Coffee House Writers

Top Menu

Main Menu

  • Home
  • Article Categories
    • Creativity
    • Culture
    • Design
    • Family
    • Fashion
    • Fiction
    • Food
    • Environment
    • Health
    • Home
    • Lifestyle
    • Memories
    • Nonfiction
    • Poetry
    • Politics
    • Relationships
    • Sports
    • Style
    • Technology
    • Travel
  • About Us
    • Our Story
    • Our Founder
  • Meet Our Admin
    • Chief Editors
    • Editors
    • Poetry Editors
    • Advertising Team
    • Recruiting Team
  • Testimonials
  • Apply
  • Login

logo

Coffee House Writers

  • Home
  • Article Categories
    • Creativity
    • Culture
    • Design
    • Family
    • Fashion
    • Fiction
    • Food
    • Environment
    • Health
    • Home
    • Lifestyle
    • Memories
    • Nonfiction
    • Poetry
    • Politics
    • Relationships
    • Sports
    • Style
    • Technology
    • Travel
  • About Us
    • Our Story
    • Our Founder
  • Meet Our Admin
    • Chief Editors
    • Editors
    • Poetry Editors
    • Advertising Team
    • Recruiting Team
  • Testimonials
  • Apply
  • Login
  • The North Wind – Part 9

  • Youngster

  • Parenting My Way With No Regrets

  • Cracks and Holes

  • Until Forever, Part One

  • The Mystery of Cash Castle: Part 12

  • I want to fly

  • Prayers of Lament and Gratitude

  • Circumstantial Truths

  • Bloom Everlasting

  • Ma Millie-5

  • Husband

  • Leap Year Killer

  • Making Peace With My Adopted Self

  • Platinum Moments

  • Evolution of Romance Novels: Part 1

  • Fairytale

  • The North Wind – Part 8

  • English Class

  • A Beetle Called Bertha

  • The Island Flamingo: Part 11

  • Mr. Keith’s House – Part V

  • Ma Millie-4

  • Mikligarður

  • Bloom Anew

  • Where is my wife Stacey?

  • My Teen Begged for Help and My World Stood Still

  • 8 Best Uses For Peppermint Oil

  • A New Journey

  • Cessation

EntertainmentCreativityFamilyRelationshipsFiction
Home›Entertainment›Adirondack

Adirondack

By Eric Carasella
March 2, 2020
1407
0
Share:
Brown wooden Adirondack chair
Photo by Alexis Gethin on Unsplash

Sometimes Revelation

Adirondack, like the chair.

Alice was alone on her deck, looking out over the Yakima River. She was sitting on the Adirondack, the one from her father. And she was waiting. Waiting for her husband to come home. Waiting to hear what kind of bullshit excuse he would share with her this time.

She had tolerated a lot of his nonsense in the eighteen years they were married. She had given him two children and was an insufferably good wife when he hosted his parties for foreign dignitaries. And while she never considered herself a trophy, she knew how he thought of her. How Stephen viewed her in his arrogant blue eyes. Alice hated him, but not for the obvious reasons. She tolerated his bullshit because she had grown indifferent. But this… this was different. Not like the long business trips to Malta, or the skipped birthday parties for his kids because he couldn’t catch a flight home from Chicago. And not even because of the infidelity she knew about. No, those were not enough to make her hate him. Alice hated him because he tried to have her murdered.

He came home two hours after she had gone out onto the deck with her glass of port (now on her third). She heard him fumbling around in the kitchen before pulling the sliding glass door open and peeking his head out onto the deck. He looked shocked to see her. She knew he was.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his face blank and white.

Alice moved in the Adirondack, turning to face him. She took a large swallow from her glass of port and smiled at him. “I live here, remember?”

Stephen looked out at the Yakima River. “So, how was your trip?” he asked unconvincingly.

“It’s not really my trip you want to talk about, is it?” she said.

He put his head down and disappeared into the kitchen. Alice knew he was grabbing a beer from the fridge. Whenever he was feeling any pressure, he retreated to the beer in the fridge. Ice cold, in a glass bottle. Moments later, he emerged onto the deck and sat in the adjoining Adirondack by Alice. He drank from his beer, not looking at Alice’s face, watching his shoes, as if they held an answer to why she was here. He set his beer on the large wooden armrest.

“Why would you be surprised to see me home, Stephen?”

He continued looking at his shoes.

“Answer me!”

He looked up at her, shocked by her sudden outburst. “Don’t make me say it, Alice.”

“You sonofabitch. You coward.” Alice slapped him across the face as he went for his beer, sending the green bottle flying over the rail of the deck. “You’re a fucking coward, Stephen.” She was calm now, collected. She took another sip of her port and then set the glass down on the large armrest of the Adirondack.

“How… how are you still alive?” Stephen asked, his hands shaking.

“I’m alive because you’re lousy at everything you do. You’re a terrible lover. A terrible husband. And you’re a terrible father!” She knew that the last part would sting him more than anything else. She knew his weakness was his two daughters. For as much as he had grown estranged from her, Alice knew that he adored his daughters, even if they didn’t necessarily share the sentiment. And for the briefest of moments, she felt sorry for him. But that emotion passed as quickly as it had come, and she slapped him again, hard. He bent over sideways when she struck him, holding his face.

