Secrets in the Sand by Carolyn Brown

            He had been a complete fool to think that he would bare his heart and soul, and she would rush into his arms, tell him all was forgiven, and they’d ride off into the sunset to find their happily ever after.

            “Hey, Clancy!” Meredith called from the kitchen when she heard him open the door. “I had salad with the ladies at the country club. Have you eaten?”

            “Yep.” He nodded. “But I’m going out again to do a little fishing. Probably won’t be back until morning.”

            “Okay. I’ve got to make phone calls about the auxiliary picnic next week.” Meredith came into the living room. “I’ve got a hairdresser’s appointment in the morning at nine, so please be quiet if you come in late.” She smiled, showing beautiful white teeth. Meredith Morgan worked at keeping both her figure and her skin flawlessly young, and it was easy to see where Clancy had gotten his good looks.

            He went down the hall to the bedroom that had been his since he was a baby. He changed from navy-blue pleated dress slacks and a pinstriped shirt into a pair of faded jeans and a faded tank top, kicked his good loafers in the floor of the closet, and pulled on a pair of grungy white tennis shoes with no laces. “See you later,” he called as he left the same way he’d come in, noticing that his mother did take a moment to look up from the phone and wave at him.

            He parked the Bronco near Pennington Creek, took an old blanket out of the back, and tucked it under his arm. Shuffling the beer and bourbon until they fit under his other arm, he plodded down the pathway to the sandbar. In the past ten years, the brambles had grown under the trees so much that he had to fight them to reach the very spot where he and Angel had lain together so many times. Tonight, there was nothing left, just as Angel had said, so he carefully spread out the blanket, scaring away a frog and a grass snake while he was at it. Then he picked up the first six-pack of beer, took off his shoes, rolled up the legs of his jeans, and stuck his feet in the water.

            He popped the top on the first can and guzzled about half the contents before he came up for air. He hummed a few bars of a song until he remembered the lyrics…something about a man who had never been happy until he had a wife and kids. He tilted the can back and let the rest of the beer slide down his throat in one big swallow. Then he sang the rest of the lyrics at the top of his lungs, off-tune and off-key, just to make himself feel worse. He popped the tab on another silver can and continued to sing, until a sudden thought stopped him cold.

            “I could’ve had a wife and kids,” he whispered to himself. “But I threw it all away because of my pride and my fears. Well, here’s to all the mistakes made by all the young, proud fools in the whole state of Oklahoma in the last ten years.” Clancy opened the third can of beer and started sipping it slowly.

            He had almost finished the first six-pack by eleven o’clock and his fishing equipment was still in the back of the Bronco. He lay on his back, his feet in the water and beer cans stacked in a crazy pyramid next to him, watched the moon rise, and thought of another song. He started to hum and whisper the words. “Try… Try… Hmm… Try to remember why we fell in love.”

            “Hello,” a feminine voice said to his right.

            “Angel?” He didn’t even look. The sound of her voice was probably just a drunken illusion, but even if it were, maybe he could carry on a make-believe conversation with her.

            “Who?” the voice asked, annoyed.

            “Angel?” he repeated without taking his bleary eyes off the moon.

            “Look at me, Clancy. God almighty, did you drink all these beers? What in the hell do you think you’re doing? You’re a grown man with a responsible job, and you’ve never been able to hold your liquor. Your high school principal would probably fire you on the spot if he knew you were lying down here in the dirt half-crocked and talking to the angels. Have you been smoking weed as well as drinking?”

            He turned and looked at his ex-wife, Melissa, sitting on the sandbar beside him. “I’m not layin’ in the dirt. I’m layin’ on a blanket.” Good God! What was she doing there? And was she real or just a figment of his drunken imagination? One thing for sure, she was right about him not being able to hold his liquor. That was the whole point. He was willing to fry a few brain cells to get the image of Angel out of his mind when she told him they could never build another relationship.

            He chuckled.

            “What’s so funny? You have been into something other than beer, haven’t you?” She popped her hands on her hips and glared at him.