Dispatched
"Is...is it ... done?" she whispers. A two-minute story.
Dispatched
The atmosphere of the cove is redolent of juniper and of decayed seaweed; an onshore breeze rushes the surrounding cedars. In the aftermath, the two sisters wrestle the dinghy back across the narrow strip of shingle; they pull it into the wild blueberry bushes. Ruth carefully wipes down the rails, she dries the oars and tucks them away neatly in the bottom of the small boat. Lila goes back out to move the pebbles about with a broom, to leave no trace of their night’s work. A single buoy sounds in the distant fog as the marine layer begins to slide in. It’s nearly daybreak.
The two younger sisters step out of the creel shed, timorous and trembling. “Is … is it … done?”
“It’s done, Shelly. You’re going to be fine now. We’ll all be fine. You’ll see.”
“You cleaned the boat?”
“Don’t you worry about that. We cleaned it and we put it back exactly as it was. So let’s just go now. There’s nothing to hold us here any more. He’s gone. And I promise you, no one’s going to look for him. Not one person will give him a second thought. Let’s just say that in the state of Maine today, there’s one less mean and evil bastard.”
A couple minutes in the cove at dawn, if you like…
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Thank you
at for the evocative boat photo.
Sounds as if justice has been served, cold.
Neatness is a virtue. )))