Access to the beach house on Martha’s Vineyard was the one and only perk of this little arrangement with my father. The bar was empty except for a few drunk college kids and a fisherman named Bud. I tossed back shot after shot of tequila, washing it down with a corona or two as I shot the shit with Bud for a while. Bud had an eye patch and was missing two fingers on his left hand. We got along great for a while, but as the night went on the tequila brought out the pirate jokes and Bud was less than amused. The bartender called me a cab and I slurred some vague directions, which luckily the driver seemed to understand enough to get me to the right place. I tossed a twenty through the window and stumbled out of the car. I shifted my bag on my shoulder. I may have been too drunk to drive, but I wasn’t too drunk to remember my luggage. I made my way up the stairs. The house was dark, but the glow from the landscape lighting was just bright enough for me to be able to make out the shape of the key pad.
What do You think about Choosing Happy (Madison Square #2)?
