Hope ignored that suggestion. Releasing Linnea’s hand, she wandered through the small yard in front of the carriage house, eyes peeled.
Both the house and the carriage house were painted a soft coral with sea-blue trim. Back when Flo owned it, her mother, Miranda, had used the carriage house as her art studio. She’d died when Linnea was still young, but she remembered the bohemian artist. Everyone had loved her. Miranda lived to shock the neighborhood. Emmi and Cara still regaled them with stories of running to the studio during summer afternoons for hours of dress-up and painting lessons. Miranda had passed of Alzheimer’s disease, and now Flo—opposite from her mother in every other way—was going down the same path.
The live oak tree that sprawled across the front yard drooped its heavy limbs low to the earth in a gesture of lazy welcome. Something shiny, tucked in the notch of the tree where a limb met the trunk, caught Linnea’s eye.
“What’s that?” called out Hope, spotting it too. She took off for the tree. It was easy climbing for a child. She scampered up and across the low-lying limb, then higher, on a beeline for the shiny object. Linnea was right behind her. Reaching way up, Hope grabbed hold of a paper airplane and a small tin box. She crouched on the limb, hunching over the tin like a bird mantling its prey.
“Come down,” called Linnea.
“Okay.” Hope placed her own note to John up in the notch of the tree, then scooted down to show Linnea her loot.
“It’s candy!” Hope exclaimed, holding up the box. “Will you open it?”
Linnea took the tin and said, “What does the note say?”
Hope unfolded the airplane, then handed the paper to Linnea. “It’s long. Read it.”
“Please,” Linnea prompted.
“Please,” Hope responded, taking the tin back from Linnea and examining it. Inside were colored candies that looked like Skittles.
Linnea smiled. “It’s another poem. This one is by A. A. Milne.” She read aloud.
“When I was One,
I had just begun.
When I was Two,
I was nearly new.
When I was Three
I was hardly me.
When I was Four,
I was not much more.
When I was Five,
I was just alive.
But now I am Six, I’m as clever as clever.
So I think I’ll be six now for ever and ever.”
Hope put her hand over her mouth and giggled. “I can be six forever!” Then more seriously, she said, “I like being six.”
Linnea joined in her laughter, thinking how wonderful it was that a child had no real sense of time. She wondered if living in the present wasn’t the wiser course after all.
* * *
THE WI-FI CONNECTION to Gordon Carr in Oxford, England, was poor that evening. They had to ditch their usual FaceTime and instead used the phone only. Their long-distance relationship had evolved, at least in her mind, from a boiling summer affair to a simmering, confusing relationship. They’d had a connection from the moment they met. Maybe it was because she was on the rebound, but Linnea had jumped into that relationship—and his bed—without qualms. They’d shared an idyllic summer.
And then Gordon was gone.
She’d hoped to visit Gordon in England sometime over the spring, but the coronavirus had effectively quashed any hope of that. In the flush of their good-bye at summer’s end, they’d planned to talk on the phone at least once a week, but that goal had proved elusive as well. Gordon’s erratic schedule working two jobs—one as a professor at Oxford University and the other as a researcher in the field of marine biology—made regularly scheduled calls difficult. Gordon was in the publish-or-perish period of his life when he needed to make his mark in the world.
In the months that passed, Linnea had discovered she was not good at long-distance relationships. She needed to feel the comfort of an arm around her, to hear a laugh shared just between the two of them, to see that telling, knowing glance across the room that made her blood race. Even video chats were no match for the power of the senses.
Truth was, she’d been so consumed by her new job at the South Carolina Aquarium, she didn’t miss dating. Linnea, too, was in her career-building stage of life. She’d found her dream job. In fact, when they spoke, both she and Gordon often said how lucky they were to love their jobs. She felt like they understood each other. And she wondered if they were becoming in fact more best friends than lovers.
Still, as the months passed, they held tight to the promise that Gordon would return to South Carolina in April to resume his research on marine animals. All would be well when they were together again, she hoped.
But again, the pandemic threatened. No one knew for certain how long the restrictions would last. Linnea held the phone closer, wishing she could see Gordon’s face. He had such expressive eyes. She needed to get John out of her head and see Gordon tonight. Gordon’s eyes were blue, not green. His hair was red, not dark auburn.
Linnea had the phone against her ear while her call to Gordon rang. She stood at the kitchen stove boiling water. According to the files Cara had left her, plain noodles with butter was a favorite dish of Hope’s. She glanced across the room into the three-seasons porch and saw Hope sprawled on the floor with her crayons, coloring a picture for John. The game had distracted her from homesickness.
“Hello!” Linnea said into the phone.
“At last. I thought we’d never get a connection tonight. How are you?”
Linnea told Gordon all that had transpired since their last phone call. “The virus is becoming real. We’re waiting to see if David caught it, so Hope is staying here with me while he quarantines.”
“You’re a nanny now?” he asked, amused.
“More than a nanny. This is full-time care. Poor Hope, I think the separation from her mother is coming hard on her. She’s homesick.”
“You said she’s six?”
“Yes.”
“Tender age. I was sent to boarding school at eight. I sympathize with her.” Linnea couldn’t imagine sending her child away so young. “They’ve closed the schools, so she’s home all the time. That’s a lot of disruption.”
“We’re under bloody lockdown here,” Gordon said, frustration ringing in his voice. “The university will be canceling classes for the rest of the year.” He snorted. “They’re taking their bloody time announcing it.”
Linnea added the noodles to the boiling water. She loved Gordon’s accent, and had to smile when he used British swearwords. “I’m worried about Cooper. Are the foreigners being sent home?”
“I’m sure they will be. He should make plans to leave now. While he can. It’s chaos at the airports.”
Linnea felt a chill and made a mental note to call her mother. “You’ll keep an eye out for him?”
“I will,” Gordon said with a reassuring emphasis. “He knows he just has to call.”
“If the university is shutting down, can’t you come here with him? You’ll be early, but at least you’ll be here.”
“Truth is, Linnea…” He paused. “I’m not sure what this means about my trip to Charleston. At all.”
“Why?” She stopped moving. “Are they canceling the research project?”