Free Twelve Months by Steven Manchester Page B

feeling or even thinking anything. It was about being ; being who I was, and being with the woman who owned my heart. I looked into her eyes and kissed her again.
    â€œWhat is it?” she asked.
    â€œNothing,” I said. “It’s just that I love you.”
    We hugged for a while, swaying together on the dock, while the crowd milled around us. Sometimes all we have to do is breathe , I thought. The rest is out of our hands.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

    The Flying Horses Carousel was the nation’s oldest operating platform carousel. In 1884, this treasured merry-go-round was brought to Martha’s Vineyard and placed right in the heart of Oak Bluffs where it could be enjoyed for more than a century. I bought two tickets for four dollars and tried my best to catch the brass ring and win a free ride. It never happened. Instead, I shelled out a few more bucks for a cone of cotton candy and an iced-cold bottle of water. I grabbed Bella’s hand and headed back to the convertible.
    When we reached the car, I looked at her and couldn’t help but laugh. She had a wad of the pink cotton candy stuck to her chin. “What now?” she asked.
    â€œNothing,” I said again and opened the passenger door for her. “I was just thinking that sometimes the silliest things make for the best memories…even though no one ever realizes it at the time.”
    She nodded, her cotton candy beard still intact.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

    Everything tucked away into back alleys and unassuming little neighborhoods, Edgartown was another national treasure. The quiet streets were lined with large elegant homes, many crowned with widows’ walks built by wealthy nineteenth century whaling captains. I parked the car on South Water Street where we had to walk around the roots of a huge pagoda tree breaking through the slate sidewalk. It had been brought back from China in 1843 in a tiny cup by Captain Thomas Milton to decorate his home.
    Edgartown was home to many of the Northeast’s most elite. With their boat shoes and sweater-wearing dogs, most of them reeked of money. They weren’t any better or worse than the rest of us – just experiencing a very different reality.
    As we navigated the red brick sidewalks and marveled at the amazing architecture, two women in big flowered hats happened by. If I didn’t know better, it would have been difficult to identify the exact era we were in – that is, until a guy walked by, wearing two earrings and holding hands with his tattooed girlfriend. The tiny shops and cafés were a delight, each one a glimpse of Norman Rockwell’s inspiration. Bella finally broke the silence. “We were crazy to stay away from this place for so long,” she admitted.
    I agreed, and as we made our way toward the Edgartown Lighthouse, the sun glistened off the water, its light dancing on the waves. A foghorn sounded in the harbor and the taste of salt grew stronger on my palate.
    The colonial-style homes, sitting almost flush with the quaint street, flew American flags in the stiff Atlantic winds. Most were covered in white cedar shingles stained driftwood gray, trimmed in white and offset with a red front door. Though the lawns were no larger than a postage stamp, some had anchors in the front yard; others had sheds decorated with colorful buoys and fishing nets in the back. The white Adirondack chairs reminded me of home.
    We finally reached land’s end where the Harbor View Hotel overlooked the lighthouse. While Bella chose to wait on the sidewalk and take in the harbor, I stepped onto the massive wraparound porch and told her, “I’m going to check out the place.”
    Built in 1891, the hotel was credited with beginning Edgartown’s climb to fame as a summer resort. Built on a generous scale, the advertisements boasted, the hotel offered comfortable bedrooms, gaslights in every room and large public parlors. Guests, however, were lured most