The Perfect Sunset

Harry's Hangout

Hours:

Opens about an hour after sunrise.

Closes about half an hour before sunset.

What the fuck shit is this? Where am I supposed to get a cup of coffee on this god forsaken island?

I kick a small drift of sand. I look up at the sky. It is gray and overcast, but the sun is definitely up. I try to think about how long it has been light. I look at my watch. I woke up 42 minutes ago. It was already light enough to see my room then. It has to be pretty close to an hour by now.

I sit on the steps and think about how I got stuck here.

I am a quant in the city. I am very good at it, make a lot of money for my firm, and they pay me well for it. Apparently, my co-workers think I have been getting agitated more easily with them. Fuck them. They always annoy me. I don't suffer fools.

But the partners of the firm came and talked to me and insisted that I take two weeks off. Apparently, they were afraid I was facing burnout or something. My assistant planned this trip, asking me only "Beach or mountains?" before handing me plane tickets and telling me it's a lovely little beach community where I could relax. She didn't tell me it was an island with only one ferry a day off. The same one that brought me here last night.

And that there is only one restaurant. And they are only open when Harry isn't fishing or jerking off or whatever he is doing when I want my fucking coffee. And no stores to even buy any groceries. Or coffee. And no god damned cell service.

This isn't relaxation; it's exile to a gulag somewhere that no one has ever heard of.

A woman with wind blown hair appears, carrying an easel, paint supplies, and a canvas. She steps past me and opens the door. I assume she came from the beach.

"Were you hoping for breakfast?" she asks.

"And coffee if that is available on this god forsaken island!"

"Well, I won't have the kitchen up and running for fifteen minutes, but I can start the coffee as soon as I set this stuff down. You can come in and sit if you want."

"Do I look comfortable out here?"

She rolls her eyes and sets her stuff in the corner and goes through a door into the kitchen.

A few minutes later, she comes out with a pot of coffee and fills the cup sitting in front of me. And leaves me in peace to sulk over my coffee.

About ten minutes later she comes back out. Momentarily, she looks at me with a delighted smile. She has swapped out of her paint covered smock for an apron and pulled her hair back, maybe even brushed it. Her face is windblown, but I would guess she is about thirty, my age. She is not an unattractive woman.

"What would you like for breakfast?"

"What do you have?"

"Pretty much all the diner usuals for breakfast. It's probably just you today, so eggs are easiest on me, but I can make pancakes or french toast."

"Do you think you can handle two eggs, over easy, whole wheat toast and three slices of crispy bacon?"

"I have always managed to do so before," she snaps back at me. To be honest, I can't blame her for getting snippy with me.

When she brings out my food, I ask her, "Where do I get groceries around here?"

"Around here? You can't. Take the ferry across at noon. There is a general store next to the dock. You have an hour and a half to shop before the ferry departs again at 3:30. Don't miss the boat or you are stuck there until tomorrow."

I guess I am spending all afternoon on a boat. The eggs are perfectly cooked at least.

After I have finished, she comes back to grab my dishes.

"Thanks, that was actually good."

"Don't sound so surprised!"

"Well you don't have any competition, you could have the worst food in the state and it wouldn't make much difference in your business around here."

"People do things for reasons other than money."

"In my world, in the real world, not really."

She rolls her eyes again and carries my dishes away. I sit there for about fifteen minutes, waiting for my bill. I finally go up to the kitchen door and knock.

"Whatcha need?"

"The check?"

"I assume you are paying by credit card?"

I nod.

"How long are you here for?"

"Two long weeks."

"Then I will run a tab. It saves me on credit card fees."

"What if I stiff you?"

"Are you going to?"

"No, but -"

"Then, I don't need to worry about it."

I shake my head in disbelief and walk the few hundred yards to my cabin. I put on my swim trunks. And head towards the beach. I stick a toe in, but that water is cold.

Harry, or whatever her name is, sticks her head out the window and yells to me, "Mighty cold for swimming. And there is a nasty current."

I take my foot back out of the water and go for a walk on the beach. An hour and a half later, I am back where I started. I have an hour and a half to kill before the ferry. I go up on the porch of my cabin and sit in the rocking chair. I watch the water for a few minutes. There is no way I am going to spend two weeks sitting in a rocking chair watching the fucking waves.

