It takes him a few minutes to find the right bench, working in the dark with a flashlight. It’s further along the road than he remembered but once he finds it, he turns off the light and lets the darkness and the sound of the waves wash over him. He runs a finger lightly across the inscription. He doesn’t need to see it to know what it says, “In loving memory of Tim Barnes, who loved this view.”
“There’s some irony for you,” he thinks. He really did love this view and now the only way he can experience the place is in darkness. He thinks of his ex-wife, newly wealthy with her half of his life insurance pay-out and newly married to a man who thinks, like the rest of the world, that Tim is dead. He’s sure that the inscription is her idea of a sick joke, cleverly disguised as the love of a grieving widow.
He lets out a long sigh. He’ll have to be gone come first light, but for now Tim is content to sit and listen to the waves crash on the beach.
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