Free Twelve Months by Steven Manchester Page A

shovels and pails, and mothers with their paperback books watched as we spread out the towels and set up camp. The horizon was peppered with weekend sail boaters. Bella’s right, I thought. This is heaven. “Thank you,” I told her.
    â€œFor what?” she asked.
    â€œFor having such a great idea.”
    She grabbed my face with both hands. “There’s more where that came from,” she promised. The sun was warm, the rhythm of the waves mesmerizing. It must have only taken seconds before we both fell asleep – side-by-side, holding hands.

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    By dusk, the air got colder, but we were rested and ready to ride. We put the top down on the convertible, turned on the heater and steered back onto the street. I was suddenly aware that the gift of life is offered in every breath we take.
    As the darkness crept in, Bella slid closer to me. I put my arm around her. With an unobstructed view of the moon and stars, we reminisced about our life together. Sometimes it doesn’t take much to experience pe r fection , I thought. The simple things may actually be the greatest of all .
    We spent the next hour debating whether we should get a clam boil for dinner or go for the baked stuffed shrimp. In truth, I didn’t care. My stomach was churning something awful, so wherever we ended up I didn’t expect to eat more than a few bites.

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    On Sunday morning, we decided to spend the second half of our getaway in Oak Bluffs and Edgartown. My wife insisted, “We have to visit the gingerbread houses in Oak Bluffs first.” Known by the locals as “the Cottage Colony,” this cliquey community is famous for its storybook gingerbread cottages, three hundred thirty in all, encircling Trinity Park. With rocking chairs on the front porches and candle-lit Japanese lanterns glowing at night, names such as Time Remembered, Rose Crest and Alice’s Wonderland made Bella coo. Many of the gothic resort cottages – adorned with their ornamental scroll work, decorative shingling, porch aprons, arched double doors and candy cane colors of pink, blue and green – contained miniature gardens behind white picket fences.
    â€œThey look like doll houses,” I said.
    She nodded. “They’re wonderful.”
    Rising out of the center was the Tabernacle, an open-air cathedral with dominant wrought iron arches, colored windows and an octagonal cupola. The Trinity United Methodist Church was just next door. It had a classic New England spire that had been hit three times by lightning. With blown-glass windows and a stamped-tin interior, I remembered visiting it as a kid. “It’s still my favorite,” I told Bella.
    Beyond the summer cottages that rented for more than it would have cost us to put both Madison and Pudge through college, the Annual Oak Bluffs Harbor Festival beckoned.
    It was a junk-food junkie’s paradise. The air was thick with the distinct aromas of cotton candy and fried dough. While a live band played on the dock and young children competed in a chalk art contest on the cement walkway, we ate as we walked along and looked at the boats. I’d given my belly a rest, so we shared a pulled pork sandwich from a local Bar-B-Q smokehouse, and then an expensive lobster roll overflowing with claw meat. I’m dying , I figured, but I’m not dead yet . At the end of the dock, a heavy-set woman dressed like a rag doll yelled out, “Strawberry shortcakes! Get your strawberry shortcakes here!”
    We stopped and I turned to Bella. “Oh, good…fruit!” I said, excitedly.
    She laughed, and we bought one and split it. It was made with fresh strawberries, a real shortcake and sweet whipped cream. Two bites in, I almost told Raggedy Ann that I loved her.
    As we strolled further down the pier, I stopped and gave Bella a hug. I was starting to understand that it wasn’t so much about doing anything; about