K is for Kill Devil Hills

Look at me! I got my story done early today! Woohoo! ๐Ÿ™‚

BTW, all of these stories have been fiction. While I may steal one bit from my own life, as writers tend to do, these have all been fictionalized accounts. Thank you as always for reading. If you want me to pop by and read a particular posting in your blog, please put the link in the comments and I’ll be there. Happy Thursday, y’all!


That Boy of Summer

There are rules to summers in a beach town:

Grocery shop at odd hours.

Enjoy your home on Saturdays.

Thrive in Septembers.

Ray wants me to break rule number two. My text laughs at him: Are you kidding?

The roads on Saturdays in the northern outer banks are parking lots. Going anywhere means sitting in your car for a stupid amount of time to go 10 miles, sometimes over an hour to make the 13-minute trip. Not the way I want to spend my Saturday. Not to mention the disruption to my lazy reading time.

โ€œPlease, Tish. Itโ€™s important.โ€

My heart skids. โ€œAre you dying?โ€

โ€œChrist, no. Itโ€™s your sister.โ€

โ€œIs my sister dying?โ€

โ€œTish, just get your ass here.โ€

Worried, I decide to bike the 17 miles north. On the bike path I am literally speeding by the cars parked on Highway 12. No one except for Ray would have gotten me out today, not even my sister, who I hadnโ€™t even begun to forgive.

When I get there, sweaty, thirsty, anxiety roiling in my stomach, both Ray and Kara step from their cottage, her hand on her belly, and I know instantly why they dragged me here.

The knife in my back turns, again.


end 4/12/2018

Sascha Darlington

12 replies »

  1. Ha! This was great. I’m a fellow OBX’er myself. We stay on Ocracoke, but make it all the up to Currituck for lighthouse tours every other year or so. You’re right. Do not drive 12 on a Saturday. You’ll regret it. ๐Ÿ˜ƒ๐Ÿ˜ƒ

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