The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag 00 - Swept Under the Rug

eighty five. Welcome home, Darcy.
    I returned the screwdriver on my way out to the car and bags loaded, drove over to the nearest motel, where I rented a room under Marty’s name. I could have stayed there, but I was wound up and needed to move. Put some distance between my body and my sham of a life. I dropped off the bags and headed east on I-64. The pee-pee mobile took a crap in the form of a busted alternator right at the 264 interchange. It was a struggle but the downhill momentum helped me guide it to the shoulder of the road. Without a moment’s hesitation, I left my bags in the car and started to walk. I hoofed it the next ten miles to the resort area of Virginia Beach fueled by indignation. Every step drove the point home.
    Stupid, Stu-pid, STUPID!!!!
    Fury burned through my system like acid. I was furious at The Jackass, at my parents for dying, my brother for being an ungrateful burden, but most of all with myself for being so gullible. Somewhere in my brain a voice shouted that I could be accosted, mugged, raped, left for dead in a gutter, but the rage blotted out fear and rational thought. At that point, I had truly hit emotional rock bottom.
    Only when the sun rose directly in front of me, due east from my current location at Atlantic Avenue at Seventeenth Street, did I realize I’d been walking all night. Gulls cried out, eager to find a tasty treat in the churning ocean below. I broke into jog as I saw the first waves, and inhaled the salty tang of low tide. At least it was the end of October and there was nary a tourist to be seen. I really didn’t want witnesses to my meltdown. So focused on my goal, I crashed into a girl out for some early morning roller-blading on the boardwalk. Murmuring a very insincere apology, I helped her to her feet. She surveyed me for a second, eyes wide, mouth agog and took off in the direction she had come from at an unnecessarily fast clip.
    I trudged through the sand and went to the water’s edge to remove my ring. It bounced in my palm a few times before I pulled back my arm and hurled it with all of my strength into the sea. My purpose achieved, I felt…empty. My legs wobbled as I staggered back a few feet and collapsed into a fetal ball, crying all the tears held in check since my parents’ death. I cried for them, for Marty, but mostly for myself and the waste of my youth. I ignored the bleat of seagulls and the taste of sand and briny morning air. I never wanted to move again.
    And that was where he found me.

    ****

    “Nice throw. Hell of an arm you got there.”
    I looked up through my tears to see a man staring at the spot where I had pitched the ring. His mouth curved in a bemused smile, but when he turned and met my gaze sharp intelligence and concern lit his hazel-green eyes. An unbelievably handsome man, giving new definition to the term sculpted. A long sleeved gray T-shirt clung to his upper body; his shoulders looked like they could carry the weight of the world and the fit of the fabric showed off an awe-inspiring six-pack. His left hand had been shoved into one of a zillion pockets in his tan cargo pants that rode low on lean hips.
    Dream or hallucination? It had been a brutal night, maybe my psyche had snapped like a dry twig. I started the perusal over. He wore his dark brown hair a little shaggy but oh so boyishly charming. Streamlined nose and high cheekbones were in perfect symmetry and deeply tanned skin covered lean muscle that he didn’t exactly advertise but became evident none the less. The lightening sky over the crashing waves of the Atlantic contrasted his profile, casting him in sharp relief against a soft focus backdrop, a living, breathing specimen of male perfection.
    Great. Just what I freaking needed.
    “Look.” I narrowed my eyes on Mr. Gorgeous. “I’m kind of in the middle of a nervous breakdown and after that I plan on having a very festive pity party, table for one, so unless you are here to put me out of my misery I suggest you scurry on your way.”
    He flashed me a whiter than Vanna White smile, which only succeeded in making me feel like dweeby Pat Sajak. I guess that meant God was Merv Griffin and He was laughing His ass off. The handsome stranger held his hand out to me and for some bizarre reason, I took it.
    He pulled me to my feet and then turned to walk away. I stared at his backside, wondering if I had hit my head at some point, sure this couldn’t be real because Merv Griffin only knows—actual people