Six Seconds

Flash Fiction

Elias Vicario on Unsplash

I got the idea on the way home from work and I came in through the kitchen door and said to Beth that we should go to Harbor House for drinks and dinner out on the deck by the water and maybe catch the sunset.

She said it was a little too chilly and she didn’t have an outfit and she already had a pot roast going.

I was in a mood and I told her I’d be out of the shower in ten minutes and that she could just put on the outfit she wore to Crystal’s baby shower last weekend because she looked just fine in it and that they have gas heaters on the deck at Harbor House and she could always bring a sweater.

Beth looked at my hands and said I’d never get the grease from under my nails and it was too late in the season and the harbor is filthy and she asked me why do I get myself in a Friday mood when I have to work Saturdays anyway and what was she supposed to do with a perfectly good pot roast?

I told her that if you get a table at the railing on the deck at Harbor House and look straight through the gap under the railroad trestle where the bridge swings, you can see the light at Easton Point flashing every six seconds and beyond the light is nothing but open, green water all the way across the Atlantic and a person could set-out on a sailboat from Harbor House and the next time they stop, they could be in Ireland or England, France or Spain, even Portugal.

“Imagine that, Beth,” I said.

But Beth was on her phone nodding and walking around in circles. “Ok, sure, ok, of course. Sure, sure. I’ll be there in ten.” She grabbed her gray sweater from the hook in the hall.

“That was Jeff,” she said as she put on the sweater. “Crystal is having contractions. I’m going over to babysit Curtis and Charlotte. I’ll call you when I hear anythying.”

On her way by the stove, she lifted the lid and poked at the pot roast with a fork. “Give it another half hour,” she said. “Sorry it’s not Surf and Turf at Harbor House.”

“That’s alright,” I said.

“Well, I sure hope it’s alright,” she said. “And I sure hope you’re excited about your new grandchild.”

“I am,” I said. And I was excited. It was just a matter of shifting gears.

I told Beth to go ahead and I’d get my shower and try to get my nails clean and come over in a little while with the pot roast. I didn’t know whether the kids liked pot roast or not but they’d eat it if they were hungry enough.

I found a bottle of beer at the back of the refrig and sat down at the kitchen table with it. As I was unlacing my boots, I had another idea—to take little Curtis, as soon as he’s old enough, to Harbor House to try the Surf and Turf and show him where to look through the trestle and count the six seconds with me between the flashes of the light at Easton Point and tell him about what a great big world lies beyond and then watch his eyes to see if the light is reflected.

End