A sudden blast rocks the earth and lights the night sky.
Joyce jumps up from the sofa and runs outside. She stands by her husband, one hand on his shoulder, the other cupping her eyes, trying to focus on an object almost immediately overhead. “There! Do you see?”
Trevor instinctively slides his hand into his pocket for the camera as a second explosion outlines the Long Island village and harbor in a reddish glow. Later, they will hear of the tragedy in detail from the television news’ anchors, about the hundreds of lives lost, about the debris scattered for miles over the Atlantic.
“It isn’t fireworks, is it, hon?” He reaches out to her, and she hears the camera fall from his hand and skid across the patio tiles.
“No,” she says, drawing closer to him, trying to erase from her mind the vivid image of her husband boarding an early morning flight. “No, I don’t think it’s fireworks at all.” (804 words)
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And There Was Claudiaby Paul Alan Fahey