“Did you see that picture of her dress? How can anyone live that way. And what kind of car was that?”

Roger just nodded. There was no way to reply to the kind of wacky monologue I was delivering. Even I wasn’t sure what I was talking about. It was like my mouth was on autopilot while my brain was in a crash dive. I felt as if I needed to run away, find a safe place to hide, but instead I kept walking. We could have headed toward the library, to find Aunt Lyssa, but when we came to the turn, I went the other way. Aunt Lyssa is always so upbeat about everything that at times it drives me crazy. Like just the other day when I was complaining about how greenhouse gasses were causing global warming, she replied that it might be nice to have warmer summers and shorter winters. I wasn’t ready to see her yet, to be reassured that everything was all right. I just needed to talk and keep walking. And that was what I did, thankful that I had Roger there.

Roger is so great. Like the good friend he is, he was sticking by me and not asking questions. He knew, despite the fact that I was talking and laughing like some TV valley girl, that I was anything but carefree right now.

I’d said all that could possibly be said about that issue of the magazine. So now I started talking about the weather, about the summer cross-country meets that were coming up, about stopping off at the next New York System weiner stand because I was feeling starved. But when we did come to that hot dog stand, I couldn’t stop. I was trying to keep my voice calm and light, but I could feel it getting higher in pitch and almost hysterical.

I think people were turning to look at me as we went down Benefit Street. I’m usually quiet on that street. I really appreciate all those old restored buildings and like to look around at them. If you’re a nut for brick sidewalks and cobblestone alleys, mansard roofs, gables, and wrought-iron railings, Benefit Street is like heaven for you. But I might as well have been walking through the mall for all the attention I paid to the architecture this time. I didn’t even point out the Governor Hopkins House where George Washington slept. Twice.

Finally we reached Market House down by the river, which is always busy. It was the first marketplace of Old Providence. Before that it was the crossroads where the trails met that led from the Pequots in Connecticut and the Wampanoags in Massachusetts. Even before the coming of foreign sailors from across the sea, this had been a meeting place of different nations, each with their own ways and their own histories to tell.