copyright The Reclining Gentleman
Waiting for Hubby
“Aren’t you cold out here, Grandma?”
“No.” She stared out at the monochromatic sea, ruffled by a chilly breeze. “I’m just waiting for my husband. He should be here soon.”
Poor Grandma. Her mind was adrift, like a ship becalmed on a foggy sea. I didn’t have the heart to tell her Grandpa was ten years gone and buried.
I was just leaving when the sea erupted in spray and a huge man emerged.
Grandma caught my look of shock. “My first husband . . .”
She laughed. “That water lily? No, this is Njörðr.”
Good on you, Grandma. Good on you.
Long live the Friday Fictioneers~
Copyright Renee Homan Heath
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.”