Nonfiction

He once bragged to me that with the single push of a button, he could lower his boat from the dock behind his house, that he could be out on the water in less than five minutes.

There is, in your past, a road that hugs the sea: a transcontinental highway that you can pick up or leave at any time, made not of on-ramps and off-ramps but of uncontrolled crossings and stoplights you are free to turn at, drive through, or ignore entirely.

When the opportunity presented itself, I didn’t hesitate to take Winnie to see “Belfast.” I’d already seen it once, and I knew she would love it.