Sunshine Cove

Morning was dawning into an unframed work of art. Shades of pink and lavender, brush-stroked with a touch of aquamarine by nature’s artist, configurated a panorama across the endless gray canvas of the sky.

The night had been restless and seemingly unending. George tossed and turned, as was usual when major decisions were impending, robbing Marion of her restful sleep. He slipped out of bed at six-thirty, encouraging her to remain abed and perhaps become somnolent again.

Tiredly, he plodded down the stairs. His eyes felt half closed from his battle with insomnia throughout the night. Wandering into the living room, he gazed, bleary-eyed out the glass doors at the first light beginning to appear in the East. A new day. Would the bids on the house bring forth a decision to build in Sunshine Cove? Would Marion be happy here? Thought after thought raced through his already weary mind. Was it a new beginning for them? His mind continued non-stop. He was still standing there, hands in the pockets of his robe when Marion, unable to return to the arms of Morpheus arose and joined him in watching the sunrise.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she spoke almost reverently. “The first appearance of the sun peeking over the horizon. The dawn of a new day”.

“I was just mulling over the same thought,” he said putting his arm around her and brushing her hair with a kiss.

‘What time are we supposed to meet with the firms of Lawson, Thomas and Calhoun?” he chided stretching his body full length to ward off the drowziness.

“Let me think,” she said, playing at deliberation. “Lawson is about Noon, Thomas at Three and the cocky Beau Calhoun at Four o’clock. I would say, that today, we have a schedule bordering on the hectic.”

Showering and dressing leisurely, they walked down to the Marina for breakfast. The coffee shop had a casual ambience with rugged captain’s chairs upholstered in blue leather, complimenting the heavy, round pine tables. Wafting through the small room, the aroma of bacon sizzling and freshly brewed coffee titillated their senses and whetted their appetites sufficiently for them to eat heartily. Satiated, they were glad for the walk back to the car in front of the Condo.

“Let’s just look at one model home by each builder,” Marion pleaded. “That should give us some idea of their construction, right?”

George started the car nodding affirmatively. “Here,” he said, digging into his jacket pocket. “I have the addresses they each gave me. Did you bring the map?”

“Have it in my tote bag.” As Marion reached for it, he asked, “What’s the first address?”

“416 Chickadee Court, that’s Lawson’s house.”

“Following the map, they drove along the main road, past the Country Club to the second street on the right. “There it is, that awful looking, drab blue house. The one with the Model Home sign in front. It’s not very large, is it?” her voice was very low with disdain.

“Hell,” George exclaimed. “I’ts only pressboard and not plywood construction and it has one of those damn cheap fireplaces. Remember, they were beginning to put them in some of the new homes in New Jersey to cut down on the cost. Looks like this fellow is doing the same. Well, we’re here, might as well go in.” Inside, their glum expressions at the disappointing exterior turned to disillusionment. “Jesus,”

George swore vehemently, “I can’t believe the shoddy workmanship in this house, inside and out. How the hell does he expect to get a contract from us when he sends us over here to look at this so-called model home. If this is his best, spare me the rest of them.”