Frank awoke thinking of Teresa and the last time they’d shared this bed, their sexual passions enflamed, mouthing each other’s body like the hungry minks they’d become, nights and mornings and even between halves of Sunday football.
Today the air was sour and the taste in his mouth reminded him not to smoke those cheap cigars, especially after midnight with that last can of Ironman Malt.
There wasn’t much left for him. Or so he thought. T, that’s what he called her, had been gone eight months and the loneliness left an ache as fierce as the pain from the broken jaw his brother Tex administered after he’d tried to seduce his Maria.
Would there be time to find his way before the last door closed on his illusive expectations? He didn’t think so.
He could see the famous bridge from his kitchen window. It’s history as a place to settle doubts once-and-for-all was etched in his own: that night he talked a woman down from the ledge, the day he’d spotted another on her way over and grabbed her back, the one he’d missed, the one he remembers most.
And now would be his turn. He’d seen it coming for months and today, remembering all that had gone before, seemed an appropriate time to get it done. Go out on a winning memory, like a hot streak in Vegas, a morning without her rigid face floating over him, the woman of his dreams that had become his nightmare.
As he made the trek up the hill, the North End swimmers were assembling below for their once a year mile-plus crossing of ‘The Gate.’
He watched their pilot craft: dinghies, Avons, racing skiffs and the paddlers on surfboards stretch-out across the course. He’d been one of them. Once. Before. He’d crossed seven times, swum from Alcatraz too. That was then. Not today.
He knew the right spot, behind the tower, near the center, almost out of sight of the attendants. No looking back. Just a quick lift over the first rail and then down. He’d thought it out many times. How easy it would be. Don’t stop, he thought. No second-guessing now. Today’s the day.
He didn’t hear her but rather sensed a presence. When he turned she was there, behind him, her green eyes bright as polished glass.
“Not You Frank. Not you too?”
It was all she said and the last he would ever know.
