Keaton Island
My morning bike ride will take me to town, where I’ll pick up sourdough bread and assorted produce from the CSA share.
I hear laughter before seeing them. Around the curve, in matching red Adirondack chairs, their gazes are fixed on Keaton Island.
I stop and ask if they are on vacation.
“Our daddy vacations here every summer,” one of the honey-blonde beauties drawls. “That’s his place, out there.”
I smile. It’s not my place to argue.
I buy two apples for the ladies and stop on my way home — but they are gone.
Her photo, dated 1942, flutters in one chair.
[103 words]
Nice to be back to FF after blogcation.
Buster Keaton summered in my home town for years. He had two sons, but in my story, I gave him two daughters. I like to think that Keaton still vacations here.
Rochelle Wisoff-Fields is the host of Friday Fictioneers.
Tao-Talk 
Beautiful written ❤️
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Thanks, Maggie :)
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Perhaps they never existed?
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May be! The daughters he never had but wanted. Thanks for your comment, Neil.
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Dear Lisa,
Good to see you back. I’ve noticed the absence of your presence. Intriguing story that makes one gasp at the end. I loved Buster Keaton….and your story.
Shalom,
Rochelle
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Rochelle, thanks for noticing my absence and for welcoming me back. Glad you liked the intrigue of my story. Yes on Keaton, he was a class act.
Shalom,
Lisa
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