Short Fiction: A Walk in the Morning

The plane landed on the uneven asphalt runway just as the sky was turning those magnificent colors she had always associated with sunset on a coast. Pinks, oranges, yellows, blues––the variety and patterns of the colors seemed to hold the promise of adventure for the next six days in Central America.

Karen had to admit to herself that she was a little nervous: There could be sudden coastal storms or disease-carrying mosquitoes or maybe even twenty-first century pirates. But Roger and she had decided months ago that this beach would be their destination––a warm climate away from the hectic pace of their jobs. For Roger, it offered a rich variety of tropical flora and fauna to photograph. Karen planned to enjoy the sun, walks on the beach and, generally, a peaceful week with Roger.

By the third day they had a routine. Roger got up early for his first walk of the day, camera in hand, and returned for a leisurely breakfast with her. Next, they would explore a new path, returning to the cabin for lunch and afternoons on the beach sitting or lying on the warm sand.



On the fourth day, Roger wanted to show Karen an elaborate hanging nest. He had spotted it from the path that morning when a multicolored bird flew past him. Karen followed him with her shirt collar pulled up and closed, looking at the ground to avoid stumbling over vines and wondering if this nest would be abandoned or inhabited. Before they reached a position where they could see details of the nest, Karen’s right foot hit a stone, which had clearly been cut or carved. While Roger was taking dozens of photographs of the nest, Karen’s eyes were following a line of similarly carved stones. Roger turned and saw that her attention was not on the nest but on the ground. She called to him to follow her as she took in the direction of the series of stones. When they arrived at the last visible stone, Karen stopped and studied the ground.

“Someone has been digging here recently,” she said. Could it really be buried treasure or, worse, had someone wanted to hide evidence of a crime? 


“Should we try to see what is buried here or go back to the cabin and report it to the authorities?” she asked Roger.

Without answering her question, Roger found a large piece of bark that could serve as a shovel and started to dig. After a few minutes, Karen took a turn and pushed dirt aside until the bark-shovel scraped against a surface. Excited, she put down the shovel and used her fingers to find the edges of the object. Now on their knees, heads together, they pulled out a jewel-encrusted box.

Karen’s eyes were wide with wonder. Is this really happening? Take a deep breath.
“Will you open it?”

“Let’s do it together,” he answered. Slowly, cautiously, the box was opened. Inside, a bright green velvet cushion and on the cushion––a small box. Roger picked up the box, opened it, took out the ring and asked Karen, “Will you marry me?”

––Ann Jaeggi