More excerpts, A Love Worth Fighting For

When things are going well, you forget past disasters. You assume each day will break with a fresh cup of coffee at Starbucks.

July 4th. It took forever for summer to get to Maine, this morning bringing a new sun-spanked world of freshly minted leaves and the smell of mown grass.

Strolling along the street called the promenade that winds around Munjoy Hill overlooking Casco Bay, I sensed the excitement. A noisome crowd gathered on the grassy bank, basking in the warm sun and the cool ocean breezes. Mothers spread blankets, kids tossed Frisbees, and food wagons spread wondrous odors of baked apples, fried dough, and grilling meat.

I checked on Carol inside our condo with its sweeping view of Portland Harbor. After dinner, in late afternoon I wandered outside alone. On the prom, I weaved past families waiting on the lawn, as I descended towards a massive white tent festooned with an immense American flag, where the Portland Symphony Orchestra would perform. I found a spot on the bank’s edge, perched right over the musicians as they tune up, a pleasant cacophony of sounds. Soon the familiar music of John Williams’ famous movie score began to soar. I stood for the armed forces medley salute to those who served, feeling foolish and proud. I salute the flag. My soul stirred, I miss Carol, thinking she should be here with me. At dusk, the unmistakable chords of the 1812 Overture—the strings introduce their theme of peace, and the contrasting horns threaten war. As they build to their inevitable crescendo, the cannons roar and loud thumps signal fireworks—lofted into the darkening sky, they explode with bright blooms, spreading a kaleidoscopic carpet over the crowd to its “oohs” and “aahs,” until all sound is swallowed by deafening pops, hisses, and concussions.

It was a summer like that . . . until it wasn’t.