This week’s photo prompt is provided by Louise from The Storyteller’s Abode. Here is my story:
From The Houseboat
When Flora died, on an abalone dive, everyone in town thought Sid would eventually move past his grief and anger. Month after month and then a year or more, Sid would sit on the deck of his houseboat looking into the village. His gaze was set upon the bookstore Flora had owned.
Sometimes, friends would sit with him. “I motioned for her to come up and she pushed me away,” he’d say over and over again. Sid’s diving friends, the only real family he’d ever known, would shake their heads and pat his shoulder and become sad with him.
“She was already dying ,” a friend, Melissa, whispered on one of those nights.
Everyone was tipsy on cheap Spanish champagne. Sid, who’d been bringing a wine glass to his lips, stopped moving. He stared at Melissa. “What?”
And mostly, that’s all anyone ever said about Flora’s death again.