Righteous Decisions: Decisions Series, #1

Dedication

To my editors, my Mom and Katie, couldn’t have done it without you guys.

Acknowledgments

To mah friend, Katie, I couldn’t have made this what it is without you! I’m eternally grateful. To my readers: Thank you, sincerely, from the bottom of my heart. All of this would be nothing if not for you.

Nightmares

I run. It seems I’m always running here. I can’t tell you why; what purpose drives me as I run frantically through a grey mist. I know I have an important role to fulfill. I just don’t know what it is. So I keep running. A familiar figure comes just into my sight.

But it’s no use, I can never reach them. I can never help them.

I awake with a start. That’s the third time in one week I’ve been plagued by the same dream. Always the same out of focus face and always just out of reach. I try so hard to reach that face. I know in my heart that I have something to do but never know what my purpose is. I have heard that you are supposed to forget your dreams after waking. I long for that possibility.

Family

Turn to the right just a bit. I instruct. Perfect, hold it right there.

I smile at the bride and groom whose memory of this day will soon be forever frozen in time by these photographs. I secretly envy the way Kathleen and Gerard look into each other’s eyes and their light joking manner. After capturing so many weddings on film I can always tell the ones that will last. This couple is a shoe in.

The day is bright and warm. Even the humidity seems to hold off for these two—which is no easy feat for Florida’s east coast. The warm ocean breeze dances over our skin and adds an ambiance that would otherwise be impossible to create. As a photographer I can’t ask for more perfect natural lighting than the sun in the clear sky overhead. It seems Mother Nature has as much faith in this couple as I do.

I release the glowing bride and groom to move on to the wedding party but warn them not to stray too far as I will need them for group photos shortly. My mood lightens as I take a candid shot of the flower girl and ring bearer acting as only children can. The young boy holds a small purple wildflower out to the little girl and her smile is that of joy and innocence. Her light pink dress ruffles slightly as a warm breeze passes. I’m sure the bride will love the photo of her niece and husband’s nephew.

The reception moves on quickly while I make sure it’s all visually documented. By the time the bride and groom run from the building and try to avoid the birdseed being launched at them from all directions I’m spent. Surely the happy couple will be grateful enough to give me a referral. My business thrives on them. While I can make pocket money on the tourists of my ancient city this is where the future of my business will be.

When the last of my equipment is packed I nod a goodnight to the clean-up crew (that’s already beginning the long job ahead of them). Like any good party it has taken its toll on the rented hall that will hold a sweet sixteen party the following afternoon. I’m exhausted and grateful my night is over instead of just starting. I sling the smaller of my two bags over my shoulder and make my way down King Street. I didn’t bother with my car earlier due to the short distance between the venue and my apartment.

At certain moments—often moments like this when I am tired and vulnerable—I wonder if my destiny contains a happily ever after. Even as the ocean breeze whispers to me in the night, its salted air caressing my skin, I can’t muster up too many encouraging thoughts. I keep myself busy and have some great friends. My older brother understands me even if my older sister turned control freak after our parents passed on. But when the long days catch up to themselves and I’m left with my own thoughts I often wish for a kindred soul to lean on. This is especially true after a day spent focusing a camera on happy couples. Not that I begrudge them their happiness, but sometimes it’d be nice to find my ‘other,’ as well.

I round the last corner. After unlocking my door I climb the stairs to my second floor apartment. The light and hum of my fish tank are my only greeting. I sigh while turning on the light in my kitchen and dump all of my bags on the small island. I pull my cell phone out of my bag to charge it and glance over at my calendar to mentally plan my day tomorrow. I groan when I see the big red L marking the following day. Lunch with my sister Eunice. The perfect pick me up.

My apartment isn’t huge or all that modern but it suits me. It’s the converted top floor of a Victorian house complete with wood floors and large tall windows. There are details here I fell in love with the moment I first saw them: the intricate moldings and cabinets that newer buildings often try to replicate but fail to grasp. My kitchen eases into my living room which is by far the largest space in the apartment. My bedroom and bathroom are both off the living room. My walls are all neutral; my couch is an older overstuffed grey monster that dominates one entire wall. The photographs I have taken and framed hang in a collage on the wall behind the couch. The opposite wall contains built-in bookcases stuffed with my favorite novels. My small work desk is tucked into the far corner facing the east window. On a clear day I can catch a glimpse of the ocean. The adjacent corner holds my small TV.

