Spring returned with a shy, tentative grace. The snowdrops were the first to risk it, then the crocuses, punching through the damp earth like tiny, brave fists. The Tidewater Trail shed its winter silt, the boardwalks steaming in the weak morning sun. The town itself seemed to stretch and yawn, emerging from the close-held quiet of winter.We were emerging too. The museum print hung in the community center now, next to the framed cover of my book. Our relics had found their public shrine. In our private lives, we were discovering the strange, spacious freedom of a job well and truly done.Lanc’s dinghy, a beautiful, silly thing named The Second Thought, was upside-down in his driveway, smelling of fresh varnish. Arthur and Hank were his frequent, opinionated assistants.“The line of that sheer is all wrong,” Hank would declare, stepping back to squint.“It’s a dinghy, Hank, not a clipper ship,” Lanc would grumble, sanding with violent satisfaction.“Every vessel deserves respect,” Art
Last Updated : 2026-01-18 Read more