Penny Wade grew up in a suburb of Indianapolis. She moved to South Boston after college. Her love life suffers where men are concerned, but her love affair with Boston is solid.
Here is a sneak-peek scene from Girl Ghosted (no spoilers).
We went our separate ways; he was three-martini-happy and I too had a happy edge to my buzz. My old psychology professors wouldn’t approve, but I thought you could learn a lot about a person by what kind of drunk they are. I was proud to be a happy drunk most of the time. Sometimes I was a sobbing drunk. But never a mean one.
The buildings downtown were reflecting bright sun, and spring felt closer than ever. I decided to walk as far as South Station and take the T the rest of the way. I was enjoying the lunchtime bustle of downtown. I crossed Water Street near Post Office Square and saw a crowd gathered on the corner. I crossed and joined them. At first, I couldn’t figure out what everyone was looking at. It wasn’t an unhappy crowd. In fact, it was a really happy one. Everyone seemed to be enjoying being outside after the long winter. They were looking up. Finally, I saw it. There was a really big bird on a ledge about three stories up on a building. It appeared to be stuck. People were taking pictures with their cell phones and discussing what to do with strangers who were their new friends in concern over the bird. I couldn’t figure out what the problem was, but the bird would flap from time to time but not take off.
The crowd, which spilled from the sidewalk onto the street, began to move. I turned to see a fire truck pulling onto the scene. It arranged itself near the building and raised its ladder. A firefighter inched his way up the ladder toward the bird. The crowd was giddy, cheering softly for the hero. What would he do when he got there? Was the bird injured? How would it react? We were all agog. When the firefighter got within reaching distance of the bird, he braced himself and extended one arm toward it.
The bird took off. It simply flew away. The crowd gasped and cheered, then laughed at the drama which was apparently of our own making. Problem solved—except that it seemed there had never been a problem. People patted each other on the backs, shook hands, and high-fived as if we’d just negotiated world peace. Then the crowd broke and we all went our separate ways.
I was still grinning ear to ear when I got back to my office. I was so proud to call myself a Bostonian. I was also still a little lit from the martinis.
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