He Divorced Me On Our Anniversary
I do because arguing with Ruth is pointless and because I actually am hungry for a few minutes the kitchen is just sounds forks scraping plates, the coffee machine, Keenan tapping his foot like it has a mind of its own.
When we finally leave, Ruth drives her old truck rattles down the narrow coastal road, windows rolled down, salt air blowing in, hair whipping around my face.
Keenan sits in the front seat, staring straight ahead like he is preparing for battle instead of a bookstore opening.
When we pull up in front of the shop, my breath catches it’s small but it’s beautiful.
Soft blue paint big front windows and a simple wooden sign hanging above the door that reads:
HARBOUR LIGHT BOOKS