Boats were out early on the big water. Bleary-eyed fisherman casting hopeful lines into the silver depths of the Columbia.
“That’s where my Swede would be,” my girlfriend said as I made a right-hand turn onto the bridge connecting Oregon to Washington. She blew a kiss at the shimmering silence that hangs between what was once and what is now.
“I had a perfect life,” she said. “I was so spoiled. If you had told me I would be spending the rest of my life alone, I would never have believed you.”