The bookstore. Whenever Claire and I had biked into town, we’d locked our bikes at the nearby rack and gone to Edgartown Books first. It was a beautiful white house with black shutters and a green-and-white awning shading its peaceful porch. Right now, two little girls sat on the porch chairs with their grandparents, reading the books they’d bought. I watched them for a moment, grateful when Wit squeezed my hand.
