Brad couldn't get rid of the bitterness in his mouth. Not even the cola helped, as he absentmindedly spun the can in small circles. The bubbles fizzed against his palm. He felt as if all the bile accumulated in his body was rising to his throat. He grimaced in distaste.
The sea murmured calmly, shimmering under the sun. It was vast and beautiful. But today, it brought him no peace, mocking him with cruel laughter for daring to believe he could overcome at least this one obstacle.
Damn it, he really wanted that job!
"How long are you going to sit there?" an older woman's voice suddenly broke the silence. "You're scaring off my customers. They think you're some kind of thug."
He lifted his head and saw Aunt Sally holding a tray. He shifted awkwardly. "Sorry..." he started, beginning to rise.
"Sit down, I don't have any customers. Lunch rush is over. I thought we could eat together. You've been sulking here since morning."
Aunt Sally sat down beside him on the deck without ceremony, letting her feet dangle over the sand blown in by the wind. Before he could protest, she shoved a plate of fried fish and chips into his hands. She wouldn't be herself if she didn't add a generous portion of coleslaw to the plate.
"Thanks," was all he could muster.
"Eat up. No need to be shy. I've been feeding you kids since you were running around in nothing but your shirts. I still remember you all playing on the beach. You were the wildest of the bunch. A real troublemaker, the leader of your little gang. Everyone thought you'd be the first to end up in jail."
She sighed, no doubt reminiscing about the five boys chasing each other along the shore, playing pirates or other adventure seekers. Two of them were older, already calmer, more mature, almost adults, while the other three were little bundles of energy. Brad, once one of those energetic brats, recalled those days and smiled nostalgically.
"I'm holding up. For now," he sighed.
"Eat," Aunt Sally urged. "The world always looks uglier and sadder on an empty stomach."
So they ate. They didn't talk, just sat side by side, gazing at the shoreline or the horizon, where tiny silhouettes of ships dotted the distance.
When their plates were empty, Aunt Sally was the first to speak.
"Are you going to tell me what happened? People like you don't just sit around doing nothing, no matter what."
"Guess I needed a break."
"From trouble?"
"Too bad trouble doesn't take a break from me." He sighed and took a deep breath. "Thanks, Aunt Sally. The food helped my mood." Even if only a little.
"It's not easy, is it? Taking care of two teenage girls. Especially when they're not even yours."
She meant no harm, yet he felt a sting of offense.
"They're mine. They're my brother's daughters."
"Fair enough. But still… It would be easier if you had someone by your side," she sighed. He was grateful she didn't press the subject or try to convince him to find a wife like she used to. "Or at least if you had a steady job. Social workers wouldn't have any excuse to poke around, saying you don't have a stable income. Maybe then they'd leave you alone."
As if he didn't already know that.
"It didn't work out," he shrugged. "Apparently, I'm not the right candidate for a job at the boatyard."
He didn't even know why he was venting to this woman, who had plenty of her own worries. Maybe, at that moment, he would have vented to anyone, the bitterness in his mouth was so overwhelming. Or maybe reminiscing about his childhood reminded him that Aunt Sally, though often strict, always had kind words and good food for the kids who ran wild outside her diner.
She didn't comment on his bitter remark. She didn't offer false comfort. She wasn't stupid—like everyone in town, she knew about his conflict with Anders. They both sat in silence, staring at the sunlit ocean.
"You know," she finally spoke, "your grandfather was one of the builders of this town. He came to this country looking for a better life, but no one wanted to give a poor immigrant a chance. But he didn't give up. My God, there wasn't a job he wouldn't take just to prove his worth. And he did. There's not an old house in town where he didn't fix the wiring, plumbing, or flooring. Even this little diner of mine is standing thanks to him. He worked for everything with his own hands and built that beautiful house you live in. And you're afraid of work?"
"Not at all," he shook his head. Hell, he'd take out the trash if the company would hire him.
They wouldn't. He had already asked.