island living and dying

The helicopter with the mainland crime scene people touched down in the big field just outside the rock wall that bordered Meredith’s three acres. Fortunately, the weather was clear and calm for late May.  Had it been the previous week when the purple storm flag was flying at the ferry dock— no boats that day—the island would have been cut off. No crime scene team. No mail, no Amazon deliveries, no prescription drugs, no milk, no newspapers, no visitors, no getting off-island. No contact. In the wintertime it was like that a lot, which was why so many island marriages got reshuffled by spring.  Relentless incestuous togetherness.

        It was full dark by the time they all left, to return in the morning. The body was packed up and taken to the airport to be shipped off island by twin engine to the medical examiners and then, presumably, the funeral home. Other than the cold rooms at the B.I.G. grocery store or the Red Bird liquor store, there was no place to store it overnight.