needing money. They prayed aloud many times every day, not only at meals. They were strict but they were not gloomy—my father had a wealth of stories that my mother enjoyed hearing, and he also sang funny songs in a mellow baritone while my mother played the piano for him. When people came to the house who were gloomy or dour, my parents would disapprove afterward; they couldn’t understand anyone who considered God or salvation in the least frightening. Now sin, that was fearful, but to be fully committed to the Lord’s path, that was a source of perennial joy, which one was obliged to display as an example of glad service to the Lord and the sure expectation of everlasting glory. After I left home, I never knew anyone who had fewer ups and downs than my parents. They were very neat, like me, and it could be said that after forty-five or fifty years they too might leave no trace of themselves in the house they had lived in, but that was good—the best possible evidence that they were not of this world to begin with.
I was in the office the next day when Felicity showed up with a bag of hamburgers and fries. It was the first really hot day of the year, and she was wearing linen shorts and espadrilles. Her hair was pinned up casually and fell in sweaty tendrils over her collar. It was almost too hot to eat, but the hamburgers smelled good. She set them out on paper towels on Bobby’s desk. She lifted the top of the bun off mine and showed me the underside. She said, “Look at that. See that crispy rim there? This is a great bun. Aren’t you hungry? I almost got another one to eat in the car on the way over. And these seasoned fries. I told the waitress to be sure they came out of the fryer and into the bag so they would be perfect by the time I got here. Oh, God!” She put two fries into her mouth.
“How’s Bobby?”
“Safely ensconced on his sofa with a cooler of Cokes next to his right hand and the TV remote in his left. My father brought him some take-out veal piccata for dinner last night and some take-out bacon and eggs for breakfast this morning. God forbid he should miss a meal.”
“Is he on crutches?”
“He would be, but the last time he was on crutches—remember? when he fractured his heel going down into the basement to turn out the light—anyway, that time he went to the movies at the Odeon Plaza in Portsmouth with Fernie, and when they came out the whole floor of the lobby had just been mopped, and the crutches went right out from under him and he hit his head against the refreshment stand and Fernie had to call an ambulance so they could monitor him at the hospital all night. Remember that?” She took a bite of her burger. “Crutches are just too dangerous for him. We’re catering to his every need on a round-robin basis, all except for Fernie, because my mother thinks—”
“Your mother is afraid that if Fern really comes to understand what married life is going to be like—”
“She wouldn’t marry him in a million years! Exactly. Eat! Eat! I brought you iced tea with mint and lemon to cool you off.”
We ate. As always, a meal with Felicity was savory, delicious, and almost silent. I noticed the crunchy onion and smooth tomato and juicy meat, as well as the crisp edge of the bun and the lightness of the fries. If I’d been alone, I would have eaten and been satisfied—I was a hungry sort of guy from a family of big eaters—but I would have been reading something, or talking on the phone, or getting ready to go out. Felicity did only one thing at a time.
While she was balling up the papers and stuffing them into the bag, I put my arm around her waist. She put her hands on my shoulders and smiled and said, “Do you have appointments this afternoon, then?”
“There’s a house the Sloans want to see. I’m going to meet them in Nut Valley.”
“What time?”
“Not till three.”
She threw the remains of the meal into the wastebasket and then let down the blinds and
I was in the office the next day when Felicity showed up with a bag of hamburgers and fries. It was the first really hot day of the year, and she was wearing linen shorts and espadrilles. Her hair was pinned up casually and fell in sweaty tendrils over her collar. It was almost too hot to eat, but the hamburgers smelled good. She set them out on paper towels on Bobby’s desk. She lifted the top of the bun off mine and showed me the underside. She said, “Look at that. See that crispy rim there? This is a great bun. Aren’t you hungry? I almost got another one to eat in the car on the way over. And these seasoned fries. I told the waitress to be sure they came out of the fryer and into the bag so they would be perfect by the time I got here. Oh, God!” She put two fries into her mouth.
“How’s Bobby?”
“Safely ensconced on his sofa with a cooler of Cokes next to his right hand and the TV remote in his left. My father brought him some take-out veal piccata for dinner last night and some take-out bacon and eggs for breakfast this morning. God forbid he should miss a meal.”
“Is he on crutches?”
“He would be, but the last time he was on crutches—remember? when he fractured his heel going down into the basement to turn out the light—anyway, that time he went to the movies at the Odeon Plaza in Portsmouth with Fernie, and when they came out the whole floor of the lobby had just been mopped, and the crutches went right out from under him and he hit his head against the refreshment stand and Fernie had to call an ambulance so they could monitor him at the hospital all night. Remember that?” She took a bite of her burger. “Crutches are just too dangerous for him. We’re catering to his every need on a round-robin basis, all except for Fernie, because my mother thinks—”
“Your mother is afraid that if Fern really comes to understand what married life is going to be like—”
“She wouldn’t marry him in a million years! Exactly. Eat! Eat! I brought you iced tea with mint and lemon to cool you off.”
We ate. As always, a meal with Felicity was savory, delicious, and almost silent. I noticed the crunchy onion and smooth tomato and juicy meat, as well as the crisp edge of the bun and the lightness of the fries. If I’d been alone, I would have eaten and been satisfied—I was a hungry sort of guy from a family of big eaters—but I would have been reading something, or talking on the phone, or getting ready to go out. Felicity did only one thing at a time.
While she was balling up the papers and stuffing them into the bag, I put my arm around her waist. She put her hands on my shoulders and smiled and said, “Do you have appointments this afternoon, then?”
“There’s a house the Sloans want to see. I’m going to meet them in Nut Valley.”
“What time?”
“Not till three.”
She threw the remains of the meal into the wastebasket and then let down the blinds and
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