The Shore by Robert Dunbar

every year, storms take more of the beach,” Kit went on. “How much did the government spend trying to replace it? Just two years ago? And you can hardly find a trace of sand now.” She sighed again. “All right, so I came back. Why can’t I ever win an argument with you?”
    “Do we argue, my dear? I never noticed.”
    “It doesn’t prove anything. That I came back, I mean. Except that I’m crazy. When you grow up in a place…oh, I don’t know. Shit.”
    “I wish I could swear like that, dear. I never could. It just doesn’t sound right somehow, coming from me.”
    “My memories of Edgeharbor had a…a kind of halo. I thought it would be—must be—some little island of sanity.”
    “Peninsula, dear.”
    “Whatever. No crackheads. No gangs. I thought I could mean something here,” she almost whispered, “make a difference.” With a sudden gesture, she drew the curtains wide and laughed. “You really ought to start charging me for these therapy sessions.”
    “I never help you. Sometimes I suspect you only talk to me in order to hear what you’re truly thinking.”
    “Charlotte…”
    “For my part, I’m simply pleased you have a reason to come. It would be terrible if you received nothing back from our friendship.”
    Kit held up a hand to stop her. “I get plenty.”
    “Are you going to tell me now?”
    “Tell you what?”
    “My dear, you should see your face. Do you think I could know you all this time and not be able to tell when something’s troubling you? Has something happened?” Charlotte blinked. “Or have you been dwelling on thoughts of that young man again?”
    “Thoughts of…? Oh. No. Not really.” She considered how much to tell her. Her friend didn’t own a television, never listened to the radio, and in a real sense, Kit provided her sole link to the outside world. “There was a killing. But I don’t want you to worry.”
    “How terrible. Someone local?”
    “No. They…we think maybe the body was just dumped here, but I think it’s a good idea if I come and stay with you for a few days.”
    “I know you mean well, dear, and I do appreciate your consideration. Truly. But I’m afraid I can’t accept that offer. Please. Don’t press. I can’t explain just now. It’s simply important I be alone here. More so now than ever. But is there something you’re not telling me? Is there some danger?”
    “There’s no reason to think that.”
    “Then I’ll be fine. Is this what you wanted to talk about?”
    “Of course.” Kit looked away.
    “I sometimes suspect that young man’s suicide affected you more than you let yourself realize.”
    “You make too much of it, Charlotte. Besides, it was a long time ago.”
    “Not so long.”
    “And anyway it wasn’t my fault.”
    “Of course not.”
    “That has nothing to do with anything.” She chuckled. “What do you say we talk about your life? Just for a change, I mean.”
    “My life ended long ago. Now don’t argue. And I don’t refer to this wheelchair.” Charlotte’s attention flickered to a small silver frame on the mantel. “It’s all behind me—everything of importance, everything that’s ever going to happen. Except one thing perhaps. At times I suspect senility might be a kind of blessing. Don’t you agree? Though perhaps I won’t think so when it finally comes. If it hasn’t already. What good does mental alacrity do me? My eyes won’t let me read anymore. I simply dream and wait…”
    “I only hope when I’m your age—”
    “You’re a good girl, Katherine.” Charlotte interrupted her with a smile. “Nurturing. Almost despite yourself.”
    “The hell I am. I’m a cop.” A damp draft lapped against her, and she returned her attention to the gently swaying curtains. Wintry shadows seemed to drift around the casement, and naked vines veined the window glass. Outside, beneath a clustering tangle of ivy, gray stone crumbled. In summers past, she’d seen vacationers stop and blink up at