By the time you read this, I’ll be crossing (or have crossed) the United States headed for Boston and—of course—Cape Cod. I am traveling to promote A Place Like This and to see family and friends. Almost to the day since Andy and I said goodbye to the Craigville cottage in September 2019, it will be my first trip back to Cape Cod in two years. 

Alaska Airlines might seem a strange choice for flying to the east coast, let alone Boston, but it runs a non-stop, which is just what I have taken many times. And the locational—or continental, if you prefer—reversal of name is appropriate enough, considering how radical a change this trip makes in my Covid-19-dominated life. Before deciding to go, even after buying the tickets, I agonized and fussed and worried. I am comforted by knowing that the state of Massachusetts stands third highest in percentage of people vaccinated; also, for better or for worse, I trust both the people I’m seeing and my own care to protect myself.  

One major preparation on my part, however, is purely selfish: the books I bring. For me, a multi-hour-flight offers the utter delight of unencumbered reading time. As a passenger, I limit chat to a frosty smile and “Hello,” perhaps a “May I get past you?” If faced with a chatty seat mate, I open my traveling bag, pull out books, or in desperation close my eyes and feign sleep until the talker gives up.  

On this trip, three books, all new to me, reflect my general reading strategy: a balanced meal in print. For entrees, a big biography (or history or memoir) and a strong novel, usually contemporary; for dessert, a good whodunit. This time I’ve chosen Evan Thomas’ biography of Sandra Day O’Connor. I love to learn about great achievers, to be inspired by them—and to be re-reminded of history I have lived through, because so much that happens runs all too quickly by me. I know all too little about Justice O’Conner, yet our two lives have run diversely parallel over many of the same years.  

My companion in fiction? Hamnet, the new novel by Maggie O’Farrell. I’ve heard much about it and gotten an impression of fine, imaginative writing, plus I’m intrigued by O’Farrell’s conjuring up such a protagonist, as well as Shakespeare and his times.  

But I can’t be serious for the whole flight! As a literary candy bar (and I’ll probably chomp a Milky Way or York Mint Patty along the way), I’ve chosen A Banquet of Consequences by Elizabeth George. Great title! I have high standards, though: mysteries must be literate and well-written, and often the English are best. (My normal “wait for the paperback” practice got a severe test recently when I saw Elly Griffiths’ new Ruth Galloway tale in hardcover! Yet it’s comforting to know another of her great tales awaits me, just some months down the pike.) 

Will I read them all, on one plane flight? Oh, no. The joy of this is, that I consider these books my personal buffet: I can dip in and out just as and when I please, once I’ve finished the day’s New York Times.  

As for my own book’s journey to Cape Cod, I am going because I sense this as The Time. My best opportunity to project A Place Like This into the world. Perhaps with careful and inspired planning on my and my publicist’s part, I might resurrect it later when travel seems less iffy, but I doubt that would work as well, or at all easily. I will be doing two bookstore signings, plus a giving  a reading at the Centerville Library; I’ll also donate copies in person to other Cape Cod libraries and drop in to promote the book at various independent bookstores.  

As for the generic native American whose face graces the tail of every Alaska plane, hardly a native Cape Cod Wampanoag, his smile welcomes this traveler no matter what her destination. (I know Alaska Airlines would like me to think so.) He does a pretty good job as a stand-in for the heritage I seek on Cape Cod, the long history of family, friends, books, and place that I know awaits me.  

So off I go! I have booked my trip, and it has booked me. 

  Tomorrow morning, in that magic moment when the plane leaves the ground and slants upward into the clouds, I’ll say these words: This is My Book, My Time.