The water ripples from the center outward, as if something has smiled.
Clara stands up slowly. She doesn’t run. Running is pointless. The bay knows her. The bay has always known her. It has kept her family safe for three generations. It has kept her store standing through every hurricane. It has given her a quiet life, a peaceful death waiting at the end of a long, uneventful road. baysafe
The first thing you notice about Baysafe isn’t the water. It’s the silence. The water ripples from the center outward, as
The silence holds.
The fourth thing you notice about Baysafe—and this is the one that keeps Clara up at night—is the gratitude. Because Baysafe is safe. No break-ins. No fires. No car accidents. The last fatal car wreck was 1976, when a drunk tourist from Boston wrapped his sedan around a telephone pole. The last burglary was never solved, but the stolen jewelry reappeared on the steps of the police station three days later, still in its case. The town’s insurance rates are the lowest in the county. The children grow up healthy. The elderly die quietly in their beds, never in pain, never alone. Running is pointless