Lighthouse Nights

19

the tower leaned left, then toppled. jules looked up from the mess.

gabe was watching her.

“what?” she asked.

he sucked on his pen as he studied her. “i shouldn’t have left you at the hotel the other day. wasn’t expecting to see you again.”

“it’s fine,” she said, hiding her elation from the pseudo-apology.

“midwest girls are always looking for commitment. when you said you were from out of town, i figured you were good for just one.”

“that’s a pretty horrible thing to assume.”

gabe went back to his drawing. “yeah, well... it’s a bad time for me to start making friends.”

“why?”

“once upon a time i woulda fallen for a girl like you.”

“like me?”

“generic. bubblegum.” gabe made a popping noise with his lips.

“why is it a bad time to start making friends?”

a door opened and closed in the attached living room. with practiced finesse, gabe rolled his sleeve over his tattoo and slipped his beer beneath the love seat. 

before jules could hide her own can, a figure appeared at the open glass door.

the orange backpack; it was the first thing to catch her eye, then she saw the fishing gear in the man’s right hand. he—mr. jones—was just about to speak to his son when he noticed jules noticing him. he cocked his head and raised a brow.

all she could do was smile at the man who rescued her fish.

“what.” gabe snapped, breaking the silent reunion.

mr. jones blinked rapidly, then tapped the wetness from his collapsed umbrella and stepped inside. “how’s it goin’ in here?”

“still alive,” gabe said.

“the rain kicked me out early. i didn’t see you at the pier today, son.”

“it’s tuesday, right?”

“yep. i get off early on every—”

“—tuesday and thursday,” gabe finished his father’s sentence. “that’s why i stayed home.”

the man retained his diplomatic poise, but jules saw the subtle deflation in his eyes. “well,” he said, “maybe thursday then? you know where i’ll be.” when gabe didn’t respond, mr. jones turned his attention to jules and walked over. “i’m mr. jones,” he said, “this knucklehead’s dad.”

she stood up and shook his hand. “jules,” she said. “a friend.”

“jules... i like that name. can i talk to you for a minute, jules?”

she looked to gabe for assistance but the boy was buried in a sketch. “of course,” she replied.

mr. jones quietly snatched the beer from the end-table and led her to the adjacent room. he slid the glass door closed and spoke in a hushed but polite tone. “gabriel isn’t allowed any alcohol right now. do you mind if i put your drink by the door so you can take it when you go?”

“you can throw it out,” she said. “i’m so sorry, mr. jones.”

“no need to be sorry...” he hesitated. his lips subtlety (perhaps unintentionally) mouthed a silent prayer before he resumed speaking. “jules... how does... how does he seem?”