The Ferry Landing, Part 2

The ferry crossing takes about five minutes, just enough time for the deckhand to collect tickets and pass treats through car windows to any dogs on board. When the narrator's tires touch the island, an automatic sigh comes out—a conditioned response to the feeling of being separated from the rest of the world by water, "like a moat around a castle." At the corner near the landing stands an old roadside marquee sign on wheels, its letters frequently knocked out of alignment by the wind, leaving oddly spelled messages that require guessing. On this warm August day, it reads "Ibrary boo dive."

The story the narrator recalls is from a summer when a pair of anonymous newsletter writers—known only as S and C—carried on a public romance through the island's weekly paper. The entire community followed their messages, debated their meaning, and worried when a week or two passed with no new entries. The roadside sign pleaded, "S and C please don't break our hearts." In the coffee shop, the only topic was whether they had finally met and it had gone poorly, or whether they no longer needed the newsletter because they were together in person. Some said they had eloped; others insisted it was a prank. A sandwich was named for them at the restaurant beside the hardware store. Songs were dedicated to them from the jukebox at the waterfront bar.