14 - Maeve
Maeve
The Friday after my accident on the beach, I sat alone at the kitchen table, the orange tub of pills that the doctor had given me sitting on the counter. There was no printed prescription, but I was supposed to take three a day.
One this morning, one at lunch, one to go.
The chemical war still raged in me, but the army of antibiotics was making slow progress in reclaiming my injured knee. Most of the remaining nematocyst’s poison had been metabolized by now. I could walk for a few minutes on the covered porch without the crutches.
I had expected life in a small town to be restful. And, in a way, it was: the seedy B&B on the street had no comings and goings that I saw, and the houses for sale were empty, one with the windows boarded up. Only four streets from the bustl
