NovelConcepts

AUG 28, 2017

QUARTER OF A CENTURY - PART 7

Part 7

Sandra Tilley picks up the story from Rebecca Grace 

Maddie inhaled and released a long, slow breath. "I'm moving to London for medical treatment–"

Lana leapt toward her. "What kind of medical treatment?"

Maddie held up her hand, stopping Lana's sprint across the room. "Let me say what I have to say." Her voice lacked the warm, breezy Maddie tone. “I’ve listened to you and gladly offered my shoulder for years. Nothing changes. We’re not in college anymore, and it's time to grow up. Sophie, if you don't fix things with your mother, you will be bound forever. And Kyle, face it. Sabrina's fake pregnancy hooked you, but you didn't leave after you learned the truth. Ray, it's time to make your feelings known. And my sweet, Lana. Let go of the past and know that you're enough. Sorry if I sound harsh. But we're friends. And friends help friends. But I won't be here to help. I've been accepted into an experimental drug trial." Her eyes locked on Lana. "I have cancer."

The others rushed to Maddie.

But Lana couldn't move. Her phone slipped through her fingers and hit the tile. Shattered. 

Cancer? Maddie has cancer. The room tilted and rolled. A wave of nausea hit. She needed air. She pivoted, searching for the door. 

"Lana, don't run away," Maddie called.

Kyle blocked Lana's path. "That's what Lana does best."

Ray stepped in and faced Kyle. "She's not the only one."

Lana squeezed Ray's arm and bolted past Kyle and through the front door.

To the south, the lights of Mallory Square beckoned the happy, the joyful, the lucky. She headed west. 

Lana's sandals slapped the sidewalk. Her lungs burned, but her legs gave out first. A brick wall, higher than her head, ran the length of the block. She recognized this place. Maddie brought the group here earlier today to pay homage to their hero. During their sophomore year of college, the Fearless Five: Maddie, Lana, Sophie, Kyle and Ray spent a night, and several bottles of cheap wine, defending Ernest Hemingway as America's greatest 20th century novelist.

Lana leaned against the outside wall surrounding Hemingway's home. Its weathered façade scratched her cheek. Her fingers dug in and clung to the jagged mortared joints holding the bricks together. Maddie was their mortar. How could she have cancer? She's only twenty-five. They were all only twenty-five. Too young to worry about dying. 

Something moved. She jumped back. A man peered over the top of the wall. He placed a lantern on the ledge, and in one smooth motion, skimmed over the wall. He was a large man, an old man, yet he was agile and quick. Not frightening. Intriguing.

She wanted to ask him if he knew he looked just like Ernest Hemingway. 

As if sensing her thought, he put a stubby finger to his lips. "Shhh." He smiled, and leathery crinkles framed eyes as dark as night, but clear and warm as morning. 

From his pocket he pulled a baseball cap and corralled an unruly mass of white hair. He scratched his trimmed, white beard and nodded toward the wall. "Needed a net." He hoisted the net over his shoulder and snagged his lantern. He winked. And walked away.

Lana couldn't stop her feet from following–even if she'd wanted to.

She jogged and walked to keep him in sight. Her feet ached and sweat trickled down her back.

He reached the entrance to Fort Zachary Taylor and walked through the cross-arms declaring the historic park closed. 

Lana stopped at the park barricade and paused long enough to catch her breath. She slapped the solid wood. How did he walk through this? She ducked under and followed. 

The road was well-lighted, and it was easy to keep him in sight. Until he detoured down a path through the trees. Backlit by the moonlight, Lana dodged trees and limbs, hoping she was on his trail. The pines and brush opened up to a sandy beach on the Gulf of Mexico. 

A light flashed at the shoreline. Her ethereal friend lit his cigarette. He exhaled a plume of smoke and then bent over and lit the lantern. 

The old man rolled up his pants. He snatched up the net and walked until he was knee deep. The lazy breakers lolled in and out, drenching his trousers.

Lana walked to the water and kicked off her sandals. "Who are you?"

The man turned. The end of his cigarette burned red. "Just a fisherman." He angled his head and blew smoke out around his rusty words. 

"But you came from Hemingway's house. You breezed right over a six foot wall." Water rolled over her feet, and she gripped the sand with her toes. "And I saw you walk through the wooden crossbars."

The old man wrapped the line around one hand and scooped the net out of the water with the other. "I'm here to help."

"You're the catalyst that brought our group together." But Maddie's the glue. Pain ripped through her chest. 

"Yep, Maddie's the glue. You need to listen to her." He swung the net at her. "Want to try it?"

Lana backed away. "How do you know Maddie?"

"C'mon and try this." He grasped the net and looped it over the hand holding the line. "Worst thing is a tangled net." He flared out the bottom and grabbed the hem. "These are lead weights. Sometimes they trap things you didn't plan on. But you have to take the good and the bad." 

"Are you a ghost?"  

"The trick to casting is not to overpower the net. Or force it." The old man cinched the net close and stepped back, twisting his body. He lunged forward, and flung the net skyward. A swath of nylon netting settled on top of the water and slowly sank.

She was tangled in a net. 

Along with Maddie, Sophie, Ray, and Kyle. Tangled in a net of their own making. They all loved each other but still lived in the past, too afraid to take the next step. Maddie was forcing their hands. Lana had wanted Kyle because he seemed out of her league; and if she won his love, she'd feel like she finally measured up. But now… 

Lana's throat tightened and her eyes stung. She plopped down in the shallow water and let the tears fall. For Maddie. For herself. For all of them. Waves of salty tears lapped her face. 

Tears didn't fix anything. Lana rubbed her eyes. "You're old and wise, right? How do you know when you're doing the right thing?"

The old man chuckled. "I am old." He gathered his net and wrapped the line around his wrist. "I listen to my head, and I listen to my heart. Then I pick something in between."

Lana leaned back on her hands and closed her eyes. Something in between…

Swoosh. The net flew and landed with a gentle splash.

She opened her eyes. 

Okay, readers, it's up to you. What does Lana do?

A. Lana decides to follow her heart.

B. Lana decides to be practical and follow her head.

C. Lana decides to take Hemingway's advice and pick somewhere in between.