“It’s a half-mast morning,” he said. He yawned…his eyelids sank.
Not my fault, I told myself. No need to say more. Let it go.
“I’d be late, anyway. First cruise is early.”
The sheet across his chest bobbed gently like a slow wake in the bay. The gulls we know arrived for breakfast for so I got out of bed. His foot twitched under the sheet, and I looked at him with tenderness that roped itself tight around my heart: This morning’s colors were fully-hoisted now and his bent smile puffed part of name I didn’t know.
I wondered who she was this time.
I wondered if gulls would breakfast on human flesh if invited.
But what I did was pour a pitcher of cold water on his Jolly Roger.
Not my fault.
