33 - Kathleen
It seemed I hadn’t wept in centuries. Not since the earth clumps falling over my daughter’s grave, not since waiting on my widow’s walk for a husband who would never return to the port. I had endured, battling against the neglect, against the fish farm, the industries pissing black waters…
And here I was now, as the day slowly turned into dusk, bawling in front of two children. Their low whispers mingled with the waves and gull calls.
When I opened my eyes, the beach babe was kneeling in the wet sand in front of me. There was a light in her eyes that I hadn’t noticed, or maybe a reflection of the setting sun. She was alone. I didn’t see her sunglasses-wearing boyfriend.
She had changed into cotton shorts, and a Tee marked U of T (whatever that T meant).
“Are you hurt?”
