THE YEARLY TRYST continuation. "I knew that it would be hard for you to maintain a marriage like this." "Like this? How could anyone? I mean any woman needs someone with them, for support. You understand? Remember this was your idea not mine and you kept it a secret for five years: not even telling me! You probably wouldn't have except - I don't know anymore. Nothing makes sense anymore." "I must have thought that the short time we have each year would stretch - I don't know. I didn't think much about it. I thought things would be different that all." "You were always a hopeless dreamer and you still are. What we had in England, our lives, our hopes, our dreams, our love, everything is just a memory now. For all practical purposes you are dead." "I thought that one day you and Luke would come join me here." "Not a chance! Get real. I couldn't do that nor would it be fair to Luke. How could you even suggest that idea, Curt?" "I always thought things would be the same, but I see people as well as places change beyond recognition, and the most horrible of horrors is knowing that we are absolutely helpless to do anything about it, as we, too, get washed upon a shore. When we are young we are foolish and proud, but when we grow older we realize that there is nothing worth grabbing onto, in the decomposing world." "I don't know about that. You are just getting older, that's all." "And a fool as well." "But I did not come all this way to argue with you Curtis. I want to tell you that this is the last time I'm coming here. I'm sorry Curt but I hope you'll understand. I'm getting older as well and I can't keep this up." "There is nothing to be sorry about, really. I should have expected it sooner or later. I understand." "Do you? Do you know how hard it is, living a lie, wondering how you are and not being able to tell anyone? Do you know what it is like, living for five years not knowing whether you were alive or not? Then these meetings with you here, once a year. It's unbearable. This is not a life. Even for you, you need someone to take care of you, someone - " "There is someone, some native girl, no one really, sort of just came into my life a few years ago. She got pregnant and - " "You bastard! While I was at home worrying about you, you were here mucking about with some native girl. The psychic was right after all!" "It was not like that. I love you Emma and always have." "Who is this girl? Well - it doesn't matter I suppose. You might as well tell the whole truth. This will be the last time we talk." "There's something else I have to tell you Emma. I've been thinking about it, night and day, for the last two years. I have reached the end of my rope. I, too, can't go on like this. It is worse than hell. I feel really dead inside. Everything was wrong, one bid mistake. The truth is I don't care anymore, about anything: even about this charade. I want to go home. I don't care!" "You're talking foolish. Curt, you can't. You know that." "I don't care. I can't live any more without seeing my boy and my family. I don't care what they will do to me." "You'll go to prison!" she threatened. "I don't care what they'll do to me, even if they lock me up and chuck away the key, it would be better than this. I tell you I can't take it!" "You can't? Get a grip on yourself," she said in disbelief, as she put out her cigarette in an ashtray, and poured a drink from one of the battles in the cabin. After a shot of brandy she continued. "Think about Luke and his life. He has a bright future, now that we have the money, from your insurance, for him to go to school in Westminster. He's a proper gentleman now. He'll lose everything if you come back." "But he'll gain a father and having a father is more important than all the finest schools in Britain." "We'll lose everything and you'll be disgraced. No one will want you or have anything to do with you again." "I miss my boy more than all the gold these seas hold. Be realistic Emma. You know that if you were to tell Luke the truth, you know what he would prefer. A boy needs his dad. He's all I have now. Nothing else matters." Emma turned her back to Curtis. "I feel like Christian Fletcher out here," he continued. "But even he knew enough never to return to England. Besides it is not all that bad out - " "But I have a plan, which I know will work with your help." "Plan? What plan?" she asked pensively. "With your help I'll tell them that I had amnesia due to the explosion. After all these years I finally remember - " "It won't work. It's silly and besides you never were a good liar. No one would believe it. You can't go on hurting people, Curtis. You can't." "What do you mean? I haven't deliberately hurt anyone," he said, turning his back to her as he poured some more brandy in a glass. Emma reached inside her bag and pulled out the handgun and pointed it at him. "There is more that you do not know. I'm sorry. I can't let you come home," she said while Curtis with his back to her drank his brandy. He was about to say something when she fired. She fired about three times as his body slumped to the cabin floor. "Some things never change, Curtis." She then dragged his body to the edge of the boat and threw him overboard along with the handgun and the brandy glasses. "Sweet dreams, sweet prince!" His yacht was only a few hundred yards off the coast. She lowered a small dinghy into the water and quickly paddled ashore. She could see lights in the distance. She had no trouble making her way back to the hotel room. Two days later on her turned flight to England one of the flight attendants asked him, "Did you enjoy your stay in the Virgin Islands, madam?" "Not really. I don't think I'll ever come back again. This June, my husband and I are going to Florida." "Oh, Florida, nice place. I've been there a few times. There is much to see. Shall I get you anything?" "Nothing. I'm fine now."   The End   Copyright reserved. No part(s) of these publications may be reproduced, transmitted, transcribed, stored in a retrieval system, or translated into any language in any form by any means without the written permission of the author.

Clinton Van Inman can be contacted at CLINTON92026@yahoo.com