A Good Day for a Long Talk
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A Good Day for a Long Talk - Steven Phillip Scott
SCOTT
Copyright © 2019 Steven Phillip Scott.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
ISBN: 978-1-4834-9872-0 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-4834-9871-3 (e)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2019902590
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 03/08/2019
A Stranger’s Walk
Enough, Continuing the Stranger’s Work
Two Couch Cushions and a Big Smile
FRED
Aunt May’s Bed and Breakfast
J.C. 2020
CHAPTER 1
A Nice Fishing Spot
The sun is just starting to peek through the trees in the cool, crisp Georgia air when the glassy lake is disturbed by a splash. The culprit is a ribbon-tail worm, amber-colored with rigged wheedles.
A tall man stands on the shore holding an open-face reel, his eight-foot, medium-stiff rod suspended oh-so-gently in the air. He slowly brings it down so that it just barely touches the still water. His finger gently holds the twelve-pound fishing line in hopes of feeling the slightest tug.
He’s an older man, two weeks from turning seventy-five. Six-feet tall with peppered, short hair and a silver goatee, the man is still in decent shape. He wears old military fatigues with a field jacket. In his pockets are extra hooks, worms, lead, and a pair of needle-nose pliers. He’s seasoned, for sure, but a gentle glow emanates from him, causing passersby to smile just a bit.
He’s doing what he loves, and he’s been doing it for a long time.
As he slowly makes his way around the edge of the pound, constantly casting his reeling back in with an up-and-down motion, he reaches his favorite place to sit: an old park bench, weathered and resting under a water oak tree in perfect range of the lake.
He notices that someone else, a man, is sitting there quietly, enjoying the cool morning. The man has been watching him fish.
The seated gentleman is dressed in white. He’s elderly but has no distinct features to speak of. He has a medium build, dark skin, and a trimmed, black beard that matches his hair. He’s wearing sandals and is sipping on what appears to be a nice cup of coffee, his legs crossed.
Mind if I join you, sir?
the fisherman says as he approaches the man on the bench, who brings his coffee cup to his mouth.
The man on the bench uncrosses his legs, slides over a bit, and says, Oh, yes, by all means. It’s your bench. I’m just lucky enough to share it with you this fine Georgia morning, Mike.
Mike isn’t surprised that the stranger on the bench knows his name. A slight smirk comes over his face. He leans his fishing pole against the old oak tree behind them and sits, taking a deep breath. With both hands on his legs, he pushes back slightly on the bench, making himself comfortable.
Man, sure can’t find a better view,
Mike says, trying to start some small talk.
No, you sure can’t,
the stranger says. I’ve always enjoyed this spot. Sitting here, listening to the birds and squirrels rustling around. The fish hitting the water. They’re so active right now. Seems like the cool air gets them all wound up.
The stranger looks slowly over the lake, from right to left.
Mike takes in the view, unalarmed. A sense of calm fills him. He slowly looks down, a slight smirk on his face.
The stranger looks over at Mike. I knew you wouldn’t be,
the stranger says.
You knew I wouldn’t be what?
Mike asks.
Scared or confused.
The stranger looks at the lake in front of them.
Mike nods his head, and a big smile replaces his smirk. He looks down at the lake’s shoulder, not looking at the stranger. So, it’s finally time, huh? I’m ready. No regrets. Thank you for a wonderful life. I’ve always tried to do my best.
I know you have, Mike. That’s why I’m here,
the stranger says as he reaches down and places his hand on Mike’s. You’ve never wavered, never doubted, and you really did try to be a good person. You are a good person, but as you know, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, and good people go there every day.
Amen,
says Mike, smiling.
Mike, I’ve come here today to reward you,
the stranger says.
Reward me, sir?
Mike says, shaking his head. I don’t deserve a reward. I haven’t really been what the good book calls a ‘faithful subject.’ I’m just glad I’m going up instead of down.
I sat right down beside you, Mike, and you didn’t bat an eye. You knew all along that this day would come in one form or another. You believed in me and my son from the beginning. You never doubted your salvation. You traveled the world and showed people that the golden rule can still apply. You truly care about people and want to do the right thing. I made you special, Mike, and I knew that when you accepted me, you would do great things, even if you didn’t have a chance to see it for yourself. Mike, you’ve done a lot of good in this crazy world. Don’t sell yourself short. I’m proud of you.
Sir,
Mike says, I’ve traveled all over the world. I drank, smoked, laid with women out of wedlock. I did what I wanted to do, not what you commanded me to do.
Free will, Mike,
the stranger says. "That’s one thing I can never change. The one gift I gave mankind that separates them from all other creatures. I could never make you love or believe in me. You did that on your own. If you hadn’t, I wouldn’t be sitting here today. Mike, I made you. I knew how you would be. The only thing I wasn’t sure of was whether or not we would spend eternity together.
The stranger continues. I know that times are different today, but that’s why I sent my only son to you. So humanity would have a way to me. A way to repent. Do I approve of everything you did? No, but I knew you would do them. You might have been a little wild, but you always had a good head on your shoulders. And you always asked for forgiveness. I knew you would calm down and do great things for me in your own way.
A warm feeling runs up Mike’s arm, emanating from the stranger’s hand.
"You said it yourself, Mike. No regrets. I can’t blame you for being who I created. For living the life I put out in front of you. What I can do is show you all of the good you did by touching the lives around you. In the only way that you, Mike, could. No one else. Mike, do me favor and close your eyes."
Without hesitation, Mike closes his eyes, a smile on his face. He tilts his head back and feels the warm sun hit his face. Suddenly, things jumble in his mind.
First, a vision of a hospital. He hears a baby crying down the