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  Superior

  By

  Nicholas antinozzi

  Published By: Nicholas Antinozzi

  Copyright © 2013 by Nicholas Antinozzi All rights reserved.

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Stan Goobash smiled as he caught his first glimpse of Lake Superior in the purple morning light. Northbound and nearly alone on Interstate 35, despite the hundreds of times he had driven this stretch of road, Stan’s eyes darted back and forth from the road to the harbor. Stan’s eye fell on one of the great ships as it crept through the mist and headed to its birth. With Marie asleep in the passenger seat, Stan’s ears popped as the freeway neared the bottom of the hillside. The race was over. Up ahead, Stan could just make out the Duluth skyline and the skeleton-like shape of the Ariel Lift Bridge.

  In a wisp of fog, Stan exited at Lake Avenue and took Canal Park Drive toward the lift bridge. As if they shared an intimate secret, a pair of joggers waved to Stan as he approached the bridge. Stan smiled and waved back. Two hours from now, the city would be awake and Canal Park Drive would be clotted with holiday traffic. The tires of the Dodge hummed as they crossed the steel grating of the bridge. Marie’s eyes popped open and she straightened up in her seat. “That didn’t take long,” she said, stretching her arms and arching her back.

  “I’m glad we left early,” said Stan.

  The bridge led to Minnesota Point, known as Park Point to the locals, a narrow island that protected the harbor from the wrath of Lake Superior. Park Point was seven miles long and the Goobash family cottage, which had been in the family for three generations, was on the lake side. Wrapped in redwood and topped with a cedar shake roof, the cottage, with its four turrets and many dormers was actually a three story house and one of the grand old homes on the Point. Stan’s grandfather, Norman, had nicknamed it the cottage to irritate the locals. Stan nosed the Dodge Charger into the driveway and parked in front of the garage.

  Cautiously, Stan disarmed the security system, unlocked the house and stepped inside. The year before, the house had been burglarized and while not much had been stolen, it had left an indelible scar on Stan’s memory. The hardwood floor creaked beneath his feet as he walked into the living room, tastefully decorated with a nautical theme. Stan pulled back the drapes and gazed out at a pair of freighters waiting to get into the harbor. The cottage had been shut up since Memorial Day weekend and smelled like it. Stan quickly opened a few windows before he returned to Marie, who he had left back at the car.

  They wordlessly unloaded the car and after a light breakfast, they headed up to their bedroom for a nap. While Marie was in the bathroom, Stan studied himself in the full-length mirror. He was of average height and neither handsome nor homely; a thin, nondescript man of thirty-three with shaggy black hair and a bookish demeanor. He desperately wanted to add twenty pounds of muscles to his lean frame, but he hated the gym and his doctor told him each year that he was the picture of good health.

  For a few precious hours, they had the house to themselves. Stan’s brother, Butch, would be there by noon and drinking until the last of the fireworks had ended the 4th of July holiday. Butch’s wife and caretaker, Jada, would pretend to be amused, but Stan knew she wasn’t happy in their marriage. He couldn’t blame her. Butch was a raging alcoholic and as handsome as he was, it didn’t make up for his many shenanigans.

  The four of them were supposed to go diving that afternoon, if Butch could stay sober that long. He was like a one-man party these days and he was a bad influence on Marie, who became a big drinker whenever Butch was around. Normally, Marie rarely touched alcohol. On Memorial Day weekend, Jada had privately speculated that she thought Marie was in love with Butch. Stan had scoffed at the idea, but it had stuck with him like a shadow.

  Marie had just turned thirty, but she still had the fresh face of a college freshman. A willowy, freckled blonde with bright blue eyes, she and Stan had been engaged for three years. If Stan had his way, they would have been married by now, but Marie continued to push the date back and he had grown tired of bringing up the subject. He watched her as she undressed for bed, slipping one of his t-shirts on over her bra and panties. A curvy, yet athletic woman, Stan had trouble keeping both his eyes and hands off of her. And while Marie had the looks of a vixen, she had made it a habit of keeping him at arm’s length. She made it clear to him from the beginning that she wasn’t a play thing. If she wished to be intimate with him, she would let him know. Sadly for Stan, those times were growing more infrequent by the week.