How do people live like this. Why would they?

I decide I am not going to get any lunch if I don't eat now, so I head for an early lunch.

"Back so soon?"

"I figured I better get some lunch now because I won't have a chance later."

"I'll be closed by the time you get back, you know."

"But I will have food I can cook by then."

"Can you?"

"Can I what?"

"Cook. You said you can cook."

"Of course I can cook."

"Lots of rich guys like you can't. New York, right?"

"Yeah."

"I grew up there. Hate New Yorkers. Especially rich ones. But how often do you cook?"

"Maybe once or twice a week. I eat out the rest of the time."

"Wouldn't change much if you ate out one or two more times a week, would it?"

"No, not really."

"It's why I wondered if you could actually cook. You are in the Potter cabin, right?"

"What is the Potter cabin?"

"The red one up the beach you came out of. You had to talk to one of the Potters to reserve it."

"I didn't talk to anyone. My secretary made all the arrangements. I am not sure what I did to piss her off like this."

"If you hate this place so much, what are you doing here? And for two whole weeks?"

"My partners told me I had to take a vacation. They were worried I was burning out. My secretary made all the arrangements to exile me."

"So, Mister Caruso, what would you like for lunch?"

"What is the best thing you make?"

"Probably my meatloaf."

"I will have the meatloaf, then. And a cup of coffee."

"I don't have any meatloaf."

"But you said -"

"You asked what was the best thing I make. That is meatloaf. But I only make it on Wednesdays. There is usually leftovers on Thursday, sometimes all the way through to Saturday, offseason like now."

"Okay, if you want to play that game, what is the best thing you can make me for lunch today?"

"How about a bacon cheeseburger and fries?"

"Fine, I will have that."

"Lettuce, tomato, onions and pickles?"

"Just lettuce and tomato. Thank you."

"You are welcome."

When she brings out my lunch, I ask, "Are you Harry?"

"That's a rather personal question to ask isn't it? I don't shave all the time and I am not telling you where."

It's my turn to roll my eyes. I point to the sign that says

Harry's Hangout

.

"No, that Harry was my grandfather."

"What should I call you?"

"You can call me Katherine."

"Is that your name or is this another meat loaf joke?"

"That's my name."

She turns and walks back into the kitchen to do whatever she does in there. On the six days a week she does not cook meatloaf.

Just as I finish my burger, an elderly couple walk in. Katherine calls out, "Hi Sally. Hi Tom. Usuals?"

"Of course."

A minute later she is bringing out two glasses. I would guess an iced tea and a diet cola. She asks if I am done with my dishes. I nod and she clears them.

Sally turns to me and says, "Staying long?"

"I'll be here for two weeks in the Potter cabin," I reply.

Tom says, "That's probably the nicest cabin here."

I hear a boat horn and look at my watch. Time to hurry to the boat dock.

As I leave, I hear Tom asking Katherine, "Didn't know he needed to bring groceries, did he?"

On the boat ride over, I try to think carefully about what I need at the store. I sure as hell don't want to make this trip an extra time. And then I think about what I am going to do with myself. I guess I will look for a couple of books at the store.

At least I don't get seasick.

I realize I can only realistically buy two bags worth of groceries. So I need to plan more carefully. I decide I will need to make one more trip late this week to get me through the two weeks. I will probably eat lunch from Katherine every day and some breakfasts. But I need to be able to feed myself dinner every night.

And I can't get anything frozen and have it make it back for the two hour ride. One of the other two passengers was bringing a cooler. I assumed it was for a picnic or something, but I bet he was going shopping.

The general store itself is pretty small, but I manage to find enough to cover my needs. It does not take anywhere near ninety minutes to shop, so I sit on the bench near the dock and get my phone out. I have bars! I check on my texts and my mail.

My assistant had sent me a text checking that I had made it. I reply to her:

Safe and going off my rocker

Back on mainland briefly for groceries

Why did you do this to me?

The ferry horn sounds and I get back on. Sure enough, the passenger with the cooler is back on, with four bags in a cart as well.

