Scene 2: Why Do Tangible Words & Cozy Kitchen Aromas Touch the Heart?
Gurgling, sputtering, the coffee caffeine is awakening.
Eoin looks up.
Perk! Perk! Perk!
“Here it comes,” he says.
Perk… perk… perk. Water jumps up into the glass knob on top of the percolator and filters back down.
“Best sound in the world,” he says.
“Right up there,” she says, “next to the snail-mail delivery.”
She pours two mugs and hands him one. They stand by the fire, blowing across the tops.
Eoin turns the steak with the tongs. It sizzles all over again, and a fresh wave of that rich, savory aroma rolls up from the pan.
“Halfway,” he says.
She pokes a fork at a carrot in the pot. “Almost.”
“Plenty of coffee.”
“Plenty of time,” she says. “Wait. I didn’t show you yet.”
She climbs into the van and comes back with the journal under her arm and an envelope in her hand. She holds it up so he can see the name on the corner.
Eoin’s whole face lights up. “Margaret!”
“Right on time, like always.”
They sit on the bench and open the envelope slowly, careful not to tear it. Suzy slides the card out.
There on the front is the same picture as always. A campfire glowing under the stars, with s’mores toasting golden on long sticks over the flames.
“There’s the campfire,” Eoin says softly.
“And the smores.”
“How many is that now?”
“Ten this year,” she says. “One every month since January. She hasn’t missed one yet.”
Eoin leans in close. “Would you read it to me?”
She opens the card. Margaret’s handwriting fills the whole inside, all the way to the edges. It isn’t the best handwriting, but they are always so glad to get her cards.
She reads aloud. “My dear ones. Last month I told you the tomatoes were coming in. Well, they came in, and then they kept coming.”
“She said they would.”
“So many I gave them to the whole street. Mrs. Rural made sauce and brought me a jar, so the tomatoes came right back to me.”
“That’s Margaret’s whole street,” Eoin says. “Everything comes back around.”
Suzy keeps reading. “And you remember our grandson, the one who wants to be a mailman? He mailed me a frog.”
Eoin’s mouth falls open. “A frog?”
“He even packed the animal in an insulated box with proper temperature regulation.”
“Did it get there?”
She turns the card over. Margaret wrote on the back too, the way she always does.
“The post office called me to come pick it up,” she reads. “James laughed so hard he had to sit down. We’ve named him USPS. He lives by the porch now. He is under 20 inches, so he was allowed to be shipped.”
They both laugh until she has to set her mug down.
“USPS,” Eoin says, wiping his eyes. “Next month we’ll find out what USPS is up to.”
“She’ll tell us.”
“She always does.”
She reads the last part quietly. “Write soon and tell us everything. All our love, Margaret and James.”
Neither of them says anything for a moment. The fire crackles.
Eoin looks at the campfire on the front of the card. “Same front as all the others this year. How did this whole thing start?”
She smiles and holds the card in both hands. “Margaret and I both love sending and receiving tangible cards. Something you can hold, read again, and keep. So we made a plan before we ever hit the road.”
“What kind of plan?”
“Each of us buys one pack of ten cards, all with the same front cover. We both shop online at SuzyTheme.com for ours. She sends hers to us, one a month, and we send ours to her.”
“Ours don’t match hers.”
“They don’t have to. Hers all match each other, and ours all match each other. That way ten cards in a row always belong together. Ten months of her life with the campfire on the front. Ten months of ours with our cover on the front.”
Eoin turns the card over in his hands. “So nobody ever has to wonder which ones go together.”
“Never. Each of us keeps the other’s cards. I keep an archive of Margaret, and she keeps an archive of us.”
“And the archive is for what?”
“Books,” she says. “Someday we each write a book from our own archived writings. Every month we’re living it, and every month we’re writing it down.”
He grins. “And in between, we get to know everything that’s happening with Margaret and James.”
“Tomatoes, frogs, and all,” she laughs.
He takes the card from her gently and holds it a moment. “I love her.”
“I love her too. And she loves us.”
“So does James.”
“That’s why she takes the time,” she says. “She sits down with her pen. She finds a stamp. She walks it to the mailbox. Every single month. That’s love you can hold in your hands.”
She climbs into the van and lifts the lid of the woven basket tucked beside the bed, where nothing slides around when the van is moving.
“Come look,” she calls.
He steps to the door. The cards stand in a neat row inside the basket. Ten campfires. Ten s’mores toasting.
“January through October,” she says, setting the new one in at the end.
“Margaret’s whole year.”
“Whenever I miss her, I open the basket.”
Eoin goes back to the fire and checks the pot. He adds another log under the grate and pokes the coals until they glow.
She sits on the bench with a card from their own pack of ten on her portable desk in front of her and uncaps her pen.
“Tell her about the frost,” he says.
“Already did.”
“And George. And Linda and Ray.”
She smiles and keeps writing. “George is in there.” She looks up. “Want to add something?”
“Can I?”
She hands him the pen and the card. He writes a few lines at the bottom in his big blocky letters. Then he adds one more line. “Tell James hello, and say hello to USPS for us.”
She reads it, and her eyes go soft. “Eoin. She’s going to love that.”
She slides it into the envelope, presses it shut, and sets a stamp in the corner.
“Monday,” she says. “When we go down the mountain.”
Eoin pokes a carrot. “Tender.”
He presses the steak with the tongs. “Few more minutes.”
They wait, sipping coffee, watching the fire. Eoin sets one more log in the ring.
At last he lifts the steak onto the cutting board. “It needs to rest.”
“So do I,” she laughs, and sits back on the bench.
When it’s rested, she sets out a set of plates and their utensils and, with a slotted spoon, drains the carrots, the broccoli, the celery, and the Brussels sprouts onto each plate. Eoin cuts the steak with his knife and puts half on each plate.
“The aroma of fresh-paring coffee and healthy foods is just what a noisy stomach is calling for,” Eoin says.
They sit together by the fire. Eoin takes a bite and closes his eyes. “Perfect.”
She takes a forkful of carrot, sweet and tender. “So good.”
They eat slowly, cutting each bite, the sun climbing over the ridge.
When the plates are empty, Eoin leans back and looks at the fire ring, still burning, and the woodpile beside it.
She sips the last of her coffee and looks at the same thing. She doesn’t say a word. She just smiles, like she’s thinking.
What can seven years on the road teach two nomads?
Can’t wait to find out what happens next? The full story of Suzy and Eoin’s mountain morning is waiting for you in Themers. Join free and read all three scenes now.
