The Year of Guinness

By Lourdes Carvalho

It was the year of Guinness. I entered a new highschool as an eighteen year old after taking a two year leave of absence to care for my daughter. I met Guinness in English class. He’d fallen asleep in the seat directly in front of me. I poked him in the back with a pencil to ensure he wouldn’t be hit with the wrath of Mr. Bellows. Guinness introduced himself to me when the class was over.

That’s where it all began. Over the course of the year, our friendship would be tested. The discussion of love, lust, lies and self preservation are hot topics in this book. As the story evolves and eventually concludes, we learn that everything is not always what it appears to be. Through the bond of friendship, the characters find hope and strength and learn that money can't buy happiness.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: May 6, 2020
• ISBN: 9781728360881

Book preview

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Chapter 1

Guinness, wake up! I hear thunder, I said as I felt the yacht begin to rock from side to side. We’d fallen asleep, and there was a storm quickly approaching. The small boat named Starfish was securely attached by a rope to the side of the yacht. I watched the waves challenge Starfish to a fist fight. The lightning in the distance produced cracks that caused me to quiver. I knew we were in trouble.

Grab your stuff! We have to go right now, he yelled.

I scrambled to grab my clothing and sandals. Guinness snatched his backpack and the picnic basket. We left behind the remains of our time together. Empty plastic bags and napkins were strewn across the kitchen. A few bottles of seltzer water and soda remained in the red cooler. The wet towels were in a pile on the deck. Music could be heard between the unpredicted bolts of thunder.

The plan was not to leave the boat a mess. Our original intent was to spend a few hours on his parents’ yacht and leave no evidence that we’d been there. However, it didn’t work out that way. They’d eventually want to know what happened out there that adventurous day, and I didn’t want any part of explaining what we’d done.

Guinness, they are going to know! I screamed.

I don’t care, Lourdes. We are going to die if we don’t leave right now. I’ll take the heat, he assured me as he grabbed my arm and pulled me firmly into the little rowboat called Starfish. Put on this life jacket.

The distance we needed to paddle hadn’t been a problem when we set sail at nearly ten o’clock that morning, because the day started out calm and sunny. Without any wind, we were able to reach the yacht in just over thirty minutes. In a matter of seven hours, the weather had taken a turn for the worse, and we were going to have to pull every bit of strength from our youthful bodies to make it back to safety.

We each grabbed an oar and quickly got in sync. I learned how to row a boat in camp when I was eight. I needed to be swift to keep up with Guinness who was much stronger than I was. I remembered the words of my camp counselor who was more like a hairy female gorilla with thick glasses. She’d always said that I had to have both mental and physical strength to row a boat.

The dark clouds moved with a vengeance, covering any bit of sunlight we still had left. Cold rain pierced our skin, and the lightning bolts took their turn creating a dim path for Starfish. I could feel the wooden oar having its way with the skin of my palms. The salt water stung in the newly formed blisters that had already ripped wide open.

Lourdes, if you are a praying woman, now would be a good time to ask for something! Guinness shouted.

Lord, I’ve not been good, but I am begging you to allow us to live. I’m eighteen, Lord, with a daughter who needs me! Please have mercy on our souls, I screamed as the tears exploded from my eyes.

Blinded by the rain, I worked my oar like a professional. My dad always said there were no quitters allowed. Still in sync with the muscular young man beside me, I caught sight of the blood running down my wrists. A wave shook the boat and ripped the wooden oar from Guinness’s grip.

We are not going to make it, Lourdes!

Take my oar! You are stronger! I screeched as I leaned into the cold ocean water and paddled with my right arm. My breasts ached. I knew it was time to feed my child, but if we didn’t make it back, none of that would matter.

Push, Guinness! Row this damn boat! Everything we know about life’s on the line!

The lights from the country club were in view. We’d drifted almost a mile from where we began. I took deep breaths to try my best to remain calm and focused. I thought about my daughter Monica and who would care for her if I didn’t come home. We were either going to drown, or we were going to live. I prayed we had a story of survival to tell someday. Neither of us said anything as we made the final push to shore. We were running on straight adrenaline.

Guinness jumped from the boat and pulled it in. The blood from his palms was now visible. We locked eyes and bloody palms as we ran to the safety of the clubhouse. Soaking wet, half-clothed, and bleeding, we’d walked in on a large party. A man dressed in khaki shorts and a polo shirt cut through the crowd to get to us.

Guinness Walsh? Is that —

Yes, sir. We got caught in the storm.

You two are lucky to be alive. Do you know that? The gentleman asked, Should I call your father, Guinness?

No, we will walk home. The worst of the storm is over, and besides, my dad is in Italy this week, he said as he put his arm around my shoulders.

