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Audiobook
First published July 13, 2021
She turned her face to the racing water. Even now, in midsummer, it crashed over the rocks, but somewhere, a mile beyond this place, or three miles, or five — beyond the old people sitting in their cars listening to the radio, beyond the men with their fishing poles, conferring among themselves whether the Red Sox had a chance in the playoffs, and the young couples kissing or smoking weed, and the mothers nursing babies; beyond the teenagers daring each other to jump off the rocks, and the ones, like Eleanor and Cam, just standing there taking it all in — all those human beings, figuring out how to live their lives the best they knew; count the ways — the brook would keep on running. Sometimes faster, sometimes slower, but the water never stopped moving. It flowed all the way to the dam in town, and beyond to the river, which flowed to the ocean, which reached far as the horizon, and even farther than that.
In no other way that she could think of would Eleanor be called a superstitious person, but there had been a time when she could not round the final bend in the long, dead-end dirt road that led up to this place without saying the words out loud, “I’m home.” Maybe some part of her actually believed that if she ever failed to speak the words, something terrible might happen to one of them. How would she ever survive if it did?
Only, she had
Most of their best times took place right here on the farm — putting on plays, making valentines, building snow forts in winter, sailing their boats with their homemade cork people every spring...Three nights a week, in softball season, they headed to the ball field.
There was a rhythm to their lives now, marked by the seasons in part...In winter, they stoked the woodstove and shoveled the car out, made valentines, stayed in their pyjamas all day with a stack of library books. At the first sign of spring they made cork people. Then came softball season.
He loved showing them artifacts from the natural world: he’d put his hand in his pocket and, when it emerged, set down a strange, mysterious pellet that turned out to be animal scat — coyote, possibly, or fox, or moose even — that, when you picked it apart, contained small pieces of bones and fur from whatever the animal whose scat it was had eaten for dinner the night before.
None of them had any sense of time as it was happening, but Cam probably kept pumping Toby’s chest for many minutes.