I: Faith
In the voicemail from my mother, she said she was just checking in to see how I was doing. I texted her back.
“I'm good. How are you? How is everyone back there?"
It was evidence of my wild optimism. I knew she couldn't be confined to text messages. The phone rang and I clicked through.
“So you're doing good?" she said.
“Yes, I am having a great time here. How are you?"
“Good. Mallory is sick. She's at Miriam. And your father bought a boat. A little boat. The SS Folly, I'm calling it."
My father had retired the little yacht we'd grown up with, The Dauntless: He and his seaworthy friends sank it most ceremoniously off of Rose Island, near Newport. It had been time. He swore off the delights of the sea: apparently he had sworn back on. I didn't ask about my cousin Mallory: Sh
