Pacing nervously in the threshold of his man-cave, Ray trained his eyes on the headlights of the lone vehicle making the climb up the winding beach road that led to his drive.
She should have been here by now. Maybe she isn’t coming. Maybe she was just blowing smoke up my- Wait! The lights turned, and are headed this way. It’s her. It has to be. She made it! Thank god..
It isn’t her. It’s Dixon. ‘Sheriff’s Deputy Dixon to you.’ What the H-E double hockey sticks does he want? He couldn’t have picked a more inopportune time. What if she shows up while he’s here? Holy Christ. I’ll be ruined! Think of my reputation! If there is a god, he won’t let her show up while he’s here. This is not frickin’ happening.
‘Hey, Dix. What’s up?”
“Bridge’s out. Pylon gave way. Thought you should know.”
No southbound road from here, means no northbound road for her. She’s not coming. Well, at least I know. At least now when she doesn’t show up, we can blame it on the bridge.
“Thanks, Dix. Good lookin’ out.”
“No problem. Cell service being iffy and all.. Just thought I’d drop in. Let you know.”
“Yeah. Thanks, like I said, good lookin’ out.”
“Alrighty then. You have a good night.”
“Will do. Planned to. Take ‘er easy.”
Back inside the man cave, Ray brushed the crumpled beer cans aside on the couch and flopped into a seat in front of the TV. If the coffee table hadn’t been piled in empty pizza boxes and smoldering volcano like ashtrays, he would have propped his feet up.
Curses! This is the third week in a row that cleaning woman has had some lame excuse or another for not making it.
At this rate, our Ray, will be buried alive in his own man-fuse by the time she gets through…
Written for Sue Vincent’s #writephoto Thursday Photo Prompt.