Rory awoke to a gentle hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake. "We're here," a brunette young man in the driver's seat whispered softly. Rory's hazel eyes flickered open, and he yawned. He was disoriented at first until salt air entered his nostrils. Rory reached into the backseat for his duffel bag.
"Thanks for the ride," he remarked, stepping out of the Ford truck.
"Take care of yourself and be careful," the musician said, smiling pleasantly. Rory smiled back, thanked him again, and watched as he drove away. He was here, and the ocean stretched out in front of him. He spotted a wooden bench on the boardwalk and sat. The next step was to find somewhere to stay.
The cosmos seemed to be against him because all he heard was "I'm sorry," and all he saw was heads shaking. The growling sensation in his stomach compelled him to halt his quest for a home and locate something to eat. A bell rang as he entered through a cafe entrance and sat in an unoccupied booth. He reached for a menu and reviewed his options. A blonde woman in her thirties moved forward, took out a notepad, and asked, "What would you like, dear?" producing a pencil from her checkered apron.
"A Diet Coke and a blueberry muffin," he said, selecting the cheapest things on the menu. The waitress said, "Your meal will be right out," and went away.
As Rory waited for his order, he saw individuals pass by through the window. His duffel bag sat next to him on the seat. When the waitress returned, he was shaken out of his thoughts. "If you need anything else, just ask," she replied, setting his food before him. He thanked her and returned his attention to his dinner.
"Excuse me, would you know anyplace that rents rooms?" he inquired as the waitress approached.
"I'm not sure," she responded. "I can ask around," she added. Rory lowered his gaze and shook his head. "It's okay," he said. "Thanks for the meal," he replied, getting up to gather his luggage. He paid and left the café.
Rory sat on the wooden boardwalk seat, breathed softly, and watched birds fly in the distance. He had bought a newspaper and searched for rental offers without success. He was frustrated but decided not to give up. The clear blue sky gradually faded into gold and scarlet. Rory trembled as the formerly warm air became frigid on his bare skin. He slipped into his light jacket and positioned himself beneath the boardwalk. He sat motionless and watched as a bird landed a few feet from him and wandered around. Exhaustion crept in. "I'll try again tomorrow," he reasoned before closing his sleepy eyes.
The rest of the week was spent following the same schedule. Rory would have his customary order at the cafe, then seek rentals before sleeping under the boardwalk. Rory came to the cafe on a rainy Sunday morning, soaked. He shuddered and sat down at the table. Rain dripped from the tops of his bangs. Kara, the usual waitress, observed him, poured a cup of coffee, and approached. "Here, this should warm you," she remarked, setting the cup in front of him.
"I didn't order this," he said, but she waved him away with a smile.
"It looked like you needed it," the redhead said.
Rory sipped his coffee and said, "Thanks" quietly to Kara. Kara agreed, saying, "I'd stop sleeping under the boardwalk; it's dangerous at times," before returning to her job. Rory mulled over her advice. Was he going to regret his decisions? Two days later, he ended up living in a home rental above an art studio. Rumors suggested it was due to Kara's influence. The flat was not spectacular, yet it felt like home. Rory sat down at the little kitchen's round wooden table, grabbed a pen and paper, and began writing a letter. Daniel's face occupied his thoughts as he wrote.
Hi, Daniel. You might be going out of your mind, wondering where I am. I'm sorry, but I needed to leave. When I returned home after answering the phone, my father beat me. He has been cruel ever since Mom died. I realize I should have told you, but I didn't want to burden you. I live in Ridville, a coastal town. I'm progressively reclaiming my life. I'm not coming back, yet I miss you. Don't worry; I'll keep you posted on my progress. Take care of yourself. Your pal, Rory
As he mailed the letter, Rory prayed silently, "Please allow this letter to reach my friend safely." That night, he made cheeseburgers, which both he and Daniel liked. One day, he sat at his normal table, drinking coffee. A sketchbook was open in front of him. Kara, who was attending to customers, observed. Kara waited for the cafe to settle down before approaching Rory. "Hi, I saw you drawing," she said. "From afar, I saw how good you are." "It's just a hobby," Rory explained. "I'm not that good," he said. Kara furrowed his brow and said, "Don't sell yourself short." "You are better than you think."
Rory reflected long and thoroughly on what Kara had said. Could his artwork be more than a hobby? Is he qualified to go public? Perhaps it's worth a try. One day, he went to the art studio. He went around and examined each piece of art. He paused and sat on a bench, taking out his sketchbook. He drew his final recollection with Daniel. Rory was so focused on what he was doing that he didn't hear footsteps approaching him. "Are you here for the opening?" a foreign voice inquired. Rory bolted upright, and his sketchbook fell to the floor as he slowly turned around. A salty-haired man appeared before him. "Um, I was only looking," he mumbled, gathering his supplies.
The stranger's dark blue eyes were intense as he examined Rory. Rory gulped, said, "I'm sorry for intruding," and stepped back. The man's eyes softened in response to Rory's sudden shift of attitude. "I didn't mean to scare you," he explained softly. "Are you the tenant from the apartment?" he was asking. Rory nodded slowly. "Yes, sir," he whispered. "My name is Zeke," the man stated. "And you are?"
"Rory," he answered. "Rory Reyes," he explained. They talked for another hour before Rory looked at the clock. "I better go; nice meeting you," Rory said.