A story from James.

northwest journals

The days of the week lined up like buckets, ready to catch whatever fell in. The idea of such vast amounts of empty time intimidated her. On the nights leading up to her last day of work, Anne had a recurring dream of floating in a listless raft on an open ocean. Every time she crested a wave, she’d crane her neck to look for palm trees on the horizon. She felt Tom’s presence on the raft, always silent behind her. She woke up annoyed at the obvious meanings of her dreams.

She imposed structure to her days on her first day off. The habits of a thirty-five-year career on the police force couldn’t just be forgotten. She filled her mornings with cream cheese Danishes and spent her afternoons on the green or talking clubs with the guys at the Pro Shop until 7 or so.

Tonight she came home early though, threw her keys on the console table, and sank into the couch. Tom plopped…

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