My kitchen could be called old. The appliances are nowhere near new. The counters are a standard grey but the old wood cabinets have a pale polished gleam. (It’s not very large, but because it blends into the living room it has the illusion of space.) I have two stools pulled up to the small island for eating purposes though I rarely utilize them. Most of my eating is done on the couch. I decide a hot bath is a necessity before bed. Hell, meeting with Eunice tomorrow justifies all my best bath salts and probably also a bottle of tequila, but I’ll work with what I have. I stretch as best I can in the tub and try to relax. I know tomorrow is going to consist more of the same agenda my sister always has for me: ‘Lettie you’re twenty five years old with no active dating prospects and a rocky career,’ condescending smile, rinse, repeat.

I take a deep breath and sink my head under the water. When I come up for air I try to release all of my tension with the breath. I know Eunice has her reasons for her over-protective nature. Eunice is the oldest at thirty-five. Michael, our brother, is the middle man in more ways than one at thirty-one. Then there’s me—the baby at 25. Michael is the only thing in the world that can keep Eunice off my back. He’s also much wiser than me, moving all the way to Manhattan about a year ago. He had tried to convince me to go with him but I didn’t want to lose the year it’d already taken to build a strong customer base for my photography business. Of course that also means I’m at my sister’s mercy.

Eunice has always been overbearing as far as I am concerned—even before our parents passed away eight years ago. Eunice and Michael both dropped everything to move home to support me while I finished my last year of high school. As much as I’m grateful for their sacrifices I still wish my sister would back off a bit. Losing my parents has been tragic enough. Having Eunice go into full on dictator mode does not help.

I’ve always been...different. Not hunchback different or anything, but I never seem to fit in anywhere. Ever since I was little I’ve felt like the odd-ball. Nothing has yet to change that perception for me. Strange things constantly happen to me, too. I’ve learned to take it all in stride. Those closest to me accept it with denial. I guess I do, too.

I admit it’s time to get on with my night, knowing my bath is no longer warm and I resemble a raisin. I can neither afford to be late or to look tired tomorrow. I already have bags under my eyes from the restless night before when my dreams refused to allow me any meaningful rest. I dry off and inspect the damage. At five-five I’m too short to be called tall and too tall to be called short. My active life keeps me in pretty fit shape. I often wish I share my sister’s curves instead of my athletic slim build. I wouldn’t say my boobs are huge, but they’re not really too small either. Give me a good push up bra and I can give you some wow factor. I’m honey-toned thanks to the benefits of living on the Florida Coast. My light brown hair shows natural blonde highlights from that same benefit. My blue eyes however cannot deny their lack of sleep due to the deep blue half circles surrounding their bottom circumference. I slip on my pajamas and return to the bathroom to dab my night-time eye cream around my tired eyes and hope like hell that it works.

I know the familiar feeling of the dream, but knowing it doesn’t help make the sensations any better. I find my surroundings clearer than they have been in previous dreams. I recognize the place from memory but I can’t quite put my finger on its actual location. I look down and realize I am no longer in my pajamas. I’m wearing my favorite jeans and an unfamiliar top. I glance around as I feel the typical overwhelming need to find a specific person. The problem is even as I see the person their face is as always shrouded. I resign to keep going because it’s the only way to get through this nightmare is to get it over with.

I know the routine by now. My reoccurring nightmare is more in focus than it’s been before. Walking will just impede my progress (and I’d hate to break tradition) so I burst into the frantic run that I’ve become accustom to. I round a corner and notice yet again the usually blurry surroundings are becoming sharper with every step I take. As they take shape I think them fitting. Of course I’m running for my life here. Castillo de San Marcos has given me a bad juju vibe since my parents would drag us as a family, claiming that residents of a historical place such as St Augustine should be knowledgeable regarding it.

I decide I liked it better when I was running through the blurry grey mist. This surprises me as that was creepy to begin with. I note the gates to the courtyard are open and fly through them. I shoot across the courtyard and race up the steps to the watchtower bastion. There they are again. That same face I’ve become so familiar with as a blur finally comes into focus. I’ve never seen her before and she looks entirely dejected. Her depression is palpable. She looks at me as I run towards her. Before I can reach her she throws herself over the wall. Helpless to do anything but watch, I collapse on the ground.

I give myself one last glance in the mirror and grab my purse to run out the door. I have to admit my eye cream had done the best it could; I definitely only look about a quarter percent of how exhausted I actually feel. After my dream I’d been too restless to try and go back to sleep. So at three a.m. I fire up my laptop and grab the memory stick from the wedding to spend the rest of my morning editing and cropping. After my lunch with Eunice I’ll drop off the new files to be printed.

