Eleanor Hayes

Eleanor kept little paper packets in her coat pockets. You never knew when you’d come across a piece of glass the sea had softened.

She spent much of her working life at the library. She remembered which children liked books about trains, and she kept an extra chair by her desk for anyone who wanted to sit and read.

On the first clear morning of a visit, she’d take her daughter June down to the water. They walked until the path narrowed and turned back when their tea had gone cold. The blue pieces came home in June’s pocket. Eleanor always let her keep those.