We lived, Guinness.

I know, and I fell in love with you today, Lourdes.

Don’t do it, I snapped. Do not fall in love with me.

I’ve never met someone with such a tough exterior. Someday you are going to have to let that wall down. You are worthy of love and someone to hold, someone to tell you it’s going to be all right. I can be that man. I want to be that guy, Lourdes.

I said nothing. Instead, I picked up my pace. I could see Guinness’s house. I wanted to get back, gather my things, and go home. We’d made a deal. We’d said that no matter what happened, he wouldn’t love me, and now he was going against the grain.

My heart was filled with warmth and gratitude that we were alive, but I didn’t miraculously fall in love with him. I was clearly attracted to both his intelligence and his appearance. I liked the way his flip-flops looked on his feet. I loved the way he pulled his long hair back in a bun and randomly let it down like a rock star. My heart swelled when I thought about how musically inclined he was. I caught my breath each time he looked into my eyes. Guinness stood over six feet tall and was a giant compared to my five-foot-three-inch stature.

He had the spark to generate an inferno, but I’d made up my mind. His assets would come as a royal entree on a silver platter for another woman. I started reevaluating the past twenty-four hours and deeply wondered if I had made a mistake. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d made a poor choice, and I was quite certain I wasn’t finished.

Back in middle school, I was the laughing stock of my peers. I’d been bullied, kicked down, laughed at, and put in detention so many times that I’d lost count. If it weren’t for those students who belittled me so well, I would have never met Guinness.

The summer after eighth grade I’d decided I wanted to go live with my mother who was in the next town over. I lived with my dad since my parents divorced when I was six, but I had one hundred and one reasons to want to leave the street where I grew up. I was a secret keeper of dark and ugly things. I was the protector of the guilty to save myself embarrassment. I’d become both weak and strong in different areas.

I was young, and I was searching for something better. I didn’t care about my bodily scars. The damage by that time went deeper than the naked eyes could see. I was careful to cover my left arm at all times to spare people the sight of my cutting addiction. I had secrets deeper than the holes in my sandbox where my brother and I tried tirelessly to dig to China.

My truths were my lies. I had a poker face and a deeply disturbed sense of the meaning of love. Moving in with my mom and stepdad Charlie was a saving grace from the students who’d bullied me, but nothing could save me from my own emotions. I felt dead before I’d actually had time to live.

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Chapter 2

My parents built a single-level rambler on Red Oak Lane in 1972. It was a time of Tupperware parties and door-to-door salesmen. My mom watched a man demonstrate how to use an Electrolux vacuum, and she bought one. Our home was immaculate. She took care of my brother Mike and me while my dad worked construction. Oftentimes the kitchen was occupied by a few neighbors who came to visit, smoke cigarettes, and drink coffee with my mom. I was happy. I had friends. And I felt safe.

Sixty-three children were born to the people of Red Oak Lane between 1974 and 1978. Our street was not a neighborhood, although it did have enough homes to be considered one. We really didn’t need a special name. The townspeople shopped at the same grocery store and went to the same Dunkin’ Donuts on Sunday mornings. There was one fabric store, two pizza places, several banks, and one hospital. Most of us were delivered there by the same doctor. We could count on a birthday party each month at somebody’s house on Red Oak Lane.

We were never lonely or bored. We played in the street and went in each others’ homes as if we lived there. My best friend was a boy who lived across the street. We would sit together on the couch while he’d read the TV Guide to me. He was several months younger, although we were both just four. I was still learning my letters while he was reading full books. I liked him because he was smart. I was excited that we’d ride the school bus together one day.

Something changed on Christmas Eve that year. It was a night that would have an impact on me for the rest of my life. Mom helped me bake cookies for Santa, and we grabbed a carrot for Rudolph from the fridge. She’d helped me wrap all the gifts that were for my dad from Mike and me. My stocking hung on the living room wall beside Mike’s. The bubbler ornaments on the tree burned bright red and green, and my mom had the stereo on low volume playing holiday music. While wearing pink-footed pajamas, I stood on my step stool in the bathroom to brush my teeth. My mom held my hair back as I used a Dixie cup to rinse my mouth.

Open up, let me see, Lourdes. Are they all clean?

Yes, Mummy! I giggled. I wanted to go to bed. The quicker I fell asleep, the sooner I’d see what Santa Claus brought for me. I’d asked for a doll that came with a diaper, a coloring book the size of myself, and some new records. My mom pulled back my pink blanket and top sheet. I hopped into bed and snuggled down with my stuffed bunny.

Good night, Lourdes.

Good night, Mumma.

