LITMIR.BIZ

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woman who doesn’t like Maine, so Lester doesn’t come north much. He wants to move Lily to a nursing home down near him, but she’s having none of it. Said if she couldn’t die at her farm, the very least she could do is die in Maine.”

      “How sad.”

      “Yes,” Jim said. “Strange, how things turn out. If she’d married me, she’d never have gone into that nursing home. But then again, she wouldn’t have had this place, either. Hard to know which would’ve made Lily happier in the long run…” Jim shrugged philosophically. “Now, about groceries…”

      “I shopped in Bangor after dropping my daughter off at her father’s,” Annie said.

      “Well, there’s a good store right here in town if you forgot anything. The refrigerator and stove in the kitchen run on gas. I’ll arrange for monthly propane deliveries, if you like.”

      “That would be wonderful.”

      “There are lots of staples in the pantry. Things like spices and sugar and flour. Some canned goods. Lily loved to cook. You’re welcome to use anything in the cupboards.”

      “Thank you.”

      “Well then, I guess you’re on your own.”

      “I’ll be fine, Jim. And thank you so much for the tour.”

      “I’ll leave my card by the phone, just in case. My home number’s on it, too. If you need anything, just give me a ring. And I’ll leave you the key to the gate. I don’t think there’ll be many busybodies driving down, but it’s summertime, after all, lots of tourists cruising about, so if you want to lock it…”

      “Thank you, Jim. You can leave it open.”

      She stood on the porch that spanned the south side of the ell and listened until the sound of his vehicle was drowned out by the steady rumble of the wind in the stunted pines that stood at the peninsula’s edge. The sun was hovering just above the horizon and the colors of sunset painted the granite outcroppings and the sparkling Atlantic waters.

      Annie retrieved several grocery bags from the Explorer and found the one with the bottle of Australian pinot noir. She opened it, poured herself a glass and carried it outside, following the overgrown path through the grass that led toward the water. After a roundabout descending journey she came upon the boathouse, sturdily bolted to a projection of granite.

      The boathouse was locked, its windows tightly shuttered, so she sat on the edge of the walkway that ran alongside it. She sipped her wine and watched the waves roll against the pier, rhythmically raising and lowering great fluxing beards of seaweed that clung to the sides of the old stones. She watched the seagulls hover in the stiff breeze and the plovers explore the tidal pools along the rocky shoreline.

      For a long time she sat there, feeling the briny wind pushing cool and strong against her. Suddenly, for no reason she could have explained, she began to weep. She wept until she was exhausted, then she blew her nose, wiped her eyes, let her head tip back against the old silvery dock post, inhaled a deep, shaky breath—and smiled.

      JAKE MACPHERSON used the full weight of his body in an attempt to open the unlocked but badly jammed door of the cabin after several manly kicks with his booted foot had failed. Amanda watched in silence. One heave did nothing at all to budge the door. In the movies, the door always gave on the second heave, but Jake reconsidered as he rubbed his offended shoulder and took several tentative breaths around the dull ache in his chest. It would be unwise to aggravate his wound. He never, ever, wanted to see the interior of a hospital again.

      “The door’s stuck,” he reported to Amanda in case she hadn’t noticed.

      His daughter nodded somberly.

      The sun sank lower, the woods grew darker around them and the logs of the cabin looked solid, stoic and impenetrable. He began to doubt the wisdom of renting a place that hadn’t been used for more than three years. The Realtor had offered to drive out and open it up for them, but Jake had declined. After seeing how old Jim Hinkley was, it seemed too much to ask that he drive twenty miles just to unlock and show them a simple little cabin. So Jim had drawn them a map, given them the keys and wished them well. “Oh, one thing,” Hinkley had cautioned before they’d embarked. “If any repairs need be made, you’ll have to do them yourself or hire the job out, and the owners’ll deduct the repair bills from the rent. They’re too old to handle that stuff themselves.”

      “Well, what do you think?” Jake asked Amanda. “Should I give it another try?”

      Another somber nod. His stomach tightened. She was counting on him. He’d better make good. He picked up a two-by-six that someone had tucked beneath the cabin and used it to tap the edges of the door, hoping that would be enough. But it wasn’t. He took a breath, raised the two-by-six again and struck the door in the places that appeared to be bound tight. He put more muscle into it, and in the end was using the timber as a battering ram. When the door finally gave, it burst abruptly inward, spilling him into the dark interior with an undignified bellow. He tripped on something and landed in a face-down sprawl.

      In the startled silence that followed, he heard small musical sounds behind him. Amanda, giggling behind her hands. He rolled onto his back and glared up at her. “What’s so funny, Pinch?”

      “You, Daddy,” she said, convulsed in mirth.

      He sat up and took stock. Not much to see through the light of the door. Two bunks against the far wall. Small gas stove on the left, along with a short run of countertop and a sink. Woodstove dead center, stovepipe rising straight up. Table and two chairs to the right of the door; squeezed in between them and the stove, nearly spanning the length of the little cabin, the promised canoe.

      The first thing he did was haul the canoe outside and leave it beneath the big pines at the edge of the pond. Then he rummaged in the toolbox in the back of his truck, found a hammer and pried open the shutters while Amanda explored the cabin’s interior. “Daddy?” she asked as he worked on the last shutter. “Where’s the bathroom?”

      Jake nodded toward a little structure behind the cabin. “Out back, Pinch.” He fastened the shutters back with the eye hooks and was putting the hammer away when he heard Amanda scream in fright.

      “Daddy!” She had opened the outhouse door and recoiled in horror. He came up beside her and peered inside. “Spiders,” she pointed. “Big ones.”

      He stared. “You’re right, Pinch, they’re huge.”

      “I have to pee,” she whimpered.

      “Not in here. Not until we evict these giants. C’mon. Let’s go find a handy tree.”

      He took her hand and inhaled a deep breath of the woodsy air. It had been a long time. Too long. His daughter should have spent time in the outdoors the way he had as a boy. He’d been lucky. His parents were older, but they’d loved the woods and had brought him often to his grandparents’ camp. They’d taught him to appreciate the cry of the loons at dusk, the splash of a moose ambling along the shoreline, the deep authoritative hoot of a great horned owl in the midst of a moonlit night. They’d shown him how to paddle a canoe, how to tie the proper fly onto the proper weight leader, how to release a brook trout unharmed into the dark cold waters from which it came.

      He needed to teach these things to Amanda. Instead he’d forgotten it all. It had been years since he’d last visited Maine. Maine. The name rolled off his tongue, sounding solid and big and just a little bit wild. It sounded like a place of tall trees, rugged mountains and rocky coastline. It sounded good.

      How had he ever wound up in a place like New York City? He’d been so in love. Linda had been so beautiful, so in control, so sure of her future. Sophisticated and sharp, and so very kind to take any interest in a blue-collar boy such as himself.

      He’d met her at a U-Maine party in Orono. She’d been visiting one of her friends, a girl in Jake’s physics class. They’d been introduced and the next thing he’d known he’d transferred to NYU just to be near her. While she’d

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