An adventure, she promised herself as she finalized arrangements, began to pack. She’d have an adventure—and at the end of it, maybe end up with an incredible house.
As she did often, she opened her father’s sketchbook to study it. She liked his vision of it even more than the photos.
Could she see herself there?
Maybe. Maybe.
Wasn’t it what she’d wanted when she and Brandon had looked at houses? Something with history and character and charm. Not sleek and new and shiny.
If she wondered about living there, alone, she reminded herself she lived alone now. Just in a smaller space.
She packed the sketchbooks before she went out for a farewell dinner with her mother and Cleo.
And barely slept a wink the night before her departure.
She dressed for the cold. If it was cold in Boston—and it was—it would be colder yet three hours north. She wore the cherry-red cashmere sweater her mother had given her for Christmas, black jeans, and boots.
Maybe her heart pounded when she carefully put her African violet in a box for travel. They’d both try to bloom in a new place.
She’d loaded nearly everything the night before—because who could sleep—and now with her weekend tote and the single box, she looked around.
“It’s not like I’m never coming back. But it feels like it.”
She rolled the suitcase toward the door. When she opened it, Cleo stood outside, one hand lifted to knock.
“Surprise! I couldn’t let you drive off without waving goodbye.”
She threw her arms around Sonya. “I miss you already.”
“What am I going to do without you ten minutes away?”
“We’ll text, we’ll call, we’ll FaceTime. In fact.”
She held up a bottle in a velvet gift bag. “This is champagne. The good stuff.”
“Get out.”
“You’re going to text me and your mom when you get there. Then tonight, we’re going to FaceTime and drink champagne—I got a bottle, too—while you give me a video tour.”
“But you’ll drive up and visit.”
“You bet both our excellent asses I will. Here, take the bottle, give me the box. Is Xena in here?”
“She is. She’s a little nervous.”
“She shouldn’t be. Hi, Donna.”
“Hey there. I made you cookies for the trip, Sonya.”
“Oh, that’s so nice.” Neighbors, she thought. There’d be no one living next door where she was going.
“I’m going to miss you and Bill.”
“Likewise. I don’t care if the Queen of Sheba moved in next door, she won’t be as sweet as you. You have a safe trip.”
“Thanks. Thanks so much.”
“Don’t start watering up,” Cleo muttered, “and get me started. This is day one of Sonya’s Amazing Adventure.”
They loaded the suitcase, the box, the bottle, then just held on to each other.
“Since we met, you’ve never lived more than ten minutes away.” Sonya pressed her face into Cleo’s hair.
“Text me when you get there.”
“I will. I will. I have to go before I do a lot more than water up. I love you.”
“Love you right back. Embrace the change, Son.”
“I’m going to try.”
But she kept the image of her friend, waving with both hands, inside her head and heart and she drove away.
She’d topped off her gas tank the night before, so she wouldn’t need to stop. Then stopped anyway due to a nervous bladder and a gnawing need for more caffeine.
Though her stomach churned too much to risk a cookie, she sipped a Coke and let the GPS guide her.
The landscape changed as she drove into Maine and shifted to the coast road. She had the ocean, sandy beaches and rocky ones. Little towns that struck her more as villages.
Forests, space. And, she couldn’t deny, beauty.
She’d been a city or suburban creature all of her life. And though she found the inlets, the bays, the endless stretch of the Atlantic amazing, the sturdy charm of seacoast towns fascinating, she wondered how she’d manage.
No quick runs to the market. No impulsive trips to a local restaurant or bar. No friendly neighbors next door or kids riding bikes down the sidewalk.
She had to remind herself she wasn’t a coward—and never had been. But the nerves kept jumping under her skin.
At just over the three-hour mark, she drove into the town （village? hamlet?） of Poole’s Bay.
Charming, yes, propped on its finger of land into the bay. A bay silver under the leaden sky. Clapboard buildings—white, colonial blue, soft yellow—ran up and down what the GPS called High Street.