She turned and walked to exit, leaving the bedroom door open. The nightlight in the hall was dim, but it was enough light to guide me if I had to use the bathroom. I tossed and turned as I listened to the music playing from the living room down the hall. From right to left I tossed. Whether on my tummy or on my back, nothing worked. I couldn’t sleep. My dad was framing up the basement, and my mom was his helper. He wanted to add a few more rooms to the house. They were working down there on Christmas Eve. I lay in my bed and listened to them talk. Every once in awhile one of them would laugh, and I’d smile. My parents were loving. They held, hugged, and kissed me on a regular basis. I loved them with everything I had in my heart.

The chime from the grandfather clock in the living room let me know it was ten o’clock. My grandpa taught me how to count the hour based on the amount of sounds I heard. A burst of light caught my attention as I lay facing the wall. My room was now partially lit as if it were morning, but it wasn’t. With my stuffed bunny in my arms, I rolled over to look at the door. There was someone I didn’t recognize in our house. I lay as still as possible as I stared into the eyes of a young boy. He was a bigger kid than I was, and I thought he might be a second grader. His brown eyes were staring at me. He had blond hair and freckles. The boy was clothed in all white. He was wearing a nice shirt, white pants, and a white jacket. I remained still as we got to know each other without using language.

I could still hear my parents in the basement. My dad was carefully tapping a hammer.

Lourdes, can you see me? the boy asked without ever moving his lips. I was hearing him talk in my head. He made no sound at all, but I could clearly hear him communicating with me.

Yes. I answered without using my mouth. I was talking from my brain.

I will show up in your life. When you see me or hear me, stop everything and listen. Do you understand?

Yes.

You are only four right now, just a child, but you must pay attention to everything you see and hear, Lourdes. You have a special job to do.

Ok, I smiled without voicing a peep.

As quickly as the light appeared, it was gone. I thought that boy was an elf sent from Santa. He didn’t look like the elves I’d seen, but I was certain he was working for Mr. and Mrs. Claus. I squeezed my bunny and rolled back to the wall. The room was dim, and I drifted off to sleep.

We were allowed to look at the gifts in our stockings, but we were not allowed to open the gifts until my grandparents arrived. My grandma and grandpa would sit comfortably on the living room couch and sip coffee as they watched us celebrate. I wanted them to hurry up. They only lived ten minutes away. I rifled through my handmade stocking, searching for tiny treasures.

Daddy, I saw an elf.

What da ya mean? he asked in a jovial voice.

In my door last night, glowing bright white. I saw through him, I tried to explain. My parents exchanged glances and looked at my two-year-old brother Mike who was sitting beside me on the olive green shag carpet.

Tell me more, Lourdes, my mother insisted.

I have to listen, Mumma.

Yes, you do. You need to listen to us.

To him, too.

They said nothing. They stared at each other and then back at me. Their expressions were different from anything I’d ever seen. That was the beginning of something special. We named him the elf that day, and he wasn’t going anywhere. He was going to show back up and send me messages. I shared those messages with my mom and dad. I didn’t keep secrets back then. I told the truth, and I knew I had to listen to all three of them. No secrets, at least for several more years.

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Chapter 3

I was five years old the summer our house went on the market. I didn’t know why we would leave Red Oak Lane because I was only a kid. I wasn’t supposed to understand adult decisions like that.

My paternal grandparents lived in the same town and owned acres of cranberry bogs. In order to water the bogs, a man-made pond was dug out at the rear of the property. My pop named it the water hole. He’d warned us to be careful down there many times. His words were drilled into my young mind like a mark on a well-cooked steak. The pump house sat to the right of the small pond, and my older cousins had built a small dock for leaping and diving into the water hole. I was not allowed anywhere near the dock. I had to be at least ten to stand on it. Grandma and Pop made that rule before my cousins, Jace and Kaiden, even started building.

Beach towels in a variety of bold textures and colors were scattered on the sand. My mom sat in a beach chair alongside several of her friends and one of my aunts. She sipped her soda from a pink can. I would ask to drink her Tab soda almost daily. The bright pink can had a hold on me, but my mom said it was diet and therefore not good for children. She said it would stunt my growth. I wasn’t sure why my mom drank diet soda. All the other ladies on Red Oak Lane drank regular sodas. My mom was a skinny lady, so I figured she must’ve just liked the flavor of the drink because I sure did.

A few large coolers and four picnic baskets were clumped together. We’d swim and play for a few hours and then eat whatever the ladies had packed. I hoped there would be either tuna fish or peanut butter and Fluff sandwiches. I liked all types of chips, but I especially liked the chips that came in the narrow red can.

Lourdes, you need sunscreen before you play. Stand still and put your arms out to the sides, she requested with authority. I stood there in my pink and green swimsuit as I got slathered in white cream that smelled like a lady with too much perfume on.

That’s enough, Mom.

