I could borrow a coat.
Why not? I checked myself in; I eat their food. I’m certainly making myself at home. Besides, they’re gone. I’m sure neither would begrudge me the use of a jacket for an hour or two.
It takes some searching, but I finally find a coat closet near the back door. In it is a jumble of coats and sweaters and yellow slickers. I pull out a bulky, beautifully knit aqua-blue fisherman’s sweater and slip it on. It’s huge on me, but warm.
For the rest of the day, I explore this magnificent corner of paradise and take seventeen photographs—of the sunlight on the lake, of a swan taking flight, of a spiderweb turned into a necklace by dew drops. By mid-afternoon, I have begun to imagine how I will frame these prints and display them.
In my living room, I think, above the sofa. Every day of my real life, I will look up and remember this adventure. Finally, at around two o’clock, hunger sends me back inside.
I am just finishing a sandwich when I hear the truck drive up. Quickly I clean up my mess and run to the living room to greet them. It’s silly, I know, perhaps even stupid, but I don’t care. I’ve missed them today.
Bobby rushes in. “Joy!”
I love the way he says my name; it’s as if he’s been missing me all day. “Hey, Bobby,” I say, looking behind him for Daniel, who comes in a moment later, looking so handsome that I catch my breath.
Bobby runs at me. “It’s beach night. ”
“We need to leave in about fifteen minutes,” Daniel says. “So you’d best hurry up. ”
He is looking at me. A shiver runs up my spine. “I’m invited?”
Bobby giggles. “’Course. ”
“Get a coat,” Daniel says to both of us. “It’s cold out there. ”
I decide to move fast, just in case Daniel wants to change his mind. Feeling like a girl on her first date, I run back to my room and retrieve the big cable knit sweater. It’s certain to be warm enough.
In two minutes, I’m back in the lobby with Bobby.
“Did you brush your teeth?” Daniel asks his son.
We both answer, “Yes,” at the same time.
At the sound of our laughter, Daniel smiles, and I am blown away by the sight of it. It takes ten years off his face and gives me a glimpse of the hell-raiser of the Dublin pubs. “Come on, then. ” He slings a backpack over his shoulder and leaves the house. Bobby and I follow along behind him, still laughing. It is the freest I’ve felt in years, and I wonder what it is about this place and these people. Here, with them, I become so easily the younger version of myself, the me I always imagined growing into. I’m more like my mother—free, loving, easygoing. In the dry, dusty town of Bakersfield I’d been a flower slowly dying; in the moisture and mist of this green cathedral, I can feel myself blossoming.
In the truck, we turn up the radio and sing along to Bruce Springsteen. “Baby, I was born to run” are suddenly the most meaningful words I’ve ever sung. By the time the song is finished, we are on an old, winding, two-lane highway. For miles, we are surrounded by trees, then we come to the harvested part of this great forest. Acres of shorn land lie on either side of the road. All that’s left are tiny new plantings and signs that talk of reforestation and regeneration.
“It’s sad,” I say. “As if new trees are no different than old ones. ”
Bobby tilts his face to look at me. “What do you mean?”
“You live in one of the few old growth forests left on the planet. Cutting down trees that have lived for two hundred years is a crime. ”
“Will they go to jail?” he asks.
“Who?” Daniel says, hitting his turn signal and easing to a stop.
“The loggers who cut down the old trees. ”
“Oh. No,” Daniel answers, frowning as he turns onto another road.
“It’s not literally a crime,” I say. “It’s just sad. ”
“When I’m big, I’m gonna protect the old trees,” Bobby says, nodding as if it’s a stern, implacable decision.
“What started this conversation?” Daniel asks.
I’m about to answer when we turn a corner and park.