Read Online A Trip to the Beach by Melinda Blanchard - Free Book Online Page A

impulsive, and I knew it. But Anguilla’s allure was so seductive, we would do whatever it took to make it work.
    Bob joined me on the balcony and recapped Joshua’s conversation. “They load everything in Miami into tractor-trailer bodies, called containers, and stack them on a boat. We have to call Sheila Haskins, the Tropical Shipping agent, to make the arrangements. He also gave me prices on freight, and it’s not inexpensive; a twenty-foot container from Miami to Anguilla is twenty-seven hundred dollars, and a forty-footer is forty-two hundred dollars.”
    â€œOkay.” I took a deep breath. “I’ll go to Vermont, pack up our things, and call the movers. Then I’ll go to Miami, buy everything we need, and ship it down. You can stay here and keep pushing for our work permits and alien land-holding license.”
    â€œYou can’t do all that yourself,” Bob said.
    But I was determined. “Look, if we both go, I think everything here will stop. Out of sight, out of mind. Bennie means well, but he’s a busy guy, and if somebody doesn’t stay on top of this, I’ve got a feeling it won’t go any further.”
    â€œYou think you can buy the lumber?” Bob was giving in a little.
    â€œI’ll just take your list into Home Depot—they’ll price it all and deliver it. It’s easy. Besides, they do have phones in Miami, you know. Also, what if you need to measure something else on the building or make a change to the plans? Wouldn’t it be better if you were here?” I knew that would cinch it.
    â€œOkay,” Bob conceded. “But if you can’t do it alone, I’ll come up to help.”
    â€œWe’ll save on plane fare this way,” I added. “Also, if I get everything in Vermont shipped quickly, maybe you can unpack and organize the house before I get back.”
    We stood on the balcony, holding on to each other, staring out at the sea for a very long time.
    At the airport the next morning, I was bluntly reminded of my status here by a small sign:
    DEPARTURE TAX
    Belongers: $10.00 E.C.
    Non-Belongers: $25.00 E.C.
    I said goodbye to Bob after reviewing the lists a final time, and caught one last glimpse of him waving as the plane lumbered onto the runway. I stared out the window as we took off, picking out Joshua’s house and then the sleepy harbor at Sandy Ground. Spotting the restaurant, I mashed my head against the window trying to see it for as long as possible. The color of the water looked like a painter’s palette—blues and greens mingled with white where the waves broke over the reefs or hit the shore. When Anguilla disappeared from view, I pulled out a pad and pen and made a list of things to do in Vermont.
    I packed our house in record time. After three eighteen-hour days, a forty-foot tractor-trailer loaded with everything we owned pulled out of our yard, destined to become a container in Miami. I stood for a minute in our empty living room and looked out at the view. Our spring green fields rolled away from the house to the edge of the woods. Across the valley, the historic white clock tower at Dartmouth College was nestled in the hills. In the distance, Mt. Ascutney rose majestically over the Connecticut River. I listed the house with a broker, said goodbye to several neighbors, and drove down our hill for the last time, trying not to look back.
    With a generous bag of Chinese food, I drove to Betsy and Gary’s house for a farewell feast. Over the years Betsy had become my food ally. Together we had baked pies, canned peaches, and put every restaurant within a hundred miles through its paces.
    They were in rare form. Over a dinner of ginger chicken with string beans and soft-shell crab with black bean sauce, Gary bitched about taxes and Betsy, perpetually stuck in the sixties with her long black hair, rumpled sweatshirt, and fuzzy clogs, rolled her eyes. I was going to miss them. I caught