Just Come

It seemed that I would not get there after all. The day had begun off-kilter and I called my friend to say I would not try to make the trip. It was rainy and cloudy. And who goes to the coast on such a day? I had misplaced my car keys and would not be able to leave until they were retrieved. I couldn't find anything to wear. . . . She said, "Come when you can. Just come."

Later in the afternoon, the sky cleared, the car keys appeared and I began my three hour drive to Hilton Head. I decided to by-pass the number of small towns on the route and take a small road which I had spotted on the map. I thought if I stayed between the River and the main road I would be okay -- this is on an off-kilter day, remember? It was the right thing to do. There was little traffic other than a logging truck or two. There were big, awkwardly painted signs offering "Fresh Eggs" and taxidermy and well-drilling. There were views across pastures and fields which possibly rivaled last April's views in France. There was time to leave behind the weeks of coughing, of room rearranging, of adjusting to two more people in the house (even though one is charming Lucy.)

My friend Frankie, who now lives in Arizona, and her high school friend Charlotte, who now lives in Virginia, and I settled in for an evening of catching up and making plans for the next day. We packed our schedule with shopping for stuff we didn't need, lunch closest to the catch of the day and some art, of course, before it was time for me to go.





Then, as we watched the sky across the Atlantic slowly change to night, I decided to stay another day.




What a simple and amazing gift,
"Just come."