Page 59 of Teacher of the Year

“How was the ferry?” Olan asks.

“Perfect. I always forget how little time it takes, and boom, it feels like an entirely different world.”

“Well, technically, it’s still Portland,” he says.

“I know, but it feels like a different universe.”

The quietness and immediacy of the island create a tranquilness folks love. It’s no wonder Peaks has become a desirable summer destination.

I throw my bag in the back of the cart, and we squeeze into the front together, with Illona sandwiched between us.

“Are you hungry?” Olan asks.

“I’m always hungry.”

“Me too!” Illona chimes in.

“Well, we acquired a picnic,” he says, and I grin at his choice of words. Even on the island, in his sexy jeans, he’s still a nerd.

Olan puts his foot down on the gas, and the little golf cart does the best it can to accelerate with two adults, a child, and my bag in the back.

As we drive through the island, the trees have begun to bloom, and everything smells like sweet blossoms and green and ocean and blue, and I’m eager to spend the next few days here. We curve around a winding road, with homes varying in size, and end up on a small dirt road headed toward the water.

Olan pulls over and parks the cart on the grass near the road, and we tumble out and head down a short pebble path. We turn the corner, and the entire bay comes into view, reminding me why there’s nothing like living in Maine. Portland looms in the distance but seems so far, almost like seeing it from an airplane. The calm waves splash more than crash, and right now, we are the only people here.

“Well, this couldn’t be more gorgeous,” I say.

“It’s actually called Picnic Point,” Olan says.

“Let’s picnic!” Illona sings.

We find a small clearing not far from the entrance and roll out the flannel blanket Olan carries under his arm. Olan and Illona stopped at the café near the ferry and bought, no,acquired, various sandwiches, chips, and water. Placing the food out for us, Olan works to make the spread visually appealing by carefully placing sandwiches and bags of chips on a large platter with a giant rooster on it, which I assume he’s brought from the rental.

“Turkey, roast beef, or peanut butter and jelly?” He motions to each one doing his best sandwich spokesmodel impression.

“I’ll take the PB&J. Anyone want to share it with me?” I say because I’ve seen how much Illona loves PB&J at school.

“Me!” she shouts.

We sit, eat, chat about the weather and what animal shapes we spot in the clouds. While watching for wildlife in the water, Illona thinks she spots a seal. Although I’m almost certain a fish has merely surfaced momentarily, I’m not spoiling it for her. We finish eating, and Olan suggests, “Let’s take a little walk. Down this way, ducks gather. We can bring them our leftovers. Princess, let me fix your hair first.”

Illona has removed the tie from her hair, and her long tresses wave wildly in the ocean breeze. She hops over to me and takes my hand.

“Marvin, can you do it?”

“Um, sure,” I say, glancing at Olan with an I-have-no-idea-what-I’m-doing look.

Olan grabs a fresh hair tie from his bag and hands it to me with a wink. I wrap the tie around my wrist as Illona positions herself in front of me, her back to me, and says, “Ready!”

Once again, my wide, ignorant eyes find Olan’s face. He smiles gently, puts a hand on my shoulder, and whispers, “You got this. I’ll talk you through it.”

I rest my hands on Illona’s shoulders, waiting for instructions. Her hair flies in every direction, making me wonder if Mother Nature is about to make this already challenging task exasperating.

“Okay, since we don’t have any supplies but the tie, use your hands to finger comb and gather her hair into a ponytail.”

“Like this?” I ask, running my hands through her beautiful long curls. I’m attempting to gather them, but they aren’t cooperating.

“Sort of. You’ve got to put some muscle into it.”

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