Our third passenger from the trip to the mainland does not return, but there is a young couple carrying some small suitcases. Honeymooners, I am guessing. They can't keep their hands off each other.

When we make it back to the island, I see Katherine setting up her easel not far from the dock. It is just about sunset. I guess she paints every sunset and every sunrise.

I make myself a nice Coq au Vin for dinner. That should feed me tomorrow night too. I enjoy a couple of glasses of wine with it. I clean up from dinner and then look outside. The moon is roughly at three quarters. I hadn't noticed earlier, but the sky has cleared. I go out and look up. I walk down to the beach to get away from the light still on in the cabin.

Despite the bright moon, the stars are gorgeous. I have lived in a city all my life. Pittsburgh, then Boston and now New York. I have never seen stars like this.

I am watching the sky when I see a light go on in a cabin up the beach a little ways. It is upstairs at Harry's. Katherine has the shade pulled down but I can see her outline clearly. She is taking her clothes off. I shouldn't watch, but I do. She disappears and a second window is lit up. This one is distorting her image. It must be a bathroom window with the obscuring glass. I think she is taking a shower. The bathroom light goes out and she reappears outlined in her window. The light goes off, replaced by a dim glow. I assume she is lying in bed now, with a bed side lamp. I don't think she put on any kind of nightgown.

I go back in my cabin and have another glass of wine before bed. Every time I close my eyes, I see the outline of Katherine's naked body. I finally decide to go with it and jerk off to the image. I don't masturbate often back home. But I usually have female companionship on Saturday evening, sometimes through to Sunday morning. It's been a week since I have had sex and it will probably be two or maybe three more till I have relief beyond my own hand.

I sleep in later than I usually do. It might even be time for Harry's to be open. That gets me thinking about Katherine and I suddenly have a raging boner. I take a shower, trying to ignore it, but eventually give in, thinking about her outline again.

I am definitely going over for breakfast this morning. I get dressed, at least as much as a beach community expects, and make the short walk over to Harry's. I am disappointed to see the closed sign still up. I look around to see if she is coming from the beach again, but she is already inside and flips the sign to open about two minutes later.

She sees me standing outside, opens the door and says, "You were welcome to come in and sit down."

"But the sign said closed."

"That just means I am not ready to cook for you and don't bother me. We are kind of one big family on the island. Everyone knows everyone. And their business."

"How many people live on the island?"

"Officially, forty seven. But I think there are only thirty two residents here right now. Only about twenty of us actually live here twelve months a year. In season, there are maybe sixty visitors here at a time, but I think there are only ten of you here right now."

"Counting the two honeymooners that came over with me yesterday?"

"Haven't seen them yet, so maybe twelve now. I bet they are in the Simmons place. It's on the other side of the island. Did they have any groceries with them?"

"Didn't look like it."

"Then they are probably going back over to the mainland today. Maybe they won't come up for air in time and just go hungry tonight. Have to survive on love, I guess."

I laugh.

"You don't sound much like a romantic. I thought painters were supposed to be romantic."

She laughs now. "Young naive love doesn't do much for me. But I still have a romantic streak in me. Did you manage to cook yourself dinner last night?"

"I made Coq au Vin."

"Ooh La La. Sounds too fancy for the island. So what would Mr FancyPants like for breakfast this morning?"

"Yesterday's was good. Let's try that again."

As she turns to walk away to the kitchen, I watch her hips swivel, her backside sway. Neither her painting smock nor the apron is particularly flattering, but she is an attractive woman. Not in the flashy way that women try to get noticed in the city. More of a girl next door way. And she has nice legs too.

I have a raging boner again. I slide my chair right up to the table and try to arrange a napkin in my lap. I am trying to look as nonchalant as I can, when she brings my food out.

"I knew you enjoyed the eggs yesterday. I didn't know they were that exciting," she says, looking at my lap and smirking, before she walks back to the kitchen.

I can feel myself turning bright red.

I finish my breakfast and leave before she comes back.

The only books they had at the store were romances and detective stories, so I bought one of each. I need something to do other than sit in Harry's and embarrass myself. I read about a third of the romance before I am thinking about Katherine. Reading a romance is not distracting me from thinking about her.

