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Half a world away, on an island in Maine, Elizabeth stakes out her favorite door stoop, and watches her father load up his pick-up with lobster traps. Some mornings she helps him fill the string bait bags with pickled mackerel and herring, but today that smelly job’s been done. Pretty soon a few more loaded pick-ups pull into the yard, and other lobstermen jump out to talk with her father Big Les. After a halloo or two, they all troop into the kitchen where her mother Annie is frying piles of bacon and scrambling cartons of eggs. There’s no restaurant on the island, and Annie is generous with her kitchen skills.
Elizabeth senses a stranger in the crowd, but seems pretty certain that if she hides behind her foot, I won’t be able to see her, never mind take her photograph. The last thing she wants to do is abandon her post on the very edge of all the morning jocularities. Even my presence doesn’t provide a tipping point, and she holds her place. |
