CHAPTER 19
Sailor rinsed out the wine bottles and began washing the dessert plates and glasses. She didn’t usually leave dishes in the sink overnight, but after her sisters had left, she’d been too tired to deal with them. She looked out the kitchen window—it was another beautiful spring day and she was anxious to get out in the gardens and figure out what plants were there. But she still had so much to do inside, not to mention she needed to go food shopping.
She dried her hands, popped a stale chocolate Munchkin in her mouth, and washed it down with the last of the cold coffee. Then she looked around for a pencil and a scrap piece of paper. She didn’t find either but when she opened the fridge, she realized she didn’t need a list because she needed everything. She looked at her phone—it was 9:15 . . . and it was Saturday, so she’d better just skip her shower and go right to the store or she’d be there at the same time as the thundering herd.
Twenty minutes later, she turned into the Birdwatcher’s General Store parking lot. On her way down Route 6, she’d remembered she wanted to get a bird feeder and some seed for her new yard and she’d decided she should do it before she went food shopping. She climbed out of her car and stepped onto the porch of the long gray building.
“Hey, Mike,” she said when she saw the owner standing behind the counter.
“Hi!” Mike said jovially, giving her a little wave.
Sailor knew he didn’t know who she was, but that was okay—he was really a friend of Birdie’s. For many years, Birdie had led guided bird tours on the beaches and marshes of Cape Cod for the Massachusetts Audubon, and she’d even stayed at the famous Outermost House before it washed away in the winter hurricane of 1978 that buried all of New England in snow, so Birdie’s and Mike’s paths had crossed many times over the years, and Birdie always sent bird lovers to his store.
Sailor had been in the store countless times, by herself and with Birdie (in fact, it was the perfect place to find gifts for her bird-loving sister)—which reminded her—she needed to get a gift for Birdie’s birthday too! She headed across the worn wooden floor in the direction of the bird feeders. There were so many from which to choose—tube feeders, house feeders, shelf feeders, suet feeders, window feeders, and feeders specifically designed to stymie the efforts of squirrels and raccoons—feeders with perches that dropped when something heavy was on them; feeders in cages; and posts with baffles. There was even a video playing on a loop in the back of the store of a squirrel hanging on for dear life with his hind feet while his little arms were stretched out like Superman’s as the motorized base of the tube feeder spun wildly. It’s truly amazing how much time and energy we humans spend trying to outsmart the pesky little varmints!
She selected a small, simple tube feeder, a bag of sunflower hearts, and then stood in front of the birdbath display. Finally, she decided she would come back at a later time to get a birdbath, after she straightened out the gardens—it would be her incentive!
While she waited in line, she noticed the cover of a thin volume she’d read years earlier. She’d always been drawn to the simple illustration of a quail on the cover and she picked it up again and glanced through it. That Quail, Robert was the true story of a little quail that had been hatched from an egg and raised by a woman on the Cape in the early sixties. Robert—who turned out to be female—had all kinds of funny habits and Margaret Stanger’s story was a poignant tribute to the little quail’s life and to the love she shared with her humans. Sailor stood there, wondering if Birdie had ever read it, and finally, she added it to her pile, along with a Susan Boynton coffee mug that had her famous characters on it singing “Happy Birdie to You,” and stepped forward to pay.
“Did you find everything?” Mike asked.
Sailor nodded and then noticed the silver pencils in a can on the counter. “How much are the pencils?”
“They’re free,” Mike said, smiling and pointing to a sign above him, “if you can tell a good joke.”
Sailor frowned, trying to think of a joke. “Hmm,” she said thoughtfully, looking around. She spied a hummingbird feeder hanging in the window. “I have one!”
“Go,” Mike said and waited with raised eyebrows while everyone around them stopped to listen.
“Why did the hummingbird hum?”
Mike looked puzzled. “Hmm . . . why did the hummingbird hum?” he mused thoughtfully. “I don’t know. Why did the hummingbird hum?”
Sailor grinned. “Because he didn’t know the words.”
“Bada-bing!” Mike said, smiling and ringing the bell above the counter—a signal that someone had just told a good joke. Then he handed Sailor a pencil.
She smiled as she walked out, and as she put everything in the backseat, she heard her phone beep. She looked at the screen. It was a text from Josiah. Coffee?
She got in the car, rolled down her windows, and wrote back. I’m in Orleans . . .
Me too! 
She stared at the screen, thinking about all she still needed to do—she hadn’t even gone to the store yet . . . and soon, it would be mobbed.
She shook her head slowly. Hot Chocolate Sparrow’s?
Be there in ten!
Okay. See you then.
She sighed. She knew she was going to regret not going to the store, and then, just as she pulled into the coffee shop parking lot, she remembered she hadn’t even taken a shower yet! She looked in the rearview mirror and groaned—what had she been thinking?!