Time for Dessert
The couple sits on their front porch every summer night. Although the view remains the same, they never tire of it.
He says, “Feels warmer this evening.”
She nods, pulls the sleeves down on her sweater. She can never get warm enough. “Look at the size of that ship.” She points.
“Gosh, I didn’t think they let ships that large on the St. Lawrence.” It’s the primary reason why they moved to such a remote location. He loved boats, water, and all the outdoor activities associated with them. Well, he’d also burned through most of their friends by retirement age.
They sit and watch activity on the river. A bee buzzes at the screened door.
“Are you ready for dessert?” she asks. “Fresh peach pie.”
She goes inside and he stares at her rocker’s motion, hypnotized. He sets it to an old favorite melody. From the kitchen he hears the familiar sound of plates clinking, the microwave beeps. He sees a fancy motorboat toting a teenaged skier.
Tomorrow, he thinks, I’m going to get up early and go fishing. All by myself.