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Fiction Short Story

by  Charlotte Dougherty

Maybe Next Year

The party at the boss’s summer home on Mason Lake was terminally dull. Doug Pierce, impeccably dressed in his corporate-casual uniform of khakis and polo shirt, hovered listlessly on the perimeter of the group clustered around CEO Everett Tucker.

Mr. Tucker, gray-haired and portly, held court with a cigar in one hand and a scotch in the other. When he delivered the punch line to yet another lame joke, everyone laughed. Doug wanted to gag. He told himself it was time for a walk.
 
He wandered the property and ended up on the boat dock. A warm breeze ruffled his thinning hair, but Doug didn’t notice. He was replaying in his mind an earlier conversation with his co-worker, Mike Carter.
 
“You have the experience to run the Garrison project, Doug, but so do others. It’s not enough. Get Tucker to notice you. Flatter the guy. Laugh at his jokes. Schmoooooze for God’s sake.”
 
Doug was terrible at schmoozing.
 
He pondered his options as a dinghy glided towards the dock.
 
“Hi,” said a small voice.
 
He looked down. A tow-headed boy encased in a life jacket and wearing horn-rimmed glasses was staring up at him from the stern of the boat.
 
“Hi, kid. Nice boat.”
 
The boy, who looked about nine years old, nodded as he brushed the hair off his forehead. It fell back when he smiled.
 
“My dad gave it to me.”
 
It was an eight-footer, with squared prow and a single sail. Doug sailed but hadn’t been on a boat in years.
 
A burst of canned laughter wafted from the terrace prompting a decision.

“Say kid, you wouldn’t want to take me out for a spin would you?”
 
“Sure.”
 
Doug situated himself in the tight quarters and introduced himself.

“My name’s Kyle,” the boy replied.

They shook hands, and Kyle used the tiller to maneuver away from the dock. He trimmed the sail and set their course for the beach club. As they passed the marina, Doug noticed the course markers in the water.
 
“Races today?”

Kyle shrugged. “Yeah.”
 
“I used to race my own boat when I was kid,” Doug explained. “I was pretty good.”
 
The boy’s eyes sparked with interest. “I’ve never been in a race.” He added, “Wanna be in one today?”
 
“What class?”
 
“El Toro…like this one. My dad and I entered, but he’s stuck in London on business, and Granddad is busy. They both said maybe next year.
 
Doug was familiar with the phrase. He said it constantly to everyone. Even himself. It was a convenient phrase that offered no commitments. Commitments that might get in the way of work.

Doug glanced at the boy and felt guilty. He knew ‘Maybe next year’ would probably be the first words his own child would learn if he ever found time to get married and have kids.
 
Kyle was waiting for his answer.
 
Oh hell, Doug thought. The party’s already a lost cause. “Is there a boat I can borrow?”
 
Kyle beamed. “My dad’s.” He swung the sail about and started towards the marina.
 
An hour later, they were in their boats jockeying for the best position nearest the starting buoy.

Among the six other competitors, all male, Kyle was the youngest and smallest. Earlier, three of the men boasted they would run over anyone who got in the way.
 
Kyle’s eyes were wide with second thoughts, but Doug took him aside.
 
“Let’s make this a strategy session. First: Ignore those jerks. Second: There’s not much wind so use your tiller if you have to, but don’t let anyone block your sail. And third: Remember to have fun. Okay?”

Kyle nodded, and Doug gave him a high-five.
 
By the time the bell signaled the start, a sneeze would have produced a stronger breeze. The sails flapped impotently as each of the competitors pumped their tillers back and forth in an effort to move forward.
 
Kyle’s weight became a big advantage. Because he weighed the least what little wind there was helped him the most. He inched ahead and was the first to make the north turn. A slight gust of wind allowed him to shoot even further ahead before it died away. By the time he crossed the finish line no one else was close.

At the awards ceremony, Doug cheered as the club president awarded Kyle the silver cup. The boy hugged his trophy proudly while a photographer snapped his picture.
 
They returned to Tucker’s dock, and Doug intended to rejoin the party hoping he hadn’t been missed.

Though he’d figured out early on that Kyle was his boss’s grandson, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of trepidation when Kyle scrambled out of the boat and let go with a whoop followed by, “Granddad, I won!”
 
Doug looked up to see the boss walking towards them. Mr. Tucker greeted Kyle with a pat on the head and shot Doug a quizzical look.
 
“Your grandson wanted someone to enter the race with him, and I went along,” Doug explained. “He’s a real competitor. Kept his cool and beat us all.”
 
Kyle piped in, “Doug told me how, Granddad. We had a strategy session!”
 
The boy’s glee was infectious and both men laughed. Mr. Tucker admired the cup and suggested, “Kyle, why don’t you show your grandmother?”

As the boy ran off, Mr. Tucker turned to Doug. “My party bored you?”
 
Doug detected the challenge in the man’s voice.

“Yeah. Life’s short and the jokes were getting stale.”

Mr. Tucker’s eyebrows arched before he exploded with laughter. “That’s the first honest comment I’ve heard today.” He shook Doug’s hand. “I like your style.”

Eyeing the young man with interest, Tucker continued, “You know, Doug, we have the Garrison project coming up. It’s big…really big. I’ve been looking for someone like you to lead it. Whaddya say?”

Doug shifted his gaze toward the marina while he pretended to consider the offer. “I’m going to pass,” he replied firmly. “I’ll be too busy shopping for a sailboat.” He offered an apologetic smile. “But hey, maybe next year.”


About the Author
Charlotte Dougherty was raised on the West Coast and currently resides in the NYC area. Her job as a business analyst for a Fortune 200 firm takes her around the world and her work experiences provide inspiration for much of her writing. Her non-fiction has been published in the Long Story Short Magazine and she recently received Honorable Mention in Byline Magazine’s Short-short fiction competition for another work inspired story, ‘Company Policy’.