SATURDAY

 

 

 

The strangest thing about the night of the beach fire was how ordinarily the day began. The bright blue sky, clean of clouds, and the whitewashed walls reflecting the heat back into the startlingly clear day.

The atmosphere felt holiday-ish, bright and shiny as a freshly minted coin.

Too good to be true.

Perhaps that should’ve been the clue. But we missed it.

For all the mistakes we made, we couldn’t have known then – in the blazing heat of morning – that hours later, one of us would kill.