Clutch Hit by Faith O'Shea (most popular ebook readers txt) 📗

She finished the quesadilla, licked her fingers before wiping her mouth with a napkin and said,

“We can visit the Granary Burying Grounds. A lot of Revolutionary War veterans are buried there. It’s part of the Freedom Trail, so we can also see the State House, Old South Meeting House, Old North Church, take some time at Faneuil Hall. The weather seems to be cooperating. It’s supposed to be above freezing.”

He’d noticed the sun was out when he stood by the window drinking his morning coffee. Blue sky, billowy clouds.

“I would like to walk with you. You can tell me some of the history.”

“America was birthed here so there’s a lot of that.”

“You have enjoyed freedom ever since.”

“We have. Our system seems to work for the most part. We’ve avoided a dictator to this point at least.”

“It was not supposed to go that way. When Castro took over the island, it was to free the people from Batista. The reforms the Granma group introduced were important to the people. Education, health care, agrarian reform, racial equality, and the expropriation of US owned businesses. Somewhere along the line, he amassed as much power as his predecessor and held us all captive to his experiment in socialism. There were things that worked, but much did not. I see that better now than when I was a child.”

“I think I noticed that one of your newspapers was called Granma. Was it named after the group?”

“Granma is the official newspaper of the state. It was the name of the boat the original revolutionaries took from Mexico to the southern end of Cuba, where they began the fight for liberation. You have heard of Che Guevara. He was one of them and has become a symbol of our rebellion. You see his face all over the island.”

“I noticed his picture was everywhere. You have very few national heroes. We have dozens.”

“We have many more that you don’t read about. Céspedes and Martí are two of them but I would like to hear the good about your country.”

“Your country now. The two-and-a-half-mile walk along the trail should give you that. You’ll at least see where we came from. Someday we’ll go to Lexington and Concord, where the real fight for our independence began.”

“Mac lives in Lexington.”

“That’s right. You were there.”

“It is a prosperous town.”

“It is.”

“I think I like Boston. I fit here better.”

“What about Gloucester?”

“It has the same feel as home, but I prefer the busy streets here, the people, the congestion. It is alive.”

It was that. Even on a cold January day, there were many pedestrians along the trail that showcased the beginnings of the republic. Allie parked in a garage near the Common and they meandered along the cobblestone paths of the fifty-acre park.

He was glancing around. “This is big. Our parks are much smaller. It’s where we congregate. They’re like our living rooms.”

“Due to the warmer weather?”

“That is part of it, but also because homes are crowded, and few can afford air conditioners. We live outdoors, eat ice cream, dance, play chess, and what you call shoot the breeze.”

They walked in companionable silence past Frog’s Pond, but when the figure of George Washington seated on a horse came into view, she told him the story about the first president and a cherry tree, which she claimed was all myth, and then about his attitude when given the highest office.

“He could have been a king, or worse, if he’d wanted, but he stood firm on what he’d fought for. Equality among men.”

“From what I’ve heard, there was little of that for hundreds of years.”

“Not our brightest legacy.”

They passed a line of ducks, a mother and her brood, their heads adorned in woolen hats.

She stopped and explained, “Robert McCloskey wrote a kids’ book titled, Make Way for Ducklings, and it’s set in Boston. Someone thought it would be fun to showcase it, so the sculptures of Mrs. Mallard et al. were installed back in the eighties. In the summer, they’re dressed a bit differently. I walked through here once to find them in feathers and tutus.”

There was a glow about her today, more lightness. Was it due to their lovemaking? If so, he would make sure she was thoroughly satisfied both day and night. He’d been looking for her always, and now that she was here, he never wanted her to feel ignored or underappreciated. Only desired.

As they walked on, he took her hand in his and was pleasantly surprised she left it there.

“They have duck boat rides in the summer, and the boats, which can drive on land, parade winning sports teams around the city. While I was with you in Cancun, the Red Sox were being exulted by the fans. It should have been us. Will be this year.”

He chuckled. “The city has a thing for ducks.”

She laughed. “I guess we do.” It was a musical sound.

They walked past the State House with its golden dome, following a red line that ran along the sidewalk, the directions clear for all to see. When they arrived at the Granary Burial Grounds, she pointed out some of the distinguished men who were laid to rest there—Paul Revere and Samuel Adams, John Hancock, and five victims of the Boston Massacre. She gave him some history on the men who were interred while he dragged her around the centuries-old cemetery, fingering the old script, attempting to decipher names and dates that had worn away with time. When she’d had enough of his search, she dragged him out and back on the street, her hand now firmly linked with his. He glanced down and a shiver of love shook through him.

“There used to be a bookstore up ahead but it’s now a commercial building that has no historic value. It’s a shame they didn’t restore it. It disrespects the trail and what it stands for.”

He noticed a Chipotle restaurant had taken up the space and she was right. It denigrated