The Table on the Boardwalk

                                 The Table on the Boardwalk

                                                                     by M.N.Curry

                                                                          The Custodian Dispatch

 Every morning at 6:12 a.m., Charles Finley arrives at a table on the boardwalk near a coffee shop, a cup of coffee in hand, an old photograph.

The photograph shows a young woman laughing as the surf breaks.

Her name was Eleanor.

Forty years ago, they planned to meet here after a misunderstanding that nearly ended their relationship.

Charles arrived.

Eleanor never did.

He waited for hours. On the way home, he tried calling her phone with no answer.

For forty years, he has carried one unanswered question:

Why didn't she come?

A young woman jogging the wooden path on the boardwalk begins noticing him.

Week after week, she sees him sitting there at the same cafe table.

One morning, curiosity got the better of her.

He wasn't reading, just staring at an old photograph. She asks why he comes.

Charles tells her the story.

The jogger listens.

You could see understanding in her eyes. She says very little.

Places her hand on his shoulder. Then she leaves.

Charles assumes that's the end of it.

The following week, she returns carrying a weathered envelope.

Her grandmother had passed away recently.

While sorting old belongings, she found a box of unsent letters and pictures; there was a photo that looked familiar

And one letter was addressed to a man named Charles Finley.

The date was forty years old.

The grandmother's name?

Eleanor.

Charles opened the letter with trembling hands.

Inside was a simple explanation.

Eleanor had been delayed helping a stranded family along the highway.

By the time she reached the meeting place on the boardwalk, he was gone.

She spent years believing he had chosen not to wait.

The misunderstanding changed both of their lives.

The final lines read:

"If somehow this finds you, know that I came.

I was late.

But I came."

The next morning Charles returns to the table.

For the first time in forty years, he doesn't bring the photograph.

He simply drinks his coffee and watches the sunrise rise beyond the surf..

As he leaves, he places a small plaque on the seat.

It reads:

Some answers arrive exactly when their meant to.

A passing jogger pauses to read the words.

Then continues on.

And somewhere, without understanding why, feels a little lighter.