Edward watches, a little melancholy. He watches the fading sun and the bicyclers below, on the waterfront. He looks at the little locket in his
It is pretty unremarkable as jewelry goes: white gold; ivy engraved on
the lid; a short, matching chain. In fact, the only unusual markings are
inside, where the picture should be. There, scratched deep with something
sharp, are the initials "L.R.C." He squeezes the locket shut and looks up
She married him too young, both too young. He gave her this locket on
their one-year anniversary. Just a few days ago, he found it, lying alone on
her vanity, her neck long gone with the rest of her.
Edward looks down and follows the line of people passing beneath the
bridge, looking in particular at a couple stopping to embrace beside the water.
She looks much the same as she did a few days ago, before leaving the locket,
no note, nothing to explain.
"You ready?" says the young lady, surprising him.
"Absolutely," he replies, not looking at the locket, tumbling through the
air, sun chasing it into the water below.
First published: February 1997