Georgia and Lennie WC 290

A Perfect Day

It’s a perfect day: sunny, slight breeze, 74°. Delightful.

My sister, Georgia, and I set out on the walking trail along the riverbank about 20 minutes ago. Every few feet, Georgia stops. Her head bounces around like a bobblehead doll.

“Georgia, when you're on a walk, you’re supposed to walk!”

“Lennie,” she says, ample hand clamped over my mouth, “We are being watched.”

“So what?”

My sister suffers from diagnosed paranoia—among other things I’ll leave unmentioned. Granted, we had a messed-up childhood, and it took me 45 years to achieve mental health—but I did! I’m pretty sure.

We live with our parents, who are, at the moment, missing. Georgia said they went to Vegas but that’s news to me. I think she had something to do with their disappearance.

“I'm walking,” I say, and continue down the trail.

Georgia hurries to catch up.

“Lennie, there is a man with binoculars standing on the bridge watching us. Me!”

“Bird watching, I'll bet,” I say and continue walking.

Georgia follows, grumbling and mumbling.

As we approach the bridge, I see the bird watcher. There are two men with him. Cops.

“Georgia Stanton, we are taking you in for questioning in the murder of your parents,” one of the cops says as he hurries toward us.

I guess Mother and Father aren’t at Ceasar’s Palace gambling. Perhaps they are buried in the basement. It seems an anonymous tip led the police to the crime scene and the perpetrator.

My fingerprints aren’t on the murder weapon, so I’m free and clear. But Georgia’s are.

“I’ll call our lawyer, Georgia. Be brave,” I say through crocodile tears.

After the squad car pulls away, I walk on. It would be a shame to waste a perfect day.