Page 5 of The Spotted Cottage By the Sea
Sheila didn’t have that luxury. She didn’t get to stay the same. She didn’t even get a pause button.
The Sheila who used to ride on this ferry had been happily married. She and Brian and the kids bought sweets from the galley and marveled at the view from the windows, the islands rising from the foggy mists like ghosts over the water.
Perhaps Sheila had a ghost, too. One who still rode this ferry. A carefree Sheila, one who had no idea what dark nights lay ahead.
Shewishedshe could still be that Sheila. She never even got the chance to say goodbye! One day, Brian decided he was in love with someone else and that Sheila was gone, replaced with a harried woman who had to find a way to hold it all together.
She flopped into a seat and stared at the pink box in front of her. Intellectually, she knew she should feel embarrassed over her firing, or at least worried. Instead, all she felt was anger.
She’d earned that promotion, burglary box or not. Every year, they had told her there wasn’t room in the budget, so every year she kept working harder.
What choice did she have? She’d had to spend everything to buy out Brian’s portion of the house in the divorce. He didn’t make it easy, because just like with his mother now, he thought everyone would benefit from following him to New York. He’d expected the girls to leave the only home they’d ever known to become a blended family with his new lover and her kids.
Thinking about it got her angry all over again. He’d gone off and had the most cliché mid-life crisis to “find” himself and emerged even more self-centered than before.
When did Sheila get to find herself? When did she even get a moment to stop and breathe?
She looked up from the box as the other passengers filed in – families with kids, young-and-in-love couples, and groups of college-aged students. One particularly rowdy group of young men walked in her direction, laughing and roughhousing in the aisle.
Just as they passed Sheila, one of the guys took another in a headlock. He protested, thrashing against his captor and dumping an entire cup of hot chocolate directly onto Sheila’s chest.
She let out a shriek and tugged the burning material from her skin.
“You spilled my drink, man!” the boy yelled, and they disappeared around the corner without ever looking back.
“Don’t mind me,” Sheila muttered. “How rude of me to absorb your drink.”
A middle-aged woman with soulful eyes rushed over. “Oh goodness! Are you all right?”
Sheila waved a hand. “Oh yes, I’m fine. Just a bit of a mess.”
“I’ll get some napkins!”
“No, thank you, but it’s okay. There’s already a stack here.” Sheila cleared her throat. Hopefully the woman hadn’t heard her grumbling to herself.
The woman put her hands on her hips. “What about a new shirt? I’m sure I can get something from the lost and found.”
As unappealing as an old stranger’s shirt was, Sheila hadn’t brought any spare clothes, and the sticky-sweet smell of the chocolate on her skin was making her sick.
“Ah…sure. That’s very kind of you.”
She took off and reappeared not five minutes later with a black T-shirt in her hand. At the top was a yellow moon and around it were three howling wolves. “I think this’ll be a bit big for you, but it’ll do the job.”
“Thank you.” She accepted the shirt. “I’m Sheila, by the way.”
“Margie! Pleased to meet you.” She extended a handshake. “Are you new to the island?”
“Not exactly. I’m going to see my mother-in-law, Patty Dennet.”
Margie gasped. “I know Patty! She’s a doll. Well, I’ll let you get dressed, and maybe I’ll see you on the island?”
Sheila smiled. Of course they knew each other. “Sure. See you around!”
If memory served her right, there was a bathroom around the corner where she could change. Sheila disappeared and returned to her things untouched.
Back in her seat, she pulled out the book she’d been struggling through for weeks but, as always, her mind wandered.
Had she even needed to leave to get dressed? It wasn’t like anyone was looking at her. She was a middle-aged woman, which meant she was, for all intents and purposes, invisible.
