A short story by R. Craig Lord

  She washed the glass and the plate. Careful not to slip. The plate with the blueberry pattern had been her mom’s. Mom had lived twenty years by herself. She placed them in the drying rack. No need to run the dishwasher. She gazed out the window to the harbor below. The setting sun had turned the sky into a mixture of pinks and purples. The incoming tide carried with it the smell of pines and salt.  A lone mooring ball bobbed up and down.

  “Tides changing Paul. Looks like the wind is picking up. I hope you checked that mooring line.”

  “Ah sweetie, thanks for being concerned, but I think she’ll hold.”

  “Remember when Finnerty’s boat got loose. I looked up and there she was headed for the mud. No one in sight.”

  “I remember that too. It was all hands on deck. We both got a little muddy that night.”

  “We took our clothes off in the dooryard. I nearly froze to death.”

  “Turned out to be a pretty great night as I remember it.”

  “One of our best nights, dear. Wrapped in a blanket by the fire. You were always there to keep me warm.”

  “The pleasure was mine. Forty years with you. Who could ask for more?”

  “I do. I do every day.  Anyhow tonight I am going to finish with your clothes.”

  “Not going to watch the Sox? You love the Sox. The clothes can wait.”

  “I like the Sox because you liked the Sox. If I don’t fold your clothes they never will get folded.”

  “Ah, watch the Sox. It will be like old times. And turn up the heat, it’s cold in here.”

  “It’s your rule Paul. The heat doesn’t go on until October 15th.”

  “C’mon Marie splurge a little. I want you to be happy.”

 “You made me very happy. Very happy. But things still have to get done. I’m going to fold those clothes.”

  “Ok, but leave the game on. You can come down and watch it when you’re finished.”

  “I will, but I’ll never be finished.”