It Begins (Friday's excerpt)

Dede and I came down from the hill and sat on smooth rocks next to the river. She looked at me. I don’t think you should write a novel, she said. I think you should take the trip.

You are a traveler, Dede told me. Your grandmother was a traveler. You are 37. Your grandmother was 37. You are fascinated with place. Your grandmother went out to discover place. It was 1946. This summer will be 2006. It’s the 60 year anniversary. You have to do it.

Dede may not have said any of these things. I may have said them. But out of what she said and what I said something became clear: I would be taking the trip.

So it begins, finally, on the banks of the Pedernales River in Texas, a long, long way from Connecticut. It begins with my best friend looking at me and saying, Take the trip, the same way, perhaps, my grandmother’s friends said to her--contemplating whether to leave her two daughters and husband for three weeks--Take the trip. My grandmother’s ledger, small enough to fit in a pocket, moved out of the file and onto the desk.