Gotta Dance with the One Who Brung Ya - sex, scandals and sweethearts by Jon McDonald

Author:Jon McDonald [McDonald, Jon]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2013-06-08T22:00:00+00:00

Harbors

Michael Sevarin’s grandmother had died and was buried without fuss a week ago. Michael was the only contactable remaining relative. There were a few cousins out west somewhere, but they were no longer in touch with the family and he didn’t know how to reach them. Michael at 38, and living in New York City, had no choice but to go up to attend to his grandmother’s affairs. He didn’t know - there might even be a small legacy involved. So he took a week off from his job as a researcher at the Metropolitan Museum of Art and drove up to Corea, Maine where his grandmother had lived all of her life. He left behind an indifferent wife and two daughters who would hardly miss him at all - so engrossed were they with their own frantic lives of school and texting.

As Michael drove into the small town on the coast he had to refer to his map several times, as it had been a long time since he had been up here and he was not sure how to find her house unaided.

Opening up the house and walking inside was strange for Michael. He had not been up here for many years. His parents were both deceased and without them he had tended to drift away from relatives as he became increasingly devoted to his career and his own family. It was a late winter afternoon and the house was dark and stuffy as he walked into the living room. He did not immediately turn on any lights but just stood in the house and listened. There was a grandfather clock in the hallway but it was silent. It was no longer being wound on a daily basis. There was a wind coming off the harbor and he heard a tree branch knocking against an upstairs window. He was reminded of when, as a young boy, he had raced down the hallway stairs, tripped at the landing, and suffered a cut between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand on the furnace grate buried in the floor. He still carried that scar to this day.

The house was a modest fisherman’s bungalow - clapboard siding, two story, two bedrooms, and a small front and back yard - much like the other nondescript houses on the block. It’s only nice feature was that it was on a rise with a wide view of the bay – lobster boats nestled in the harbor below, with the open sea stretching away outside the sheltered cove.

Michael climbed the stairs to his grandmother’s bedroom. He looked in and saw how drab and ordinary the room looked in the dim gray light. There would be nothing in the house he would want to take back with him to New York. He sighed and threw his backpack on the bed in the guest room. He would stay here the night and visit the attorney who was handing his grandmother’s estate – or what there was of it - in the morning.

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