No, not flowers. He liked flowers, but it didn’t seem right.
She sat, looking down at the quiet ground that was so unlike him. Davy had never been quiet. He had never stood still. Even in sleep, he was always tossing and stealing the blankets for himself. Peg’s mouth crooked in a smile. Darn it, she missed him.
She was going to do it. She had never been more terrified in her whole life.
Her old self-doubts came crowding around her. You can’t do this, you’re weak. You get tired running half a mile. Your stomach is like a rollercoaster, up and down. Think how sick you were this morning.
It’s true. She had been sick. But if she didn’t do this, no one else would.
For more than fifty years, every morning at eight o’ clock, Erin O’Lay had taken the dinghy around to see the dragon’s head. For much more time than that the dragon had floated on the great deep of a blue ocean. The sun had not set for some time, and while the sun was shining the dragon was content to sleep in her warmth. But when the sun set, the dragon woke, and the dragon had been not a little offended to find a whole town on its back. That was when Erin O’Lay first went out with the dinghy.
“I think if you are rare,” said Mrs. Poe, “you must be a criminal.”
Mr. Poe was not mollified. The truth of the matter is, compliments from loved ones are too often like pennies in the hand of a beggar. We take them for granted and dismiss them as too poor for our needs. It is a selective partiality.
Mrs. Poe got up from her chair. Pale and fragile, when she sought his face she was determined and strong.