The Sentries

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It was still raining.

There were no stars, no moon. A high keening wind sent dark clouds scuttling across the Miami sky, lashed the waters of the bay against the public dock where the man and woman stood in embrace. A twenty-seven-foot cabin cruiser was tied up at the dock behind them. At the far end of the dock a truck was waiting, its motor idling.

The woman was pregnant. She wore a loose black raincoat and white sneakers. A black kerchief was tied around her head, which she kept ducked into the man’s shoulder, away from the wind. The weather did not seem to bother the man. The rain was light, but the strong wind drove it across the dock in a piercing needlelike spray that was cold and penetrating; the man was wearing only khaki trousers and shirt.

From the truck someone called, “Jason, it’s a quarter to three.”

He did not answer. He simply nodded and then said to the woman, “Will you be all right?”

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