The crumpled tissues bunched in my hand were damp and near-worn through. I was unconsciously carrying them as I stumbled forward towards the water's edge. The sand embedded itself between my toes and I reached over without looking to toss off my convenience store flip flops. I didn't care where they landed. The beach was empty. This late in September, on a mid-morning Tuesday, the coast was deserted. Waves crashed against distant boulders spotting the landscape. Dried sea oats blew on the breeze and I found myself perched against a black rock, toes just inches from the tideline.

Dabbing my eyes with the edge of a ratty Kleenex, I collapsed my head into my arms and slumped over in defeat. When I had arrived, my 2009 Ford Focus coughing and choking in protest, the sun was nearly overhead. Not anymore. Now it had ducked behind some clouds that were rolling in from the East.

Even Mother Nature is in a sour mood this morning, I thought to myself.

Gazing to my right, I noticed a tipped over lifeguard stand leaning against the edge of the boardwalk. It sits patiently, waiting for someone to come along and tuck it in somewhere dry and warm for the winter. To make sure it is safe and cared for.

Unlike me.

I had nowhere.

I had no one.

Maddox was gone.

He'd left me.

I'd love to tell you that the trollop was an exotic young beauty, with thick-flowing, brown hair and rose-cheeked dimples. Or, a blonde bombshell, one with brains and a knock-out body. Or he could have even left me for some sexy redhead full of spunk and mischief. That I would feel better about. Not great, but at least better.

He didn't, though, and that was the kicker.

The woman Maddox broke up with me for is ten years our senior. Her hair is highlighted with gray, and it falls in a mountain of curls that rival a ball of yarn tangled by a kitten's paw. Cassidy wears glasses, is 40 pounds overweight, and has a limp. Her hobbies include smoking, making her own moonshine and collecting cats.

It's petty, immature and ugly to judge Cassidy like this, I know. Give me a break, though, she stole my husband! I need something to make me feel less small and she gives me nothing to work with.

Cassidy can cook.

And she makes a mean apple pie.

Her sewing skills are off the hook, and she can keep a home like no one's business. Cassidy's floors are spit-shine spotless, and Maddox's slippers are waiting for him by the front door every night when he arrives home (or so he bragged).

Did I mention that Cassidy used to be a massage therapist? Oh, yes! She gives Maddox nightly rub downs after his hard days at work.

Well, lah tee dah. Isn't that nice?

How do I know all this?

Because the wedding invitation they sent me in the mail prompted me to RSVP, and fool that I am, I couldn't resist reaching out to him directly instead of mailing back my decline.

When he picked up on the 3rd ring I should have hung up. Dumb ass that I am, I didn't. When Maddox answered, I got the full story. Heard all about their wonderful, whirlwind romance. Now that there's been some time between our break-up I suppose he thinks it's ok to gush to me.

WTF? Who does that?

The sad thing is, Cassidy's a really nice person. Ever since our divorce, she's done everything she can to make amends and to be kind to me. She truly has a good heart, (even if that little homewrecker did destroy mine!). I can't even hate her.

After our telephone call this morning, I felt like "Hello, asshole (that'd be me), and goodbye heart (mine)", all over again. Any hopes I had of Maddox and I rekindling our relationship are long gone.

It's my own fault, really. I should have known it would lead to this. I should already be over that bald-ass son of a-

I found them going at it in the back of my Ford Focus for Pete's sake! Why they would even wanna attempt doing that in my little car is beyond me.

But I digress. Obviously, I still haven't gotten over things.

So much for that pipe dream.

Resolved, I looked around while nudging a stray pebble with the tip of my big toe before stretching over to pick it up. Swirled with pink, I admired its understated simplicity. So small, yet so lovely. Putting it in my pocket, I braced my arms against the boulder behind me and stood up.

Walking along the edge of the sea, I let the water on my feet lull the negativity out of my body and tried to clear my head. Aimlessly, I strolled about a mile down the shoreline before I noticed a man building a sandcastle in the surf. It was one of those droopy, drip castles you make with wet sand and no bucket or shovel. Its starts out thick at the base and narrows as you go up. Of course, they always crumble eventually, because they're build with wet sand on top of more wet sand, but when I was little they were meditative to make.

Somewhat unsure, and a little self-conscious, I approached the bearded man and tentatively greeted him.

"Hello," I said with a half-smile. "What'cha doing?"

He looked up at me and squinted. "Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nope," he replied. "Just taking a pause."

"Sounds...interesting," I commented, looking back towards the way I had come.

"It's not," he commented back to me.

I frowned and squatted nearby, but not too close. "Then why-"

"Why indeed?" he smiled, giving his attention back to the beach.

"So, you're just chilling on the beach building sand castles?" Could the man be crazy? Then again, I chided myself, wasn't I the one sitting alone on the beach a mile back? Not his fault I picked up stones instead of building castles.

"Mind if I join you?"

He scratched the thin patch of peppered whiskers on his cheek and tossed his hand loosely up in the air. "Nope. 'sa free beach."

"Melinda"

"Ben"

"Hey, Melinda," he asked, fingers spinning slowly in the mote of water forming near his drip castle.

"Yeah?"

"You ever feel like the world doesn't make much sense anymore?"

I turned over to look at him and leaned my left elbow on my knee. Threading my fingers through salt-wavy hair, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before opening them again. I started digging a palm-sized hole of my own next to his mote, before looking out towards the ocean to reply. Sea gulls were circling seaweed-laced waves on our right. Clouds that had been gathering in the distance a short while ago, were slowly creeping closer.

I grimaced when my pinky fingernail tore on a broken shell buried in the sand. I pulled the offender up to adorn the side of Ben's castle with it. He didn't say anything; he was still waiting for my response.

Sighing, I reached into my pocket and grabbed the pink stone from within. When I placed it next to the shell, I made eye contact with Ben and answered quietly. "All the time."

THE END.

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