Delphine smelled coffee and stirred under the covers. She'd fallen back asleep, watching the moon rise over the river, and now the sun was high over the fir trees; she hadn't slept this late in six months. Time to rise and shine.
She put on yesterdays clothes and savored the wood smoke trapped in them. Downstairs dishes were being washed and music was playing, Patsy Cline's I Fall To Pieces. How appropriate, she thought. The screen door slammed and the dog came bounding up the stairs to find her. Violet, her sister, must have taken Darwin for a walk. Darwin was a Beagle mix and she knew right away if she shared a sense of humor with some one, because they'd get the joke when told his name. She often felt like she was born in the wrong century. Being born in the Romantic era of nature centered quests would have suited her better than the life of the mind where she lived spinning in one place most of the time.
"Mornin', Sleepyhead," Violet said as she poured herself and her sister a coffee.
"Mornin', yourself," Delphine yawned, "How far did you walk him?"
"Only once around the loop road," she replied while adding milk to both our mugs, then added, "he started sniffing around hollowed out logs and storm drains. Didn't want Dar to come home with face full of quills or needing a tomato bath!"
"Thanks, Sisafus."
"You're welcome."
An awkward silence then fell between them. Delphine knew Violet was wanting to ask something, something that she probably couldn't easily answer, and yet no one else would ask. They hadn't been alone together all weekend. The moment passed and Violet said she was going to town to buy provisions for the rest of the week.
"Need anything special?" Violet asked simply enough.
As Delphine looked up, she added, "Beside your usual list of chocolate, coffee, nuts and bread, I mean."
"Nope, that'll cover it, thanks," nodded Delphine.
Everyone else was doing other weekly runs; the dump, hardware store, gas station, farmer's and flea markets. Delphine had the whole house to herself. Looking at the tide chart, she realized the dock was hers alone, too. Water would be good for kayaking or swimming for the next two hours, enough time to go exploring with Darwin.
The dog started to go berserk when she took off her clothes and put on a swimsuit and Chaco sandals. Darwin spun in circles, getting between her legs, trying to make her head to the door before she could collect the requisite sunscreen, shades and bottle of water. Once on the path, she realized that she hadn't walked down it alone in decades. Perhaps not since she was little, sneaking off at sunrise to find the best shell or treasure that had washed up during the night.
Delphine found herself softly singing...I fall to pieces...Each time someone speaks your name...I fall to pieces...Time only adds to the flame... until the last line stung. She stopped on the path and realized that she was standing by the tree. Their tree. The tree where they'd cut their initials the first summer they'd met in college. Darwin continued down the path, as Delphine circled the American Beech. It was fifteen years earlier that they had taken her Swiss Army Knife and cut each other's initials into a compass pattern on the tree. Instead of N(orth), E(ast), S(outh), and W(est), they'd carved, D(elphine), P(elletier), S(cott), and W(hite). It was their private totem; her first rose from him and him confiding she was his true North. The tree bark had scarred over the compass; it was bent up into triangular folds over the rose. Yet at each point the initials we still clearly discernible: D, P, S, W. For a moment Delphine felt like the Polaris of photographers tricks; holding stead in the center while all else spins around it.
She abandoned the idea of a swim in favor of a circumnavigating the island in a kayak. Delphine urged Darwin into the boat, which was always are trick, as he still held a grudge against the kayak for tipping him into the waves unexpectedly as a pup. Darwin sat between her legs, in front of the paddle as they headed out of the cove and into the river. Normally the green-black water would be too much for her to resist. She regularly swam a mile or more and was known for her love of open water. Yet the sight of the compass rose propelled her to revisit the trail she and Scott had first taken around the island fifteen years earlier. There was something along that route calling to her, like a clue to help her navigate her grief and anger.
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