Selkie Boyfriend: Jude (special preview)

A few years ago my husband asked for a divorce. It was quite a shock, after all, we’d been sweethearts in high school, managed to stay together through college. Then all of a sudden he wasn’t happy? I didn’t know, and I certainly offered to try and make it right. He said in the simplest of terms there was no fixing it. Things had gone on too long, they should have ended years ago, he said. I thought maybe his mind would change, that he would come back eventually. Instead, he found something else. Someone else.

In the divorce, I was given the beach house his parents had left him. Not sure why he didn’t fight for it, but I figured I could use the place to recuperate. I figured I would go there to get away, try to finish my book before the deadline and my agent killed me. I didn’t realize until I arrived why my husband, my ex-husband, let it go so easily. The place was in such a state of disrepair and neglect that I wasn’t sure I could actually stay in it. The front porch had literally broken off the side of the house and was sinking titanic stye into the sand. Inside it smelled like cat piss and everything had a sandy, dirty feeling to it. It was all like someone had come off a shipping boat, having never bathed, and rubbed themselves all over every inch of the house.

That evening I sat outside while a dozen scented candles burned inside to somehow remove the smell of cat piss. I drank a bottle of wine while I sat on the sand before the house. Just the bottle, no glass involved. I would have to figure out repairs at some point, until then I was just going to exist on that beach like a drunk mermaid.

The sun reflected off the water, transforming the hue of the air to a dusky pink. I noticed a man walking along the beach. He kept his head down, his hands in his pockets. He eventually stopped and turned to face the sea, his long hair blowing about his head. He stood there for hours, just watching until the sun went down. I sat there and just watched him. He eventually walked on once it got dark, and after a while, I went inside. The candles helped, but the smell of cat piss would remain. I would probably have to tear up the carpet or get rid of the furniture.

I couldn’t do anything that next morning. I drank too much wine and now I was paying for it. The smell of the place sent me outside, but the air was too loud out there. I was cursed with this place and I wouldn’t know comfort while I was here. I sat on the back porch which faced the road, leaned over an old wicker chair that sagged it was so damp. A truck drove by, and for a moment, I thought the man inside was the one who was on the beach last night.

That afternoon, once I felt I could breathe without a headache, I tried to figure out what to do about this place. I had money in savings I could use, but I had to consider this place was a money pit. I could sink all my money into this place and come out with nothing. I also only had so much time to finish my next novel, and I couldn’t go back home.

I at least called someone to clean the carpets and the furniture. I also washed everything that wasn’t nailed down, hoping by some miracle I could get rid of that horrible odor soaked into everything. I got rid of the old sofa and rattan furniture, setting it out onto the curb with hopes it would be gone eventually. I would have to take care of the front porch next. It needed to be broken down and a whole new one rebuilt. Considering it had been built with no foundation, I would need to hire someone to pour a cement one. I guess I’ve decided to throw my money away on this place.

The town was small, mostly people with vacation homes, so during this time of year, the population was half of what it was during the summer. Most of the shops on the boardwalk were closed for the season, and the only locals that remained were fishermen. I had gone to a thrift store in hopes of finding furniture, and the place I went faced the dock. When I left, I saw the fishermen coming up and docking their boats, hauling their catches.

I saw that big, red truck again, and the man inside seemed to stoop over his wheel. He drove by, glancing at me and I watched him. I hadn’t found any furniture that day, but I had managed to get the numbers to some people who could repair my place. I bought new sheets at the local department store, which was a good thirty minutes out of the way. I couldn’t stand the pebbled up flannel that had been in the house anymore. I also got more wine.

It was getting dark when I got back home, and as I was putting things away, I saw from the bedroom window that man was on the beach again. He was staring out at the ocean, head down, hands in pockets. I hadn’t noticed last night if he was there, but maybe he was going to be there every night.

The next day, I called people to come take care of the back porch and I continued piling things on the curb. As I was adding even more rattan furniture to the pile on the couch, that red truck drove by, but it stopped. It reversed and stopped just before my curb pile of cat piss scented nineties sofa and soggy rattan furniture. The man rolled down his window while I mopped my forehead with my sleeve.

The man leaned out his window, long gray hair pulled back into a ponytail. He had a thick beard that was unkempt and very wild, and eyebrows to match. It was his eyes, though, that pulled me in; such beautiful, soulful brow eyes lined with the thickest, darkest lashes I had ever seen.

“You got someone to haul all that off for you?” He asks. “Because if you don’t, you’ll get fined.”

My mouth flops open like a landed fish. “I uh-”

Those beautiful eyes narrow upon me. “This isn’t the city, nobody is just going to take your shit for you.”

“I know that,” I say as if I don’t.

He sighs and scratches under his hat. “How long are you here for?”

I shrug and extend my arms out on either side of me. “Ever?” I shake my head slowly. “I don’t know.” I run my fingers through my hair.

The man in the truck tenses his chin. “So you’re moving here?”

I place my hands on my waist. “I really don’t know.”