybe, if he’d not tell EVERYTHING on the first date, he’d have better luck too.
She let him talk, nodding and agreeing at what seemed to be the appropriate moments and starts to watch the people in the bar. She began to create stories for them.
The couple next to her are newly married, it doesn’t matter if they really are or not. The couple at the bar are clandestine lovers. The guy keeps stealing furtive glances at the door, in guilt and fear that he might get caught.
Her date mumbles on about something else then slides off the seat to excuse himself and she grabs her phone and sends the familiar SOS text message her best friend Catherine. She knows what to do. She will be rescued.
Her date returns to his seat and her phone rings.
Right on time.
“Excuse me,” she says, “I have to take this.”
She walks out of the bar and into the chilly night air.
“How bad is it?” Catherine asks.
“Well, I’m making an appointment with Brian tomorrow to color my hair to cover the grays that have sprouted in the last hour.”
She snorts, “That’s bad.”
“I gotta go. I’ll call you later.”
“I want all the details.”
“You got it.”
She flips the phone closed and returns to the bar. She arranges her face into what she hopes looks like remorse.
“Um, I’m really sorry, but that was my roommate. She’s locked her keys in her car and I have her spare set.”
His face falls, and she feels a slight tug of guilt. .
“But I was just about to invite you to Denver to meet my parents.”
She blinks her eyes a couple of times, her internal editor completely closing her mouth. Finally, she speaks, “I’m really sorry. Thanks again for the drink.”
“Let me walk you to your car.”
He is eye level with her chest and she’s slightly unnerved. It’s one thing to have a guy give your body a glance or two, it’s another to have him stare there because he really can’t help it.
“I’ll be allright,” she tells him. “I’m parked right outside.”
His face falls again. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
He reaches for a hug and she bends down to meet him.
“Can I call you?”
She hates this part. She hates telling a guy he can call her. She hates giving him that false hope or leading him on. She’d been in that situation way too many times. If she had a quarter for every time a guy told her he’d call and he wouldn’t, she’d be able to build that larger deck on the back of the bar that she and her other best friend Joey owned.
So she says, “Sure.” and mentally kicks myself in the behind. Karma’s a bitch and she knows this is going to come back and bite her in the ass.

She gives him one last half-hearted smile, slides into her car, and heads to the Basin. Joey was holding down the fort until her return.

………………………………………………………………………………………..
The scenery clipped by as she stared out the train window. She could’ve flown; she had plenty of money. Unlike Gage, she took her daddy’s money. He’d always been hard-headed. The train took longer, and she needed time to prepare herself for the confrontation she knew loomed ahead. She had always been a procrastinator, especially when it came to dealing with personal matters, and even more so when dealing with her father.
She should call Gage. She should tell him she was coming. She put that off as well, yet another confrontation she had to look forward to. And she had so many. With That Woman, with Gage, and with her father.
She was still angry with her father. Angry for leaving her mother. Angry for marrying That Woman so soon after. And That Woman was only two years older than she was! And because of That Woman, Gillian had not talked to her father in three years. Not even after she got the call that cancer was ravaging her father’s body. She should’ve gone to him then. She should’ve cherished each moment left. But those moments were gone now, there wasn’t much time left. Only regret remained. And Gillian had only had herself to blame.