Maybe I can think about a problem from work. I remember the optimization problem I was working on when the partners came for that talk with me. The one that ended with me exiled to this island for two weeks.

I take a loop around the island again and then decide it's time for lunch. If I am too obsessed with Katherine, I can think about the problem. That should help.

Tom and Sally are already at the same table when I walk in. I say hi to them. They return the greeting and then smile knowingly at each other. Katherine brings out a scoop of tuna salad on a bed of lettuce for Sally and a burger for Tom.

She then comes over and asks, "Do you want a burger again today?"

"I want to try something different. What is your second best thing you can make me today?"

"A burger."

"I thought that was my best option?"

"Yesterday it was, Today's special is lasagna. That's better than the burger. But I didn't have it yesterday, so the burger was the best choice yesterday. For someone who thinks they are smart, you get confused pretty easily."

"Am I that smug about being smart?"

"To be blunt, yes. So do you want the lasagna?"

"Yes."

"And the garlic bread? I recommend it, too."

"Then yes, I think I will have that as well."

"And still coffee?"

"Is there something that is better?"

"A nice glass of chianti would be better."

"Can I have a glass of chianti?"

"I don't have a liquor license, so no."

I roll my eyes before saying, "Then I guess it's coffee again."

"Coming up."

Katherine brings the coffee over and pours me a cup, then disappears into the kitchen.

Tom and Sally finish up, call goodbye to Katherine in the kitchen. They say goodbye to me on their way out, then look at each other and giggle.

A moment later Katherine brings out a big slab of lasagna and a small plate with garlic toast on it. She was right. This was better than the burger.

She is about to disappear back in to the kitchen when I say, "Why don't you take a break and sit with me. With the level of traffic you have, you cannot possibly be that busy back there."

"Okay, for a few minutes."

She sits down across the table from me.

"So what is the island's only gourmet chef cooking for tonight?"

"Just left over coq au vin. I can't really cook for just one, so I will eat left overs more than half the dinners."

I take some more bites of the lasagna.

"This is really good, by the way," I say. "And I have two questions for you. First, why do Tom and Sally giggle to each other whenever they talk to me?"

"Oh, that is just them being themselves. But I get to ask a question now. How are you feeling about your exile on your second day here?"

"Weird. This is the first day that the market is open that I haven't worked in years. I am itchy to do something, but not as badly as I thought I would be."

"Are you a trader?"

"No, I'm a quant. A quant is -"

"I know what a quant is," she says, a little snippy sounding.

"So, time for my second question. How did a girl from New York City end up running a diner on an island in the middle of nowhere. You are obviously clever."

"What makes you say that?"

"You are clever enough to regularly run me around in circles. And we already established that I am smart."

"No, we established that you think you are smart. That is not is the same thing at all."

"Well, I am taking it as a given that you are clever. I have enough people in New York who think I am smart to be comfortable with my self assessment. So how did you end up here?"

"I told you. It was my grandfather's."

"No you told me it was named for your grandfather. Maybe you just liked him and named it for him when you started it."

"Now who is running whom around in circles? Well, it was my grandfather's. He had been a mechanical engineer originally. A very good one. He designed those cannons that got mounted on the sides of the helicopters in Viet Nam. He was watching the news coverage about the war and saw people being shot up with his gun. He quit and moved here and opened the diner."

"How did you end up in New York, then?"

"My mother was eleven when he moved out here. And her mother died of breast cancer a few years after they moved. I think she wasn't happy before, but she hated the island after that. It is not exactly an exciting place to be a teenager."

"She left for college and basically never came back. Never wanted to. She met my dad in college and they both ended up in New York. So that is where I grew up."

"But you hated it."

"I hated it. When I was sixteen, I spent my whole summer here with my grandfather. I loved it here. I spent the next two summers here, helping him run the diner. But at the end of my sophomore year, he had a stroke. The school was very accommodating. I moved here to the island and I took all my exams remotely. I took a year off from college to care for him and keep the diner running. But he died and my parents made me go back to college to finish my degree. He had left me the diner and some money in his will."

Her eyes are starting to water.

"I came back the summer after my junior year and opened the diner for the summer. And then opened it permanently as soon as I graduated. My mother was kind of pissed at me."