Firefly Summer by Nan Rossiter

share the same name, my family just started calling me Birdie. I’ve loved birds my whole life . . . especially the snowy owl.”
    â€œI like owls, too. The barred is my favorite.”
    â€œWho cooks for you?” she said with a grin. “Who cooks for you aaaalll?”
    David laughed at her mimicking the owl’s call. “Hey, that’s pretty good!”
    She smiled and nodded shyly.
    When the meeting ended, David walked out with her and then, with an unassuming confidence, asked her if she’d like to go see a movie that weekend—he’d heard The Graduate was pretty good. Birdie had agreed.
    A week after that, they went to see Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner . . . and on their third date, he took her to dinner. Afterward, he snuck up to her room because her roommate was away, and they talked all night. One thing had led to another, and before she knew it, they were standing by the back door in the half-light of dawn, kissing good-bye.
    Birdie sighed—those were the lovely old days, the days before life had become heavy and full of heartbreak. She straightened out the covers and then sank to her knees, her eyes filling with tears. She lightly traced the pattern on their Amish quilt, closed her eyes, and rested her head on her hands. “I know it’s been a long time since You’ve heard from me, Lord,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I’ve turned out to be such a miserable wretch. I have so many things for which to be thankful . . . but I just wish things had turned out differently. I wish everything had turned out differently. I wish You’d blessed us with children . . . and I know, if You’d only let Easton live, all of our lives would be so much better right now.”
    David—who’d come up the stairs with a cup of coffee for her—stood outside the door, listening to her pray, and tears filled his eyes.

C HAPTER 18
    R emy smoothed sunscreen onto her speckled arms. It was too late, she knew, to save her tired, old skin from sun damage. She was freckled everywhere —some spots were the size of nickels! Not to mention the wrinkles! The last time she saw Dr. Sanders, though, he told her to use sunscreen every time she went outside. Even though her skin was damaged from years of lying in the sun and burning, he’d said, it still needed protection. He even gave her the name of a dermatologist and said the dermatologist would be able to spot little things he might not see. Remy had tucked the card away, and now she doubted she could even find it, but she was using her sunscreen, and even though he’d said SPF 30 was enough, she’d bought 75!
    Remy looked at her reflection and sighed. She’d read a book, or maybe it was a movie she’d seen—she couldn’t remember which—about a woman who’d written a letter to her younger self, warning her of all the pitfalls that lay ahead in her life and how to avoid them. Remy had found the idea intriguing, and afterward, she’d thought about the warnings she’d give her younger self if she had the opportunity. She remembered thinking she’d warn herself to make sure Jim took better care of his heart. She’d also tell her not to worry so much about the kids, because, after all, Sam was found when he got lost at Boy Scout camp, Eliza was able to walk again after she broke her leg skiing, and Payton did get into the college of her choice—Amherst, not Middlebury—despite having low SAT scores. And now they were all happily married with families of their own. Yes, she had definitely spent too much time worrying!
    Now, though, she’d also warn her younger self not to spend so much time in the sun; to use copious amounts of sunscreen, wear a hat, rent a beach umbrella, and do everything possible to protect her skin. She’d tell herself to not worry about having a golden summer tan—it wasn’t worth it, because if she did, someday,