On the first warm spring day, Beck insisted we take the boat out. Our found jar had been nearly overflowing for more than a month, and so, according to the established lore, we each got to keep one thing before returning the rest to the sea. I rarely took Bonine anymore, especially since she always chose the calmest days to take me out. I’d never be an old salt, but at least I didn’t spend all my time at the rail, under the weather. Beck had taught me lots of nautical terms, and our word games now included expressions with origins in sailing history, such as scuttlebutt and hunky-dory.
My life was full and joyous in a way I’d never imagined, to the point that many memories of life in the last decade felt like sleepwalking by comparison. Most people in town had begun referring to our place as the Harris House, especially after the town paper covered the story of the house changing hands—“Author Buys Original Windsom Family Home”—accompanied by a picture of Mr. Guest giving me the keys. My smile was for Beck, who was standing out of camera range, making faces at me.
I sent copies of the article to June and to the W’s, each of whom promised a summer visit. I sent nothing and heard nothing from Mel, which suited me fine. I’d cooled off to the point I could have spoken civilly to her, but I really had nothing to say, and apparently, neither did she. I’d concluded that in life, people came and went like characters in novels. A very few stayed with you after that last chapter ended, but mostly you found yourself ready for something new. Without Mel to drive it, though, my movie deal had fallen through the cracks. The woman producer had called, asking if I was agreeable to a TV miniseries. I told her she had my permission to pitch it and to let me know if anything came of it. So far, there had been no word. But I was anticipating a whole new reading audience with the publication of my first actual romance novel.
I’d teased Beck about being a traditionalist in terms of her found jar routine, but I had a conventional practice of my own in mind. I just had to make sure to retrieve the ring I’d bought for her from the jar before it went into the ocean and get my proposal out without tears. Beck was the one thing I wanted to hold on to, day after day and year after year, like a favorite story that I’d never tire of returning to. And what I’d found that summer was not only Beck but the best of myself.