Long live the Friday Fictioneers~
The Caribbean sun warmed the salt-scrubbed planks of the boardwalk as Frankie trotted to the beach, tail wagging. Just before the sand, he stopped and scanned the beach, looking for his master. Seeing no one, he lay down in the shade of the tall palm and waited.
* * *
“There’s Frankie, out under his palm again. 7:30, just like clockwork.”
“He’s faithful, is he?”
“Seven years running; ever since Jim left to circumnavigate the world. His boat disappeared in a storm and everyone gave him up for dead.”
“I guess no one told Frankie.”
“He wouldn’t listen if they did. He believes.”