The Witness

hippies.”
    “You were part of the counterculture.”
    “I like to think I still am.”
    As Abigail brewed the coffee, got out cups and plates, Sunny glanced over to the office area. And raised her eyebrows at the views of the drive, the back area, sides, on the computer screen.
    “Isn’t that something? Nobody’s going to sneak up on you, are they? You work on security systems, isn’t that right?”
    “I do.”
    “There was a time nobody even locked a door at night around here, and if you had a shop and needed to run out, why you’d just leave a note. People could come on in, and just leave the money on the counter if they wanted to buy something before you got back. Sometimes progress and change is a good thing; sometimes it isn’t.”
    “It’s better to be secure.”
    Socially awkward, Brooks had said. Yet the girl set out nice plates, put milk in a little pitcher, set out sugar, cloth napkins. She knew how to entertain company, even if the company was unexpected and not particularly welcome.
    Sunny took a seat at the counter. She imagined Abigail had two stools only because they’d come as a set. Sunny added milk and considerable sugar to her coffee, then patted the second stool.
    “Come on and sit. Tell me about Abigail.”
    “There isn’t anything to tell.”
    “There’s always something. What do you like to do?”
    “I like my work.” Obviously reluctant, Abigail sat.
    “I feel for people who don’t. Besides your work?”
    “I work quite a lot.” When Sunny just cocked her eyebrows, Abigail struggled to find more. “Bert requires exercise, so we walk or hike. It was part of the appeal of this property, that there was enough land. I work in the greenhouse or the garden. It’s satisfying. I like to read. I like television.”
    “So do I, more than they say you should. But what do they know? And you like solitude.”
    “I do.”
    “When I was raising three kids, I used to think I’d pay any price for a few hours of alone.”
    “I didn’t realize your son had siblings.”
    “Two older sisters.”
    “You’re very young to have children that age, in their thirties, I assume.”
    “I was nineteen when I came to Bickford. I’d been rambling around for about two years.”
    “You … you left home at seventeen?”
    “The day after I graduated high school. I’d put too much time into that to walk away from it. But once that was done, I was gone.” Sunny snapped her fingers. “I didn’t get along with my parents, which is no surprise, as we saw everything, I mean everything, from opposite sides. We still do, mostly, but we’ve made amends. When I came here, I met a young schoolteacher. He was shy and sweet and smart, and had beautiful hazel eyes. I seduced him.”
    “I see.”
    “That part was easy, I was quite beguiling,” she said with a laugh. “What wasn’t easy was coming to realize I was making love with someone I’d fallen in love with. I was so sure I didn’t want that kind of life. The man, the home, the roots, the family. But he was irresistible. He wanted to marry me. I said no, none of that for me.”
    “Marriage as an institution is part of our culture’s fabric, but it remains only a kind of contract, and unnecessary, as it’s easily broken.”
    “You might be speaking my own words from that time. When I learned I was carrying Mya, I agreed to a kind of handfasting. I was dabbling in Wicca back then. We had a lovely ceremony by the river, and moved into a tiny cabin, oh, not half the size of this. No indoor plumbing, either, and I was fine with that.”
    She sighed into her coffee at the memory. “I had two babies there. And it wasn’t quite so fine. My man wanted a real marriage, a real home. He’d let me have my way for nearly three years. I realized it was time tolet him have his. So we loaded up the babies, went to the justice of the peace, made that legal contract. And with the money I’d made from my art—I got a greeting-card contract, and that was reasonably lucrative. And the money he’d saved from teaching, we bought that ramshackle of a house off Shop Street. We started fixing it up, and Brooks came along. I never regretted a moment. Not one.”
    Abigail wasn’t sure it was conversation when a virtual stranger imparted a synopsis of her life story. But it was fascinating.
    “You’re very fortunate.”
    “Oh, I am. How’s that pie?”
    Abigail blinked, glanced down. She’d eaten nearly half, as she’d been caught up in Sunny’s