Gentle waves lapped at the pillars beneath the fishing pier. The pier stretched out in front of her, reaching out towards the watery horizon. As was her want, she had climbed up onto one of the concrete blocks at the base of one of the pillars, choosing one free from seaweed that was catching the early morning sun. The first hour after sunrise was her favourite time of day. All around her the world was wakening up. Off to her left, she could see a heron, wading leisurely through the shallows. The beach was virtually deserted, only the occasional fisherman standing on the shoreline.
It was a peaceful scene. A perfect picture of tranquillity.
With her sketchpad balanced on her knee and two spare pencils skewered through her messy hair bun, she worked swiftly to capture an image of the heron before it took flight.
A voice, an irate voice, shattered her concentration. Looking up from her drawing, she spotted a guy with shoulder length tousled blonde hair, wearing a dark suit with the trousers rolled up, wading through the water between the pillars. His black leather shoes were sticking out of his suit jacket pockets.
“It was our fucking wedding night, and you fucked my best man!” he ranted as he walked between two pillars a few metres from where she sat unseen.
He paused his stride while the other person, his bride, replied.
Slamming his fist off one of the pillars, he fumed, “Screw you! I’ll be speaking to my lawyer to get this farce of a marriage annulled. Have a nice life, Elizabeth.”
Ending the call, he hurled his phone out into the ocean.
Sitting in stunned silence, she watched as the rejected bridegroom headed off down the beach away from her. His aura was screaming hurt and anger around him.
A strange feeling crept over her. She felt as though she had intruded on a private moment for the stranger, a life changing moment. A moment that had left her with the feeling of carrying someone else’s secret. Part of her wanted to run after him and tell him it would all work out, but would it?…
While she had been distracted, the heron had flown away.
The scene from the beach was still eating at her as she opened up her coffee shop an hour later. Her overactive imagination had woven all sorts of scenarios around the snippet of conversation, but she still felt guilty about accidentally overhearing it in the first place. Telling herself that it was just a moment in time, and she’d never see the guy again, she flipped the closed sign over to open before opening the door to let the ocean air waft in.
Soon her morning regulars began to fill the tables. The coffee shop hummed around her with the buzz of conversation.
“Americano with an extra shot to go please.”
The voice sounded familiar.
Looking up she found herself face to face with the guy from the beach….
Coral McCallum 