The Harbour Wall

Roscoe arrived wearing the coat Veda had told him to bring, just as her phone announced that the harbour launch would not be sailing.

“The skipper’s cancelled,” she said. “Wind at the mouth.”

He looked past her to the strip of water visible between the houses. “It looks quiet from here.”

“That’s why he’s the skipper.”

“Fair.”

She had bought two tickets for the afternoon trip because she wanted to show him the estuary from the water without turning Morrow into a pleasure boat. Friends were not spare crew, and her working boat was not set up for romantic passenger excursions. The launch had its own skipper, passenger arrangements and decisions. Today its decision was no.

Veda felt a foolish amount of disappointment. She had imagined standing beside Roscoe at the rail, pointing out the bend where the light changed, letting him see something that could not fit into a…