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Authors: Philip R. Craig
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to spend on a house, and if it weren’t so far from the nearest liquor store, I’d live in Chilmark myself.
A glance at my watch suggested that I didn’t have time to make a trip up-island and back before the kids got home and supper guests arrived, so I contented myself with a Sam Adams while I double-checked my paella makings and table setting. I hadn’t finished the beer when I heard a car coming down our long, sandy driveway. I went to the front porch in time to see Zee’s little Jeep come into the yard.
Zee parked and got out. She was carrying a paper bag sporting a name I remembered seeing on a window in Vineyard Haven.
“You’re early,” I said.
She gave me a fast kiss. “I want to take a shower and change before the kids get home.” She smiled and went into the house.
She was in our bedroom, humming to herself while she brushed her hair, when the kids came running down the road from where the bus had dropped them off. One sign of youth is the unnecessary expenditure of energy. The older I get, the more I’m inclined to the “never stand if you can sit, never sit if you can lie down” school of exercise.
“Hi, Pa.”
“Hi, Josh and Diana. How was school?”
“It was okay.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing much.” Joshua glanced at the Jeep. “Is Ma home already?”
“Yes, she is.”
“Oh, good!” Diana ran into the house.
“She’s early,” said Joshua.
“She wanted to take a shower. We’re having company for supper. The Skyes and their guest, Mahsimba.”
“What are we going to eat?”
“Paella.”
He looked pleased. “I love paella. So does Diana.”
Diana the huntress was always on the trail of food. She would eat anything. “You look like you could stand a shower, too,” I said.
“I’ll use the outdoor one,” he said, and disappeared.
Clearly a lad with healthy instincts. An outdoor shower is infinitely superior to an indoor one; you never have to worry about cleaning it afterward, you can see the sky, and it never gets stuffy. We used ours for eight or nine months of the year, abandoning it only in midwinter, when the pipes might freeze. Show me a person who doesn’t like an outdoor shower, and I’ll show you someone who probably likes small dogs—someone whose company you should avoid.
About ten minutes before our guests were scheduled to arrive, Zee emerged from the bedroom looking sleek and bright as a tiger in the forests of the night. Her hair fell over her shoulders like dark fire, and her eyes were deep as oceans. I hadn’t seen that dress before.
I eyed her appreciatively, and she gave me an odd, almost nervous smile.
“How about a drink?” I said. “You look terrific, by the way.”
“Thank you. Yes, I’d like a drink.”
I got the Luksosowa and two chilled glasses out of the freezer, swirled dry vermouth in the glasses, and then tossed it out and filled the glasses with the vodka. Two black olives in Zee’s, two green ones stuffed with peppers in mine. Perfect martinis.
She sipped her drink. She had the look of one of those girl-women you sometimes see on college campuses who radiate sexuality but who still aren’t quite grown-up.
“Let’s go up on the balcony,” I said.
“Sure.” She led the way.
There was a northeast wind ruffling the water, and I could clearly see Cape Cod looming across Nantucket Sound. The trees were gently moving. I looked at Zee and she smiled that odd smile again.
I heard a car coming down the driveway. Zee stood and looked in that direction. John Skye’s Jeep came into view.
“There they are,” I said, and went down the stairs. I heard Zee start after me, pause, then continue down again. Joshua and Diana came scampering.
John, Mattie, the twins, and Mahsimba got out of the car. I kissed Mattie, Zee kissed both Mattie and John, and the twins were hugged by our children, who immediately invited them to the tree house. Not everyone got invited to the tree house, and Jill and Jen were aware of the
A glance at my watch suggested that I didn’t have time to make a trip up-island and back before the kids got home and supper guests arrived, so I contented myself with a Sam Adams while I double-checked my paella makings and table setting. I hadn’t finished the beer when I heard a car coming down our long, sandy driveway. I went to the front porch in time to see Zee’s little Jeep come into the yard.
Zee parked and got out. She was carrying a paper bag sporting a name I remembered seeing on a window in Vineyard Haven.
“You’re early,” I said.
She gave me a fast kiss. “I want to take a shower and change before the kids get home.” She smiled and went into the house.
She was in our bedroom, humming to herself while she brushed her hair, when the kids came running down the road from where the bus had dropped them off. One sign of youth is the unnecessary expenditure of energy. The older I get, the more I’m inclined to the “never stand if you can sit, never sit if you can lie down” school of exercise.
“Hi, Pa.”
“Hi, Josh and Diana. How was school?”
“It was okay.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing much.” Joshua glanced at the Jeep. “Is Ma home already?”
“Yes, she is.”
“Oh, good!” Diana ran into the house.
“She’s early,” said Joshua.
“She wanted to take a shower. We’re having company for supper. The Skyes and their guest, Mahsimba.”
“What are we going to eat?”
“Paella.”
He looked pleased. “I love paella. So does Diana.”
Diana the huntress was always on the trail of food. She would eat anything. “You look like you could stand a shower, too,” I said.
“I’ll use the outdoor one,” he said, and disappeared.
Clearly a lad with healthy instincts. An outdoor shower is infinitely superior to an indoor one; you never have to worry about cleaning it afterward, you can see the sky, and it never gets stuffy. We used ours for eight or nine months of the year, abandoning it only in midwinter, when the pipes might freeze. Show me a person who doesn’t like an outdoor shower, and I’ll show you someone who probably likes small dogs—someone whose company you should avoid.
About ten minutes before our guests were scheduled to arrive, Zee emerged from the bedroom looking sleek and bright as a tiger in the forests of the night. Her hair fell over her shoulders like dark fire, and her eyes were deep as oceans. I hadn’t seen that dress before.
I eyed her appreciatively, and she gave me an odd, almost nervous smile.
“How about a drink?” I said. “You look terrific, by the way.”
“Thank you. Yes, I’d like a drink.”
I got the Luksosowa and two chilled glasses out of the freezer, swirled dry vermouth in the glasses, and then tossed it out and filled the glasses with the vodka. Two black olives in Zee’s, two green ones stuffed with peppers in mine. Perfect martinis.
She sipped her drink. She had the look of one of those girl-women you sometimes see on college campuses who radiate sexuality but who still aren’t quite grown-up.
“Let’s go up on the balcony,” I said.
“Sure.” She led the way.
There was a northeast wind ruffling the water, and I could clearly see Cape Cod looming across Nantucket Sound. The trees were gently moving. I looked at Zee and she smiled that odd smile again.
I heard a car coming down the driveway. Zee stood and looked in that direction. John Skye’s Jeep came into view.
“There they are,” I said, and went down the stairs. I heard Zee start after me, pause, then continue down again. Joshua and Diana came scampering.
John, Mattie, the twins, and Mahsimba got out of the car. I kissed Mattie, Zee kissed both Mattie and John, and the twins were hugged by our children, who immediately invited them to the tree house. Not everyone got invited to the tree house, and Jill and Jen were aware of the
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