I usually don’t walk that route, but something told me to take the long way to the park. It’s more woodsy that way, with the houses more scattered. There’s a chance to see some deer, and maybe other wild life. I love watching turtles graze on some grass, and the squirrels chase each other around the trees.
Somebody must have bought the old Robertson house. There were three movers unloading furniture into the house. It looked to be very elegant, with old stile wood. Maybe they were high class. The car in the drive way had a Main license plate. They must’ve gotten tired of the winters up there.
A tall blonde came walking out the front door. There was something about her that remind me of my childhood, and I flashed back to that time on the Jersey Shore. Seemed like those days would last forever. I couldn’t pinpoint why seeing her would remind me of that time.
She walked towards me, and extended her hand. Told me her name was Grace Burch. Grace Burch? I knew that name. But, from where?
Looking at me she cocked her head to the side, “Aren’t you little Tommy Tuttle? We used to play on the beach in Jersey.”
It hit me, “Grace Burch,” I said. “How are you?” I put my arms around her and pulled her close to me.
From that day on, I took the long way to the park.