The small, wooden boats lined the riverbank in a neat row exactly as Ken remembered, waiting for hire by visitors suddenly overcome with the urge to take to the water.
Ken ambled along the path, keeping one eye on the river. Then he saw it and stopped short: the very spot where he and Muriel had picnicked before she had asked him to take her boating.
Of course darling he had said, knowing she couldn’t swim. Faking an accident on the river would be easy.
Ken jolted awake, his hopes dashed as Muriel snored peacefully by his side.
This post is in response to Charli’s ‘river’ prompt for her weekly Flash Fiction challenge, 99 words, no more, no less.