Old storm windows were leaning against the wall
in one corner of the barn. He had to clean them and figure out where
they went. There was a wooden ladder missing a couple of rungs.
Oliver swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. "I'm going
to go buy a decent ladder. I want to put those storm windows in."
Jennifer yawned. "Come back soon."
"I won't be long."
A few minutes later, he was bouncing down the road. There had been a
light frost overnight; the air was snappy; it was a good day to get
things done. He needed to write to Francesca. Her letter was in the
bottom of the toolbox in the back of the Jeep. He knew it by heart. She
was renting a house in a section of Seattle called Ballard. Maria was
in school. Elena was in pre-school. Francesca was working in a family
clinic, lonely, but glad to be starting a life on her terms. It was
signed, "Love, F."
He drove to the Yarmouth post office and waited five minutes for it to
open. He was going to send her a postcard, but he changed his mind and
bought a stamped envelope. He went over to the Calendar Island Motel
and wrote her a letter as he ate bacon and eggs and homefries. He
described the new house and reported that Emma was crawling and would
be walking soon.
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