In memory of Nicole Lewanski

PART TWO
Whirlpools
I thought of you and how you love this beauty,
And walking up the long beach all alone
I heard the waves breaking in measured thunder
As you and I once heard their monotone.
Around me were the echoing dunes, beyond me
The cold and sparkling silver of the sea—
We two will pass through death and ages lengthen
Before you hear that sound again with me.
—Sara Teasdale,
 
Sea Sand

---

One
R
OSIE
’
S
D
INER
WAS
at the end of a small trek down a hilly road and up the main
street of Delta. For the past few weeks, it had been my ritual to trudge along the
same path, rain or shine or (as I’ve grown accustomed to) snow. I’d make my
way on many cold, dismal days, like a moth to flame, into the warmth of those
four walls.
I arrived in Colorado at the start of winter without a plan or destination in
mind. After a short and uneventful stint in Denver, I flew to Montrose before
boarding the first bus that struck my fancy. It took me to Delta, where I spent the
last few weeks in a dingy motel with a dodgy radiator, pouring through the local
classifieds for a place to stay. I walked a lot during those first days—all over the
main part of town past quaint shops with brightly colored awnings and festive
murals painted on the sides of buildings. I hiked across parklands and rushing
rivers with no direction in mind. I returned at the end of each day and slipped
back into my room like a ghost, wondering what the hell I was doing out here all
on my own. During those cold, sleepless nights, I felt desolate and unsure,
discouraged and homesick.
The turning point came when by chance I wandered into Rosie’s Diner,
which was staffed by Rosie herself, a cheerful middle-aged woman with strands of
silver hair threaded through her dark, wiry locks. On my first visit, I tried a slice
of her gooseberry pie, and it warmed me in a way that nothing else had in a long
time. After that, I kept going back day after day, and we struck up a friendship.
“Morning, sweetheart,” said Rosie as I pushed through the heavy glass door.
“Morning, Rosie,” I answered, sliding into my regular booth. She came over
with a slice of lemon tart and a pot of coffee.
“You’re still looking for a place to stay, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, I’m not having much luck. I can’t seem to find anything in my price
range, and I’m burning through my savings quicker than I thought.”
“Well, I’ve got some great news for you.”
“Really?” I unzipped my brown satchel and pulled out my laptop.

---

“Some friends of mine, Graham and Dale, are going away for the winter.
They’re looking for a house sitter, and I told them you’d be perfect. They live
right on the edge of town, so it will be easy for you to get around.”
“That sounds promising,” I said, a spark of hope flaring up in my chest.
“There’s not much to do in the garden this time of year, but they have a little
Yorkie who needs taking care of.”
“Oh, I love Yorkies. They are adorable.”
“What are you doing later today, around three?”
“Nothing.”
“Great! Why don’t you meet me back here, and I’ll drive you over to the
house.”
“Okay, thanks, Rosie.”
“Still working away on your book?” she asked. She set the tart down on the
table and poured coffee into my mug. I wrapped my gloved hands around it,
watching the steam rise up in wispy white coils.
“Yeah, I think it’s going to be a collection of short stories.”
“Well, I’ll leave you to it, then.” She flashed me a warm smile. “Oh, by the
way. I read that book you gave me,