Stay still, Lourdes.

When the painstaking process was over, I grabbed my red bucket and starfish-shaped sander. I was going to sift for gold just like the big kids did. I plopped to the ground just a few feet away from my mom. With the flimsy plastic shovel, I dug in the soft sand. It was warm that day but not overly hot. I was content with nothing to worry about. Before that day, I didn’t know what stress was. I hadn’t had to face a real life crisis since my birth. All I knew was that the world was a good place, full of sunshine and smiles.

As time passed, I felt the July sun on my back. I turned to look for shade, but nobody had an umbrella. My back was hot. I knew I could cool off in the water hole. I stood up and trucked off to the water’s edge. Without hesitation I walked in deep enough to cover my shoulders. The sand gave way beneath my feet with no warning. I had no time to block my nose. Water filled my mouth and throat. I flapped and kicked and suddenly heard a voice in my head that I remembered well. I had not seen or heard a word from the elf since December.

Lourdes, look up to the sun. Do not look down.

I continued to writhe under the water. I stared at the sun which was growing faint in the deep water. I watched a small turtle swim before my eyes. I witnessed an explosion of bubbles under the water and felt a firm arm across my belly. I was whisked up and thrown to the sand where I lay coughing up pond water. My mom was frantically checking me over as she thanked Jace. He had been standing on the homemade dock when I went under. He was paying attention at just the right time. Jace later described my descent as rapid.

My mom rubbed my back and draped my seashell printed towel across my shoulders. With her caring hands, she pulled my hair back, hugged me, and kissed the top of my head. I sat unimaginably still, replaying what had happened. Had I just faced death in the eye? What if Jace hadn’t been watching?

The elf talked to me, Mumma.

What?

He said to look at the sun and not down. I saw Jace make the bubbles when he saved me.

By mid-July, people began making their way through our house. They opened closets and looked at my bedroom. I didn’t like it. I wanted to live there forever, but my dad said we were moving to a bigger home. He said the Red Oak Lane house would be better for another family. I was concerned that my parents would leave some of my toys behind. I didn’t want them to forget my record player or the jewelry box that played music with the tiny twirling ballerina inside.

Mumma, why do these people come around at night when I’m in my pajamas?

It’s because the whole family wants to see our house, and they have to wait for their dad to get home from work.

That made complete sense to me. I was used to my own dad coming in late from work every day of the week except Sunday. My father ran heavy equipment daily and worked seasonally plowing roads and caring for the cranberry bogs. The cranberry bogs were cared for by our entire family. I was expected to be there during picking season even though I was too little to work. I got to play tag and other outdoor games with my cousins as the adults harvested. We would rinse fresh cranberries and eat them on the spot.

A good portion of what we ate contained cranberries, and it was difficult not to get burned out on the flavor. There were always cranberry muffins in the house as well as some type of cranberry relish or spread. Both of my grandmothers canned so we never ran out of those red berries. If we ever visited friends’ homes and they offered me the choice of cranberry anything or a different snack, I always took the other item. I got to the point where I’d eat stale ginger snap cookies over any recipe that included cranberries.

The cranberry bogs turned into something amazing when the temperature dropped below freezing. Because the bogs were flooded in the wintertime to preserve the berries and prevent what is called winterkill, they resembled ice skating rinks.

As a small girl, my mom would pull us across the ice in a plastic sled as she sashayed in white ice skates. She’d make a swift change in direction, and it would send the sled gliding gently into a circle spin. I’d hold on tight to my brother who was dressed warmly in a snowsuit as he sat in front of me. I tried to keep my eyes on my mom’s ice skates but the fuzzy hat on my brother’s head prevented me from doing so. My dad said the cranberries made money for the family. All I knew was that I hoped we took care of them forever because I liked wintertime and I desperately wanted my own skates.

The people on Red Oak Lane were well aware of our house being for sale. There was a general sadness amongst several of our closest neighbors. The adults were not the only ones who were upset. The children from under those roofs were also strangely bothered. I worried that I’d never see the boy who read me the TV Guide ever again. I was anxious that I would not play dolls with Jessica anymore. My body was dealing with an emotion that I’d not yet felt. I was scared and unsure. I didn’t want to go anywhere. I wanted to stay in the same house, on the same street, and go to school with the same kids. Fear of change had a fabulous hold on me.

We are going to dinner tonight, Lourdes, my mom announced as she pulled her hair back and inserted a shiny barrette.

When?

When your father gets home.

Where are we going?

He did not say, he just told me when he came home for lunch.

Why are we going?

My mother plugged her curling iron into the wall as she took a drag of her cigarette. She rested her smoke in a large green ashtray that was balancing on the ledge of the bathtub.

Lourdes, she said after filling the