  Stan watched her as she crawled into bed, but promptly rolled on her side to face the wall. “Wake me up by ten,” she said.

  “Sure,” replied Stan. He then turned away from her and closed his eyes.

  Ten hours later, Stan and Jada stood inside the cottage watching Butch and Marie as they frolicked out in Lake Superior. The normally frigid water was uncommonly warm, especially for early July, and the long beach was full of sun worshipers. Stan was dressed in his swim suit and a white cotton t-shirt. The suit was still damp.

  “Look at her,” grumbled Jada. “She’s in love with him, I can tell. And you know what, Stan? I’m pretty sure he feels the same way about her.”

  Stan shook his head, but only for show. Marie’s sluggish attitude had instantly changed from the moment she set eyes on Butch. He and Jada had arrived an hour early and Marie and Butch had started drinking a minute later. Dinner had come and gone, but neither of them had bothered to eat. Stan stepped closer to the window and shook his head. “For crying out loud,” he muttered, “they look like Barbie and Ken out there.”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, Stan. Do you believe me now? My God, do they have to paint us a picture? What are we supposed to do about them?”

  Stan scratched his head. He had no idea what to do. Butch could be mean when he drank and he outweighed Stan by forty pounds. The last time the two had fought, which was years ago, Stan had ended up with two fractured ribs and a black eye. Butch had played three years of college hockey at UMD and had the well-earned reputation of being a scrapper. Marie was normally reserved, but Stan knew that all bets were off as soon as she drank her third beer. “I suppose we should go down there and chaperone them,” he finally said. “What else can we do?”

  Jada nodded and walked over to the door. Tall, thin and African American, she was a beautiful woman with flawless skin the color of cinnamon. She wore her long hair tightly braided and Stan could only imagine how long it had taken her to get ready for their little vacation. Jada worked with troubled kids in Minneapolis and was well-respected by her peers. She wore a conservative bikini top and a bright yellow sundress. He watched as she slipped on her sandals and Stan followed her out the door. They walked out onto the deck and into the early evening sunshine. The day had been hot, one of the hottest that Stan could remember. He stared out at Marie and Butch and groaned. Holding their beers, they were standing up to their waists in the blue water, waves ebbing up to their shoulders. Butch handed Marie his beer and he quickly lifted her on top of his shoulders.

  “This is bullshit,” Jada growled. “I don’t care what he says, this party is over.”

  “This is going to get ugly,” said Stan. “You know that, right?”

  “I’m divorcing him, Stan. I won’t deal with this.”

  Stan groaned. The lake and beach were full of people; many of them were neighbors, people he had known for his entire life. There was going to be a scene, but there was nothing to be done about it. No doubt, many of his neighbors were already talking about Butch and Marie’s scandalous behavior. With a heavy heart, Stan followed Jada down the stairs and across the hundred feet
of beach that separated the cottage from Lake Superior. Butch had carried Marie to the beach and he set her down. Now, they seemed to be running up to meet them. For a moment, Stan thought they might avert having a scene on the beach. One of the neighbor kids tossed Stan a football. Stan pretended not to notice.

  “Butch!” shouted Jada from twenty feet away. “I want to talk to you!”

  Butch and Marie were standing over their cooler and grabbing fresh beers. Stan watched as Butch pointed to his ear and shook his head.

  “Butch!” roared Jada.

  “We can’t hear you!” shouted Marie, giggling. “We’re going back into the lake. Don’t wait up!”

  “Yeah!” howled Butch, stabbing a finger back at Stan and Jada. “Don’t wait up!”

  Stan turned away, but only to see the faces of his stunned neighbors. They politely pretended not to see what was happening. Stan knew better. He watched as his muscular brother and his curvaceous fiancé spun around and headed back into the lake.

  “Oh, hell no!” shouted Jada and she bent down to unfasten her sandals. She glared at Stan as she stripped out of her sundress. “You can stand by like the village idiot, Stan. That’s up to you. I’m not putting up with this crap.”

  “What am