by Susan Conley
Jimmy waves at us and shakes his head and leaves.
Sam comes up from Shorty’s pier and stays quiet on the subject of my dress over my pants.
I’m watching him but trying just to let him be in his Clash T-shirt with the flag of hair.
The boys and I bring the bowls of stew into the living room, and Kit edges way back on the bed until he’s leaning against the wall, then he takes his bowl from Sam and starts eating.
Charlie tells us that he’s made his decision on robots.
“I didn’t know we were waiting on one.” Kit laughs.
“We don’t need them,” Charlie says. “I don’t need them. Do you, Dad? Life is already good without robots. But they will happen. Robots are already happening. Just wait until they figure out time travel.”
“Who is they?” I ask him.
“The robots,” Charlie says.
“The robots are going to figure out time travel?” I say.
“Charlie, you’re losing it.” Sam smiles, but it’s not a mean smile.
“They’ll do it, and it will be terrible,” Charlie says. “Imagine having to experience being an infant again and everything you felt? No. I want to die before I have to do that.” He drains all the water in his glass. “We have to figure out what to do when the sun explodes. Because it’s happening. It’s really happening. I hope I’m not reincarnated to a life on Mars. Because that’s going to be very complicated. Very hard.”
“Wow,” Kit says. “It does sound hard.”
Charlie points at Sam. “What’s that?”
“What’s what?”
“That dirt above your lip?”
“Shut up, Charlie,” Sam says.
“Oh my God. It’s a mustache,” Charlie says.
“No, really, Charlie, stop,” Sam says.
“Sam, take it off. Please take it off.” Charlie’s laughing now.
Sam says nothing, but he’s still smiling at us.
“No, seriously, take it off right now,” Charlie says.
“I support you.” Kit smiles at Sam. “I support you in your attempt to grow a mustache.”
* * *
—
SAM GOES UP TO the bathroom after dinner and doesn’t come out for almost an hour.
Charlie bangs on the door and says he’s wetting his pants.
But Sam won’t open the door. “There is a toilet downstairs, Charlie.”
When he finally comes out, he doesn’t have a starter mustache anymore. But he’s laughing.
“God.” He flings himself down next to Charlie on the couch. “That looked awful. Why didn’t any of you tell me how bad?”
They are my people. All three of them.
I could stand in this hallway and stare at them for hours and not grow tired of it.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First I want to thank my mother, Thorne Conley, for all her kindnesses and generosity and for showing me how to live in the Maine woods without shutting the rest of the world out.
This book was written thanks to many other people too: My father, Mike Conley, who showed me the meaning of family and of appreciating the simpler life down a long dirt road. My brother and sister, John Conley and Erin Conley, without whom I would be no one.
Dearest first readers, Caitlin Gutheil, Anja Hanson, Lily King, Maryanne O’Hara.
Dearest editor and friend, Carole Baron. You’ve taught me so much about writing and living with purpose, and big-heartedness, and delight for the world. It could fill another book.
The incomparable team at Knopf: Rob Shapiro, you’re a dream to work with, thank you for getting this book from the start. Bette Alexander, who carried the book so valiantly through the pandemic. Lydia Buechler and Maria Massey, who were so extraordinary and generous in this upside-down time. So too, Emily Reardon and Julianne Clancy, to whom I’m indebted. Also Nick Latimer for everything he does so very superbly, all over again. Kelly Blair, for the extraordinary jacket design, and Maria Carella for the truly special interior design.
My deeply wise and compassionate agent, Stephanie Cabot, who read an early draft three years ago and never stopped cheering for it.
Thanks also to the many people who know more about commercial fishing in Maine than I do, and who over the years have shared their knowledge so generously: the late and terribly missed Danny Kaler, David Norton, Ben Martens of the Maine Coast Fisherman’s Association, Merritt Carey, and the other Maine fishermen who kindly spent time with me.
My friends and colleagues at the Stonecoast Writing Program who kindly listened to me read works-in-progress from the book over the years and rooted for it.
And finally: Tony and Thorne and Aidan. It’s for you three. Always.
A Note About the Author
Susan Conley grew up in Maine. She is the author of four previous books, including Elsey Come Home. Her writing has appeared in The New York Times Magazine, The Paris Review, the Virginia Quarterly Review, The New York Times, the Harvard Review, the New England Review, and Ploughshares. She has received multiple fellowships from the MacDowell Colony as well fellowships from the Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference, the Maine Arts Commission, and the Massachusetts Art Commission. She has won the Maine Literary Award and the Maine Award for Publishing Excellence. She is a founder of the Telling Room, a youth creative writing center in Portland, Maine, where she lives and teaches on the faculty of the Stonecoast Writers Program.
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