The woman ahead
of me in the airport security line is wearing a large hat and holding a small
dog. “What’s her name?” airport security asks. “Emily Rose.” She is wearing a
cardigan and bow. And maybe pearls. Or perhaps I have imagined that. “She loves to
travel.”
I linger in the
airport bookshop. I’ve struggled to immerse myself in a story for months. Nothing
takes. I don’t seem to be able to coax myself into spending time with any of
those people in any of their places. And then. I find Blue Nights. One winter, kneeling on the floor of a bookshop in
Boston, I read The Year of Magical
Thinking almost in its entirety, quite by accident. I started standing, but
slid to the floor as I slipped into the story. So perhaps it comes as no
surprise that, at least for the moment, Blue
Nights is doing the trick.
When I see
Kailua Beach for the first time, it is by moonlight. I hesitate to dip my toe
in because I won’t be able to see what I’m getting myself into. Then I realize how few
opportunities one has to wade in the Pacific under a full moon. Even in the
darkness, Kailua promises to be beautiful. I slip my shoes
off. The sand is soft and the water warm. I am looking forward to tomorrow.
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