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“She is. She’s a little nervous.”
“She shouldn’t be. Hi, Donna.”
“Hey there. I made you cookies for the trip, Sonya.”
“Oh, that’s so nice.” Neighbors, she thought. There’d be no one living next door where she was going.
“I’m going to miss you and Bill.”
“Likewise. I don’t care if the Queen of Sheba moved in next door, she won’t be as sweet as you. You have a safe trip.”
“Thanks. Thanks so much.”
“Don’t start watering up,” Cleo muttered, “and get me started. This is day one of Sonya’s Amazing Adventure.”
They loaded the suitcase, the box, the bottle, then just held on to each other.
“Since we met, you’ve never lived more than ten minutes away.” Sonya pressed her face into Cleo’s hair.
“Text me when you get there.”
“I will. I will. I have to go before I do a lot more than water up. I love you.”
“Love you right back. Embrace the change, Son.”
“I’m going to try.”
But she kept the image of her friend, waving with both hands, inside her head and heart and she drove away.
She’d topped off her gas tank the night before, so she wouldn’tneed to stop. Then stopped anyway due to a nervous bladder and a gnawing need for more caffeine.
Though her stomach churned too much to risk a cookie, she sipped a Coke and let the GPS guide her.
The landscape changed as she drove into Maine and shifted to the coast road. She had the ocean, sandy beaches and rocky ones. Little towns that struck her more as villages.
Forests, space. And, she couldn’t deny, beauty.
She’d been a city or suburban creature all of her life. And though she found the inlets, the bays, the endless stretch of the Atlantic amazing, the sturdy charm of seacoast towns fascinating, she wondered how she’d manage.
No quick runs to the market. No impulsive trips to a local restaurant or bar. No friendly neighbors next door or kids riding bikes down the sidewalk.
She had to remind herself she wasn’t a coward—and never had been. But the nerves kept jumping under her skin.
At just over the three-hour mark, she drove into the town (village? hamlet?) of Poole’s Bay.
Charming, yes, propped on its finger of land into the bay. A bay silver under the leaden sky. Clapboard buildings—white, colonial blue, soft yellow—ran up and down what the GPS called High Street.
Buildings with covered porches and shutters, some with smoke curling out of chimneys.
She spotted a restaurant called the Lobster Cage, another called Gino’s Pizzeria.
She wouldn’t starve.
She spotted a bookstore, called exactly that: A Bookstore.
People moved along the skinny sidewalk in their heavy winter gear.
She was out of town again in less than a minute, and promised herself she’d explore the other side of the village, the side streets, the bay.
