SHOULD I HAVE NICK BELIEVE HE WAS SLIPPED SOMETHING IN HIS NONALCOHOLIC DRINK AT THE PARTY?
Nick slammed the back door and stomped down the creaky steps. After striding an acre through the ancient oak trees to the clearing at the edge of the property, he paused to take in the moonless night sky. If he kept going past the property line, he would tumble down the crag to the road into town. So Nick stayed put and listened to his breathing slow down and looked into the inkiness as a star twinkled just like in the nursery song.
He considered and reconsidered the debate he’d had with Bella. OK, not a debate so much as a fight. Nothing physical. Before Bella came into his life, he’d hit anyone that got between him and his Jim Beam. But that was then. Now, Nick tried his best for Bella. He hadn’t had a drop of whiskey, or anything else, in three months. He never knew life could be this way, spending his days as a teetotaler. Boring, oh so boring, except when he spent time with his Bella. Envisioning her long, wild golden curls and catlike green eyes, Nick cracked a half-smile of admiration. During their on-again, off-again relationship, she put up with lots of his antics.
One time, he and his brother tried to sneak onto Camp Pendleton from their beach camping site—just to see if they could. The result? Lots of guns pointed at them. Ended with the two of them escorted to the front entrance and unceremoniously kicked to the curb. They had to walk miles back to camp. At least Bella didn’t have to bail him out of jail that time.
When Nick took what he thought was his friend’s car for a joy ride, well, the ride didn’t end too well. Turns out, he had hopped in the wrong car. Should have checked out the interior a bit closer to notice a lack of fast-food trash littering the back and the missing Mardi Gras beads hanging from the rearview mirror. Bella had quite the displeased expression on her face when she footed the bill for his bail.
And then Nick had the bright—Bella always claimed dim—idea to grow weed in the brush behind her rental. Almost ended with her singing the jailhouse blues.
Bella finally got Nick to see that his actions hurt others, including her.
“I’ve been a bad person,” Nick muttered into the nighttime. “I was foolish in my ways. But now. . .”
“Now you want mercy?” came a disembodied voice.
What the. . . no one slipped me a mickey at the dinner party earlier, thought Nick. I didn’t take a hit off the joint passed around the patio during dessert. . . I no longer drunk-dial people. . . I don’t think I’m hallucinating. . .
“Mercy is what you desire,” rephrased the booming voice seemingly coming from the inky blackness above.
“Yes,” Nick hesitantly replied.
“Now you will follow the path of goodness?”
“I will stay on the straight and narrow, yes,” Nick said as he wondered who he was talking to.
“I am Hindu Lord Vishnu, and I am the embodiment of goodness. I dole out mercy to those who, like you, are true of heart. Stay on the path of good, and I will travel by your side.”
“OK, um, cool,” said Nick.
An owl hooted into the quiet night. Nick stared into the universe, silently naming constellations, waiting.
After several minutes of standing in the cool air, Nick questioned what he was waiting for. It is clearly past time for him to hit the hay. The gentle breeze rustled the oak leaves, the sound Nick’s traveling companion on his walk back to the thousand-square-foot house.
Nick crept into the bedroom, careful not to wake his sleeping Bella. Slipping under the cozy covers, he moved his body close to hers for some spooning.
“Hi,” she mumbled.
“Hello, beautiful. Are we OK?”
“Yeah, babe, we’re OK,” Bella sighed.
Nick ran his fingers through her soft, silky hair then rested his hand on her hip, drifting off to the wonderment of the night promising him mercy.
With eyes still closed, Nick reached his arm across the bed, running his calloused hand along the shapeless, empty sheets, feeling for his Bella. Where had she gone, he questioned in his muzzy, half-asleep mind. Before Nick awoke, Bella had left the house to run her cleaning service. If she could, she would scour Nick’s insobriety with baking soda till it shined true like the kitchen sink, sweep his indiscretions under their threadbare Oriental rug in the living room, and tuck his criminal record under the bed as she made a military corner.
Before Nick awoke, Bella had left the house to run her cleaning service. If she could, she would scour Nick’s insobriety with baking soda till it shined true like the kitchen sink, sweep his indiscretions under their threadbare Oriental rug in the living room, and tuck his criminal record under the bed as she made a military corner.
Ah, yes, his morning lark had flown away early this morning to begin her workday. Nick, though, was a night owl, staying up so late it was hard to rouse himself for another day as the helpful handyman.
He pulled on his weathered jeans, superhero T-shirt, plaid flannel overshirt, and tan work boots. Coffee steamed from his favorite ceramic mug, which was crafted without a handle to fit his oversized hand.
Nick slid into the Adirondack rocker on the front porch. He sipped and rocked, sipped and rocked, thinking about the previous evening. Shrill brakes of a garbage truck on the road below startled Jack out of his reverie. “Crap,” he exclaimed, reacting to the hot coffee he spilled all over himself.