Ava Galbraith
He sat on the rusted park bench. His crisp pants crinkled at his waist and disdain flittered across his face. The dust settled; his linen suit now had pinstripes. The Rolex ticked away the seconds until Mark would have to return to his office and the phone buzzed angrily in his front pocket, scolding him for not working through his lunch break. He was a very important man who had better things to do than sit and gaze at an algae-infested pond plagued with mosquito larva. The fish would be happy. His security unit stood behind him. The bodyguards’ eyes stalked the housewives who shrilly complained about their lackadaisical husbands. The men looked far too eager to use the guns hidden by their jackets. Mark glanced at his watch; she was late.
He sneered at a passing family, their pace quickened and the baby in the stroller gurgled. Happiness always vexed Mark. Maybe it was because he was raised by nannies while his equally important parents jetted to fashion shows and enjoyed their infidelities. Something about the naivety of joy made his gut churn. He would not have kids. Children needed love and kindness. The family stopped; their path blocked by a person whose entire personality was defined by the color yellow. Mark stared at the woman who occupied the baby.
She cooed at the child and smiled appraisingly at the parents. Her teeth gleamed and her eyes twinkled with happiness. Mark’s mood brightened as she made her way over toward him. She wore a sunflower-print dress, her auburn hair messily pulled into a low bun, and a floppy, cream-colored hat shaded her flushed cheeks.
“Lovely couple, adorable child. Did you see his little button nose?” She plopped onto his lap; her hands wove into his neatly styled hair. She giggled at his grimace. Mark adjusted her so that her legs dangled over his. “I want one.”
“What?” The always-put-together Mark was a flustered mess when she was with him.
“A baby.” She babbled.
Her smile grew when a dusty red spread across his cheeks. Mark would give her anything, even if it meant going against his promise. His hand drew small circles on her creamy thighs. She would glow, pregnant with his child. His other hand crawled up to squeeze her plushy stomach. Her laughter pierced the air.
“Stop! You know I’m ticklish there.” She nuzzled her face into his shoulder, her breath wisped around his throat.
“After the wedding, I’ll make sure you get everything your heart desires.” He felt her puckered lips lightly skim his neck. Her lipstick would stain his bleached shirt, leaving her mark.
“I have to get back to work. Will you pick me up afterward?”
She leaned away from him. Her big doe eyes widened slightly as she peeked at him through her lashes.
“Always.”
His chest rumbled and he felt the surge of his possessiveness for the woman in his arms. She stepped away from him and her hips swayed as she drifted off.
“Bye, lover boy.”
“Goodbye, Sunshine.”
Mark looked up at the sky, his eyes blurred slightly, and pain seeped into his chest. When he looked down he was no longer sitting in the park. In front of him was a large grave marker, Sunshine etched neatly in the stone. Empty bottles of whiskey littered overgrown grass at his feet. His suit was crumpled and covered in stains. He was tired. She had been gone for a little over a year, yet she still plagued his dreams.
“I’m sorry.” He had gotten attached and his emotions had all gone awry, his thoughts muddled.
In the car at the entrance of the graveyard, a little boy with auburn hair was startled awake by a gunshot.
Ava Galbraith dives into characters’ psyches and uses a stream of consciousness to tell stories. Her work has been published in Ripples In Space, The Dewdrop, Finding the Birds, and San Joaquin Review. She competes in equestrian show jumping and enjoys emerging herself in foreign cultures. Ava lives in Tucson, Arizona.