“Look at me, you piece of shit. Look me in the eyes and explain why you would try to have me killed,” she stood over him now—glaring down at him—judging him.

He started crying, moving his hands from his face and staring up into the evening sky. “I needed money,” he said.

Alice moved into his space. “We have money!” She hit him across the face. And when he bent over trying to avoid her blows, she struck him across his neck and his back—pounding on him with her fists.  She stopped and plopped back into the Adirondack.  Alice grabbed her glass of port and gulped it down, waiting for his response. She knew without a doubt that she had damaged him far worse than anything he tried to do to her. She knew she had broken him of everything.  His manhood was destroyed by calling him a lousy father. She had physically assaulted him, and now she would humiliate him. The only thing to do was wait for him to crack.

It took him several minutes to compose himself. He straightened up in the chair and ran both hands through his hair, inhaling deeply and then exhaling. “Where’s Toby?” Stephen asked.

It shocked Alice that this was the first thing out of his mouth after her tirade. And even though she never learned the name of the man who tried to kill her, she knew immediately who Toby was. Toby was the man who was hired by her husband to kill his wife. Priceless. Alice smirked.  There would be a few more questions to ask. But she would wait. Watching him squirm was the very least she could do.

“Did you kill him?” Stephen asked, looking like a child being reprimanded for touching the crystal horses in an antique store.

Alice smirked again. “We have money, Stephen,” she said, calm. “So, why?”

Stephen stood up and began pacing on the deck. Overhead, a large cloud was growing heavy and gray. There would be rain, no doubt. “I’ve been in trouble for the past eight years,” he started.

Alice settled into her chair, wishing she had another glass of port.

Stephen continued. “Big trouble. With guys that don’t play around. Guys that don’t wait to get their money back.  In an act of desperation, I took out a life insurance policy on you. Two million dollars, and then I would be clear.”

The first drops of rain splashed onto Alice’s arms. She looked up and saw that the whole sky was now covered in thick clouds, set to burst at any moment. But a little rain would not stop his confession. She intended to get the rest of it out of him. What she didn’t expect was what he told her next. And much like the heavy clouds overhead, her entire world was about to burst.

TagsRelationshipsEric Carasellawritingfictionshort storycreativitycreative writingfamily
Previous Article

Found – Part Eighteen

Next Article

The Taste Of Red

0
Shares
  • 0
  • +
  • 0
  • 0
  • 0
  • 0

Eric Carasella

Eric Carasella is a freelance writer and novelist. He loves really good coffee and well-written thrillers. He can't wait to get your feedback on these stories.

Related articles More from author

  • The Jazzy Chronicles
    CreativityFamilyFictionHomeEntertainment

    The Jazzy Chronicles: Chasing My Tail

    July 15, 2019
    By Tish MacWebber
  • RelationshipsLifestyleFictionTravelPoliticsCultureEnvironmentEntertainmentCreativityFamily

    The Hand That Steers A Kingdom – Part 9

    August 3, 2020
    By Lorelei
  • The Jazzy Chronicles
    RelationshipsFictionHomeEntertainmentCreativityFamily

    The Jazzy Chronicles: Bat Cat

    November 18, 2019
    By Tish MacWebber
  • sand dunes
    FantasyCreativityFiction

    The North Wind – Part 5

    January 9, 2023
    By Emma Foster
  • A poem about the hands of a painter
    MediaCreativityFictionPoetryDesign

    The Painter’s Hands

    December 16, 2019
    By Patricia Harris
  • Hore Abby
    CreativityFamilyRelationshipsFictionEntertainmentCultureHistory

    The Grave of Valkyries – Part 1

    April 4, 2022
    By Lorelei

Leave a reply Cancel reply

You may be interested

  • lighted oil lamp in dark room
    LifestyleCultureCreativityPoetryEnvironment

    Communion

  • red leaves, trees,, leaves falling
    CreativityPoetryMemories

    Autumn Falls

  • Divorce and Dating
    CreativityFamilyRelationshipsFictionEntertainmentRomance

    Divorce And Dating And Other Disasters At Age 40: Part 19

Timeline

  • March 20, 2023

    The North Wind – Part 9

  • March 20, 2023

    Youngster

  • March 20, 2023

    Parenting My Way With No Regrets

  • March 20, 2023

    Cracks and Holes

  • March 20, 2023

    Until Forever, Part One

Latest Comments

  • Jill Grinnell
    on
    March 13, 2023
    Lovely

    I want to fly

  • Ritu Anand
    on
    March 13, 2023
    Thank you so much Vikash.

    I want to fly

  • Vikash Goyal
    on
    March 13, 2023
    Beautiful writing!

    I want to fly

  • The Different Types of Science Fiction - E. M. Sherwood Foster
    on
    March 11, 2023
    […] My serial publication The North Wind at Coffee House Writers! Part 1 is here. […]

    The North Wind – Part 1

  • A Beetle Called Bertha, is in this week’s Coffee House Writers Magazine – Ivor.Plumber/Poet
    on
    March 6, 2023
    […] Hello dear readers and followers, I now write for “Coffee House Writers” magazine on a ...

    A Beetle Called Bertha

Find us on Facebook

About us

  • coffeehousewriters3@gmail.com

Follow us

© Copyright 2018-2022 Coffee House Writers. All Rights Reserved. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s administrator and owner is strictly prohibited.