Waterbound

1922

~~~

Winter

~~~

Cal sat with a cup of coffee in one hand and a newspaper spread across the table, concealing a plate of untouched toast beneath it. The early morning light filtered too brightly through the window and he had turned his chair just enough to keep it out of his eyes. He tried to ignore the headache pounding behind his eyes and the general feeling of misery that always accompanied a night spent drinking more than was healthy.

He was only scanning through the headlines, not paying much attention. A couple divorced for the seventh time, a man died after mistaking metal polish for whisky, boys are to blame for unregenerate girl vamps—he nearly read that one—then he caught sight of the name, Titanic. Intrigued, he pushed his coffee aside and drew the paper closer. Ten Years Later Titanic Survivor Tells Regretful Tale, he read. Nearly ten years after the infamous tragedy, Mr. Caledon Hockley, son of the late Nathan Hockley has, at last, found himself willing to account for his shameful—.

Cal slammed the newspaper down. "Shameful?" It only took a moment for the pieces to fall into place. Dinah. His wife had only recently returned from her most recent trip but it seemed as though she had been wasting no time. He gathered up the paper and pushed back from the table.

"Is she in?" He asked a passing maid as he strode down the hallway leading to Dinah's bedroom.

"Yes, but she's still—" The maid started to reply.

"Don't care," Cal interrupted. He pushed the door open without bothering to knock.

His wife was still in bed with a breakfast tray sitting over her. She had been in the process of spreading marmalade on a piece of toast and stared at him with the knife poised in the air.

"So nice of you to knock," she said.

Cal tossed the newspaper onto her tray. "What is this?" He struggled to keep his voice calm.

Dinah looked at the paper and a wicked smile spread across her face. "Oh, I see you're selling interviews now. How tasteless."

"I never gave any interviews."

"No," she quickly agreed, looking up at him. "I took the liberty of speaking on your behalf. Did you read it? It's quite illuminating. I especially enjoyed the part where you admitted to wearing women's clothing to secure a seat on—"

In a surge of anger, Cal's hand swiped the tray off the bed, sending its contents crashing to the floor.

Dinah, entirely unfazed, picked a piece of toast off the bedspread and tossed it aside. "I was finished eating anyway," she said.

"I'm not even going to begin to wonder why you—"

She cut him off. "Cal, dear, my two goals in life are to spend your money and make you look foolish. And, honestly, you make them both so very easy."

He stared at her, at a loss for words.

"I was bored," she continued.

"I want a divorce." The confession slipped out before he realized he was saying it.

"Why?" Dinah asked. "Have you been unfaithful?"

"Dinah."

"Well," she said. "Seeing how you reacted to my little joke in the paper, I can hardly wait to see how you handle the inevitable scandal that would befall Philadelphia society because, my dear, I will drag your name through the mud so deeply that you're going to wish you had gone down on your little ship."