Authors: T. Greenwood
O
ranges, clementines, tangelos, tangerines. When I saw our future, it was like this: bright, sweet, whole.
We left Two Rivers in May. We loaded up the Bug with our few belongings and said our few farewells: to the bowling league ladies, to Mrs. Marigold, to Hanna and Paul. I said my own good-bye to the trees, to the train tracks, to the leftover snow. To the mud, to the rain, to the frost-edged grass on the side of the road. I said good-bye to Ray. To Rosemary. To Brooder. And as we drove away, I waved quietly. To Betsy. And to that night at the river.
Brenda’s brother sold me the plot of land for a song. It was a small, ten-acre orange grove just north of Tampa. It was already fully staffed, and there was a house on the property, with three bedrooms and a wraparound porch. When I pictured our new life, I saw myself sitting out on that porch with Shelly, surveying the blue sky. I pictured Wilder learning to walk among those trees. I thought about sunshine and the sweet, sweet taste of oranges.
The grove was just about a half hour drive from Weeki Wachee Springs, where Brenda had decided to return to her life as a mermaid. By then, I had started to fall in love with her, the way you fall into your own bed after a long trip. And, it seemed, she was falling in love with me too. Even though we were both still broken and scared, when I thought of
tomorrow,
I saw her there. Her rainbow tail, scales glistening. For the worst fisherman ever, I’d somehow managed to catch myself a real big one.
But most importantly, the grove was just a day’s drive from Maggie’s house in Tuscaloosa. She planned to spend her summers with us, until she graduated from high school and decided what she wanted to do with her life. She told me she thought she might like to be a teacher, and I told her I thought that was a good idea.
Shelly fell asleep in the seat next to me before we even got out of Vermont, but Wilder was wide awake in his car seat in the back. As I drove, I checked on him in the rearview mirror every few minutes. Most of the time, he was just watching the world pass by in the window as he sucked his thumb or toes. But sometimes, I’d catch his eyes, and he’d be looking right at me. Those still, blue river eyes intent. Waiting for whatever was coming next. Trusting me to get him there safe.
A READING GROUP GUIDE
TWO RIVERS
T. Greenwood
ABOUT THIS GUIDE
The following questions are intended to enhance your group’s reading of TWO RIVERS.
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Copyright © 2009 by T. Greenwood
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ISBN: 0-7582-3946-7