Abby tried grave rubbing. It's difficult in the rain, but I remember looking at her beautiful hand holding the paper against the stone. It was, in a small way, valiant.
We had a great late lunch at The Milepost Tavern in Duxbury. It's a warm and cozy place. Then we headed just a bit west and found a motel. It was one of those places that serves a continental breakfast. Come morning, on our way down the corridor to the breakfast room, a man I knew in Yarmouth stepped out of a room with a woman who was not his wife. He was very surprised to see me. Sort of sheepish. I didn't care of course except for a wish that John Cheever could write up the guy's story.