Bread from Janine (September 12)

As soon as I pulled in to the dock, [Janine] came down to ask if we wanted any bread.

“I just put a few loaves in the oven. I could bring one over this afternoon.”

“I’m sure Granny’d like that. And we’d be happy to have another each week, like always.” Things were starting to fit back into place. Yet, I had to ask. “Where were you this morning?”

“Right here. Where else?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t see you when I came by. Not for the past few weeks, either. I didn’t know what to think.”

“That’s strange, Robbie. I wasn’t away. You really came to look?”

“Just like I said.”

“Well, here I am.” …

“So, everything’s fine?”

“Perfect. Now, you’d better get going. It’s nearly lunchtime. I bet they’re waiting for you.”

I pushed off. A flock of six or seven martins darted down from out of nowhere. They skimmed over the water ahead of me. In the glinting sunlight, they flickered in and out of visibility. Then they disappeared in the direction of the Point. I did my best to keep up.

(p. 188)

Individual struggles and conflicts often play out as internal dramas that people resist sharing, even when others express concern. It can be difficult to tell at what point sincere interest ceases to be helpful and becomes intrusive. And this scene between Robbie and Janine is a good example. Have you experienced that kind of dilemma?

(Illustration generated by AI)