Lines of cars moved up and down the road right outside a full parking lot across from a basketball court with its tattered hoop swaying in the wind. I drove by, looking for a spot at the farmer's market. The lot was lined up in down with booths and open trunks, fresh fruits and vegetables piled high, while the smoked meat was stacked away in neat rows.

“There’s a spot Misty,” said Ned, hand in my face from the passenger seat, pointing at a wet and muddy section of grass big enough to fit his small Subaru.

“I see it, I see” I muttered slowly pulling the car into the spot.

He hopped out, as I took my time grabbing my corduroy purse, triple checking to make sure everything was there just in case anything had run off. Things had been hard since Jackie had died, and now I just wanted to be numb for a few months, but things could never be that simple. That morning I had received a package from an estranged father, a father who before had never bothered. He said he was coming to Maine full time and wanted to go camping sometime. Inside the package were piles of expensive electronics that this librarian could not normally afford. Now I had to distract myself a little longer until I decided what my future would look like even though I knew it was just more manipulation.

A man and women walked by the car, their hands full of heaps of produce. A tour bus sat parked on the grass as the last elderly passengers trickled out.

“Wow did you see how much bacon that guy had, a whole bag?” yelled Ned.

“Well we better get in there, and pick up a whole hog” I said, forcing a smile as we stopped at the congested road.

An antique traffic cop was standing to attention in the middle, driving traffic with an open palm and whistle. He stopped a car, and then gracefully beckoned for everyone to cross. The two large crowds waiting on either side met in the center of the road before awkwardly going in separate ways. Through the crowd I spotted the little old man hobbled over with white whiskers and his belly sticking out, and a sewn-on patch that read “Pinkers traffic service”.

I stepped over a curb made of dirt and chopped up asphalt, as the summer people, hoards of them bustled all around making what would used to be a very quick walk take a very long time. Finding Ned hidden behind a trash can vaping. He quickly hid it away when he saw me coming.

“Embarrassed to be doing it in public” I said with a teasing tone.

“Not at all, I’m an addict, but I haven’t completely shed my good manners yet” he said face turning color.

Ned had cried in my arms after the funeral service, confessing that he was giving up all his bad habits to live a more fulfilling life in Jack’s honor, but I couldn’t fault him for not giving everything up overnight. I hadn’t seen him drinking again.

We came to the first offering of fresh fruit, a van packed with crates of bright little strawberries with earthy green stems extending far out, left on long in order to prove that it had indeed been grown.

“Oh I'll take a box, how much?” I asked while absorbed in the task of fishing out my wallet from my messy bag sitting on the ground.

“Eleven dollars,” said the man.

“Thank you” I said, getting up and paying for the treat.

We slowly worked our way through the bustle of people to a little corner in the back that was cleared out. A very old van rust spots all over sat parked at the end, the door of it hanging open and guitar noises were coming from the van as a man plucked away at an acoustic in the back seat. He was playing to a crowd of empty folding chairs that had been strawned about on his little sandy section of hot tar street. Then we stopped in this little section of the market where we could breathe and listened to the music, fast tempo arpeggio, before he was strumming chords up and down with his thumb as I ate my strawberries.

Ned had lived here his whole life. He had seen how things had changed from back when the town could manage the influx of summer traffic, to now when things were different, and the roads and trails couldn’t sustain so much congestion up and down them. He had to drive into his old hometown from hours away just to see it, and had to pay in order to park anywhere near the beaches where he had grown up.

Me, Jack, and Ned had all met due to a shared passion of reading, community volunteering and similar ideals. I had only told one person in Maine that my real name had once been Mindy Felt, and he had promised to keep it secret. A secret now sealed by death.

My father had been long corrupted by his wealth, and power. If he had already been born a cruel man or later poisoned with temptation I could not remember, but either way he had turned into a savage dragon that would burn anyone who tried to take his gold. I had come to love this state and in particular this area of Loony on a few trips here as a child. When I had made my choice to be disavowed from the family at age 18 so I could be with my ex Racheal. I had decided to change my name at that point, and while the relationship was temporary, the name change to Misty, and estrangement was permanent.