Page 45 of Blue Umbrella Sky
But for now all that was necessary was this: lifting the bedding from the floor and gently covering Dane with it. He snorted in thanks and turned, facing the back of the couch. Milt envied him his easy slumber.
He got Ruby her breakfast, tiptoeing around the kitchen, trying to make as little noise as possible.
He returned to the bedroom and plopped down on the bed. The memory of his dream came to him all at once, not in scattered images, unconnected, but whole. He was surprised he hadn’t recalled it upon waking. It was as though sitting on the bed caused it to rise up in memory.
CORKY SITSon the bank of the Ohio River, back turned to him. The sky is overcast, a mix of pale gray and white, with an opening in the clouds here and there that allows the blue to come through, like a promise. With the passage of the clouds, the water’s surface goes alternately muddy, then sparkling, then back to dullness again.
Milt watches him for a moment, seeing only the back of Corky’s head as he stares out at the sluggish brown/green water and the island far off on the horizon that splits the flow. Corky wears an old fishing cap that Milt had once dared to try to throw away. It was ragged, worn to a color that nearly defied description, and tattered around the edges. But Corky loved it, Milt supposed, because it reminded him of his youth and fishing for bluegill from these very shores with his father, now long departed.
He can’t see Corky’s face, and there’s a curious silence to everything. Shouldn’t there be birds singing? Insects humming? The relentless lap of the water at the pebbled shoreline? There’s nothing. It’s as though Milt has gone deaf.
Milt takes a few steps toward Corky, a smile flickering on his lips as he anticipates surprising him. Even in a dream, he wonders if this is a figment of his subconscious or if Corky is paying him a visit.
“Sweetie?” he tries to say, but even though he opens his mouth, no sound emerges. His hands flutter uselessly before him.
He plods across the beach, stepping over a piece of driftwood that reminds him of palm tree bark, and ends up just in front of Corky, ostensibly blocking his view of the water and the island.
But here’s the horror. It sends a jolt of electricity through Milt.
When he steps in front of Corky, he doesn’t see his face, but only the back of his head. Again. He moves around to the other side and is once again confronted with the back of Corky.
He circles around him, feeling a fluttering terror in his gut. No matter from which angle he stands, Corky remains resolutely facing away.
MILT SHOOKhis head, feeling a little of the shock and fear the dream had inspired.
What does it mean?he wondered. And a voice, familiar, yet unlike his own, answered him back.“You know what it means. You just don’t understand it yet.”
Disturbed, Milt rose from the bed. He’d heard the toilet flush. Dane was up. To take his mind off things, he’d make them both a big breakfast.
As he left the bedroom, he glanced behind himself, almost expecting to see Corky sitting on the bed, facing away.
But the room was empty.
Dane was just coming out of the bathroom. He eyed Milt. “You’ve firmed up a bit. You look good.”
Heat rose to Milt’s cheeks. He realized he was standing there in only his pajama bottoms. He was used to not caring about what he did or didn’t wear around the trailer. After all, there was usually no one to see him, save for Ruby. “Thanks.”
“You working out?”
“Lots of hiking.”
“Well, it looks great on you.”
“Ah….” Milt waved the remark away. He noted that Dane was clad only in a T-shirt and boxers, and if anything, his friend had actually put on a few pounds. But when you had a big frame like Dane’s, it was very forgiving. He still looked good.
Milt debated whether to go in and put a little more on, but why? They were old friends. They were like brothers. It didn’t matter.
“What do you want for breakfast?”
“Oh, you don’t have to go to any trouble. I usually just have toast and coffee.”
“Please. I’m thrilled you’re here. Let me spoil you a little.”
“Well, if I remember right, you did make some awesome scrambled eggs.”
“I still do. My secret is low and slow.” He grinned. “It’ll take a while. If you want to grab a shower while I get things started, go ahead. You need time-lapse photography to see my eggs go from liquid to curds, but that’s just what makes them so creamy.”
“Okay. Done. I know you don’t want me spying on your secret technique.”
