Love,
Abigail
On Friday morning at 8:00a.m.Louisa stamps Abigail’s letter. She has given up on her book math because she doesn’t like the way the numbers are coming out. Her new plan is to start the day with some exercise—she’ll do something active in the morning, thus getting her creative juices flowing. For her first adventure she has chosen Ash Point Preserve.
She checks on the members of the household one by one. Claire is eating a yogurt on the back porch. Matty and Abigail: still sleeping. Her mother is up and dressed, reading thePortland Press Heraldin the dining room while she drinks her coffee. No, she doesn’t mind at all if Louisa goes for a walk but would she mind taking Otis with her? “He’s got energy to burn,” she says.
Otis, sleeping deeply under the dining room table, doesn’t look like he has energy to burn, he looks like he wants to slumber until noon, but Louisa rouses him anyway. Sneakers on, out the door, and she’s lifting Otis’s big blond hindquarters into the back of the minivan when Abigail comes running across the yard.
“Where are you going? I’ll come with you,” she says.
Louisa shakes her head. “Not this time, sweetheart. I’m just taking Otis for an outing.”
“Why can’t I go?”
“You’re not ready, and I’m leaving now.” Abigail is sleep-tousled, still in her jammies. “I bet you haven’t eaten or brushed your teeth.”
“I can be quick. And I won’t take up any room. I’ll walk very small, I promise.”
But it wasn’t the physical space children took up—it was the mental space. The children could roll themselves up small enough to fit inside a peanut bar jar and still their presence—their delightful, infuriating Abigail-ness or Claire-ness or Matty-ness—would be bigger than a lion’s. Louisa needs to think through some of the broad themes in her book, she needs to figure out how to make the Seventh-day Adventists as relevant as #MeToo.
“Next time, okay? Do something with your brother and sister. I’ll be home before you know it.”
“Matty only wants to do things withHazelnow!” cries Abigail. She crosses her arms over her chest.
“With Claire then.” Louisa climbs into the driver’s seat and lowers the window so she can wave at Abigail.
“But Claire’s just a baby.”
“She’s wise beyond her years. Give her a shot. I’ll see you soon. Granny or Pauline can get you some breakfast.” She waves and watches Abigail’s small disappointed face grow smaller in the rearview mirror as she crunches over the gravel and up the hill.
Ash Point Preserve is only four miles from the house and yet somehow Louisa has never stopped here. She passes the elementary school, and the community center, and the tiny airport. She almost drives right by the small parking lot for the preserve—blink and you miss it. She pulls in, and who does she see parked two cars over? Mark Harding!
“Hey!” says Mark. “Fancy meeting you at this preserve.”
“Mark! What are you doing here?”
“Same as you, presumably. Walking? It’s my day off. Also, looking out for birds. Last time I was here, I saw a northern harrier.”
“Wow,” says Louisa. “Imagine that!” She pauses. “Is that good?”
“Verygood. I’m a bird-watcher now, if you can believe it. I’ve been looking for quite some time for a northern harrier. They’re elusive little guys. Do you like birds?”
“Sure,” says Louisa. “Birds are good.” Otis leans against Louisa’s leg and pants, reminding her not to forget him. She points and says, “I got assigned to walk the dog today.”
“Otis,” he says, formally. “Also nice to seeyouagain.” Otis’s plume of a tail waves back and forth like a fan. “Do you want to go together? Or were you hoping to be alone?”
She thinks briefly of Abigail and feels guilty. But Abigail is not a grown-up.
“Together,” she says.
The walk is easy, even for Otis, who is no endurance athlete. It’s a flat trail bordered by trees on both sides. Spruce? Fir? Birch? Honestly Louisa isn’t sure. For most of the walk the path is framed by a low stone wall, the stones covered with moss. Tree roots are everywhere. Louisa trips on one and Mark catches her by the elbow, saying, “Whoops-A-Daisy.” (Whoops-A-Daisy?thinks Louisa. This is something a grandfather would say. What happened to the teenager with the Whaler?)
In no time at all they’ve reached Penobscot Bay, and even though, yes, this is the same water Louisa sees every day from Ships View, she never tires of it, and it looks different from this angle. Louisa unclips Otis’s leash and remembers the collapsible water bowl she packed. She fills it from her water bottle and offers it to Otis, and he drinks until it’s empty.
“It’s so quiet here,” says Louisa. “Nobody is asking me for a single thing. Heaven.” She runs her hand along Otis’s soft side. Is thisa betrayal, saying these words? In case it is, she says, “I love my kids. Of course. But everyone needs a break sometimes.”
“Your kids are great, Louisa. So funny and smart.” He stops for a long moment, looking at the water. “I always thought my life wouldend up more like yours. Loud family. Kids everywhere. What’s it like?”
