52 - Maeve
Last night’s storm had left puddles of water on the pier’s parking, and the wood boards of the deck were still slippery. They would dry fast under the Saturday sun.
Kathleen would march and protest past midday, then she would have lunch with her WEA friends. On her way back, she would stop for groceries, and fresh pastries that she would distribute to “her” team on the beach. Like a real mother, she had told me to dress up warm, because the weather would be picky in the afternoon.
On the marina’s docks, Stanley was checking a mooring post cable. I’ll never understand those knots, and there’s no Scout in my DNA. I debated walking back the whole length of the pier to the marina quay and say hello to him. It wouldn’t be abusive, would it?
Then I decided against it, and leaned a