I lock my door and begin the stroll to the restaurant at a leisurely pace. I’m definitely stalling as much as possible. My sister insists on going to Ninety Five Cordova. I do some quick math in my head. Most of my available funds have to go to the printer, but I’ll choose a light fare and pay my own way at lunch. It’ll give Eunice one less thing to complain about.

I go inside the restaurant and have the host lead me to a table where (unsurprisingly) my sister was waiting. Eunice has forever perfect blond hair—which is perfectly straight and not frizzy in even one hundred percent humidity. It bobs back and forth as she shakes her head at me. No matter if I arrived twenty minutes earlier than I am supposed to, Eunice would still be there waiting to complain that I took too long. It never fails. I take my time getting settled before I finally bite the bullet and say hello. I straighten my spine and paste a big smile on my face.

Hey, sis, I say, knowing that Eunice hates the casual reference. I thought we agreed on noon.

Hello Charlotte, Eunice replies. She ignores my attempt to annoy her and in return uses my hated full name. We had agreed on noon, however I believe in always arriving early. Something you well know, but constantly choose to ignore.

Oh Eunice, now you know everyone cannot be as perfect as you are. I let the fake sweetness drip from my voice.

No, but you should at least try, Charlotte, Eunice says. I brace myself. You do realize that you are fast approaching your third decade in this life and you still have nothing to show for it: a small struggling business, no husband, no boyfriend, just some fish and your pictures.

I grind my teeth before replying. Eunice my ‘pictures’ have become a firmly established business. I have more and more events each week. I’ve come significantly far for a second year business.

Thankfully our server arrives to take our orders and spares me any additional lectures for the next few minutes. While Eunice orders herself a lobster salad and a bottle of expensive water I stick with soup, a salad and an iced tea. I ignore Eunice as she rolls her eyes at my order and thank the nice young lady as she promises to return with our drinks shortly.

I attempt to change the subject. I spoke with Michael yesterday. He says hello. He keeps bugging me to visit him in New York.

You should consider going. New York has plenty of established men your age. You could finally land yourself a good husband. You’re a very pretty girl, Charlotte—you just need to learn to take advantage of it.

Eunice you have such a one track mind. Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps I don’t feel the need to attach myself to a man for validation? Maybe I have a desire to be independent until I meet the right guy.

The server returns with our drinks and my soup before the conversation can escalate any further. I know it’s pointless to let my sister’s comments get under my skin. I know Eunice cares about me, but her priorities differ greatly from mine. I take a resigning sip of iced tea and feel my eye twitch involuntarily.

I have someone I would like for you to meet, Eunice said as I suppress my own eye roll. His name is Chase and he is a very successful Art Designer in Miami.

Did you not hear what I just said, Eunice? My eye twitch is getting worse. I really don’t have time to deal with a blind date right now. Maybe I can when the wedding season winds down, but definitely not in the near future.

Eunice’s expression seems to mirror my frustration. I often wonder if we will ever find common ground that doesn’t require me to say ‘how high’ when Eunice says ‘jump.’ Our server brings the rest of our food and I dig in hoping to make the rest of our lunch last as little as possible. At least Eunice can’t complain while eating. Silver linings, right?

You poor traumatized thing, get your butt over here. I have a bottle of Riesling with our name on it.

Shay my love, it’s barely two in the afternoon, I reply while writing a check for the printer. I call my best friend Shay Richardson in need of moral support after dealing with Eunice. Shay’s one of the few people who really get me. He’s also an incredibly gorgeous gay man whom I often wished was straight so we could live happily ever after.

Love, it is five o’clock somewhere and be real, you get a free pass after dealing with ‘The Beast.’ ‘The Beast’ is Shay’s favorite name for Eunice behind her back.

The little red devil on my left shoulder is winning. I rationalize that I have gotten a full day’s worth of work in. Albeit most was done before sunrise, but done is done. Add in the Eunice factor and I figure I’ve already put in an eighteen hour day. See you in twenty Shay. I hear him laughing as I disconnect the call.

Shay Richardson lives in a spectacular condo with a back deck that opens right onto the beach. Up until he secured a modeling contract he lived in a much less than desirable neighborhood, but his first big purchase was my idea of heaven on earth. Shay had tried to convince me to move into one of his spare bedrooms—claiming he wouldn’t have such a wonderful place without me (I may have taken his picture and sent them to an agent without him knowing). As great as his offer is I have to insist that our friendship would become corrupted from the constant companionship. Plus if I ever did find a date they might get discouraged finding out I lived with Zeus himself.

For as long as I can remember Shay has been jaw-dropping. Even as a gawky adolescent Shay was attractive and as he grew, he became outright stunning. He filled out to a tall six foot one. His build is lean but