Good Harbor

They would talk about their husbands and their children, their work and their bodies. Next week and the week after. Wet feet and dry feet, barefoot and shod, in heat and fog, and then bundled up against the cold.

With Kathleen’s dog racing ahead. With Buddy and Frank walking a few paces behind. With Joyce’s old friends, visiting from out of town. With red and yellow plastic buckets for the grandchildren, eventually. Together, at Good Harbor, they would see how it all turned out.