Klempner - Twenty-Six Years Ago
She’s gone.
What now?
I stare out of the window of the apartment I bought for her, overlooking the harbour with its yachts and pleasure boats, ice-cream kiosks and artsy-craftsy shops. Sunshine glints outside on the water, gleams on fresh paint, blue and white, and on polished timber decks, then spills into the room. But there’s no warmth in it. Tugging my jacket around me, I hiss as pain stabs through my hand. Gashed flesh swollen and heated, seeps blood.
I should dress it…
…
Later…
I thought I had it.
I thought I had her.
I really did.
…
…
It’s so cold.
Walking through to the kitchen, I limp a little where my ankle twisted as I fell…
Would he really have run me down?
… then clumsily, working with one hand, I make coffee, splashing in a hefty
