naturally you are,” said Lillian. “Didn’t you hear them last night? The cousins stayed over at the Alcotts’ and they’re going to drive Cecile and me and the Alcotts. That’s already six, so it leaves you and Francis to go in a separate car.”
“How far is it?”
“About an hour’s drive, they said. Maybe a bit more.”
A whole hour in a car with nobody to interrupt. A whole hour.
Laura yawned, took a long stretch like a cat, and spoke lightly. “I could use a cold dip in a lake on a day like this.”
Often afterward, even now more than twenty years later, she wondered about the power of a minor, ordinary mishap to alter an entire life.
“You’ll undoubtedly be there before we will,” said Francis’s cousin Claire. “I’ve driven with you, Francis, and you make my hair stand on end. So take the keys to the cottage and put the lunch in the refrigerator when you get there.”
The car, a two-seater with the top down, climbed into the cooler hills and sped along a narrow road under dark shade. The radio played, and between the music and the rush of wind, you had to shout to be heard. After a while, they stopped talking. It seemed to Laura that a mood had settled upon Francis, a quietness, as if something had gone wrong. It troubled her, so she laid her head back on the seat, let her hair fly in the wind, and kept the silence as though she were simply listening to the music.
The cottage stood at the far end of a small oval lake. There was a dock and a stretch of sandy, man-made beach on which a canoe had been drawn up. A hammock and rocking chairs filled the front porch. When they had stowed the lunch away, they took some Cokes and sat down on the porch to wait for the others. Where the lake lay in this hollow of the hills the air was still. A single sailboat heading toward the shore barely moved.
“Can’t make any headway,” remarked Francis almost as if to himself.
“No,” she said.
What could have changed him since last night? He had turned away from her to concentrate, or make believe to concentrate, on the boat. The one cheek that she could see was furrowed, and his lips seemed to be pursed, as if he were annoyed. He wasn’t the same man that he had been. Maybe last night had been enough, and now he was angry at having been inveigled into this outing. A day with relatives, neighbors, and the neighbors’ “nice young niece”! He must have had a dozen better things to do, and now he was bored. It’s not my fault, she thought miserably, and he needn’t be so sulky about it.… She sought for something to say that might break the mood, but her muddled head offered nothing, nor was there inspiration anywhere, not in the halfhearted garden, the neglected chrysanthemums and aster beds that dwindled down along the path to the dock, nor in the hot, vacant sky. The rocking chair creaked at her least move, offending the silence. Her hands lay heavily in her lap like useless things; not knowing what to do with them, she examined them, the bruise on one finger, the tiny ruby on another, and the whole hand splayed on the cotton skirt, the pretty skirt the color of ripe raspberries …
When the telephone jangled, Francis went in to answer it. “Oh, that’s awful,” she heard him say. And when he said next, “What hospital?” she followed him to the telephone.
“Not your aunts,” he told her. “It’s my cousin Claire. They stopped for gas, Claire got out of the car, took a fall down a step and gashed her leg open on a mess of gravel.”
When he had hung up the telephone, he presented Laura with a choice. “The accident happened before they were ten minutes out of town, so they’re taking Claire back to my house as soon as she’s through at the hospital—Dad wanted a plastic surgeon to do the job. So we can either go back home or stay here for a swim. You decide.”
“No, you do.”
“No, it’s up to you.”
“Then I’ll say let’s start back.”
“Why? Do you really
“How far is it?”
“About an hour’s drive, they said. Maybe a bit more.”
A whole hour in a car with nobody to interrupt. A whole hour.
Laura yawned, took a long stretch like a cat, and spoke lightly. “I could use a cold dip in a lake on a day like this.”
Often afterward, even now more than twenty years later, she wondered about the power of a minor, ordinary mishap to alter an entire life.
“You’ll undoubtedly be there before we will,” said Francis’s cousin Claire. “I’ve driven with you, Francis, and you make my hair stand on end. So take the keys to the cottage and put the lunch in the refrigerator when you get there.”
The car, a two-seater with the top down, climbed into the cooler hills and sped along a narrow road under dark shade. The radio played, and between the music and the rush of wind, you had to shout to be heard. After a while, they stopped talking. It seemed to Laura that a mood had settled upon Francis, a quietness, as if something had gone wrong. It troubled her, so she laid her head back on the seat, let her hair fly in the wind, and kept the silence as though she were simply listening to the music.
The cottage stood at the far end of a small oval lake. There was a dock and a stretch of sandy, man-made beach on which a canoe had been drawn up. A hammock and rocking chairs filled the front porch. When they had stowed the lunch away, they took some Cokes and sat down on the porch to wait for the others. Where the lake lay in this hollow of the hills the air was still. A single sailboat heading toward the shore barely moved.
“Can’t make any headway,” remarked Francis almost as if to himself.
“No,” she said.
What could have changed him since last night? He had turned away from her to concentrate, or make believe to concentrate, on the boat. The one cheek that she could see was furrowed, and his lips seemed to be pursed, as if he were annoyed. He wasn’t the same man that he had been. Maybe last night had been enough, and now he was angry at having been inveigled into this outing. A day with relatives, neighbors, and the neighbors’ “nice young niece”! He must have had a dozen better things to do, and now he was bored. It’s not my fault, she thought miserably, and he needn’t be so sulky about it.… She sought for something to say that might break the mood, but her muddled head offered nothing, nor was there inspiration anywhere, not in the halfhearted garden, the neglected chrysanthemums and aster beds that dwindled down along the path to the dock, nor in the hot, vacant sky. The rocking chair creaked at her least move, offending the silence. Her hands lay heavily in her lap like useless things; not knowing what to do with them, she examined them, the bruise on one finger, the tiny ruby on another, and the whole hand splayed on the cotton skirt, the pretty skirt the color of ripe raspberries …
When the telephone jangled, Francis went in to answer it. “Oh, that’s awful,” she heard him say. And when he said next, “What hospital?” she followed him to the telephone.
“Not your aunts,” he told her. “It’s my cousin Claire. They stopped for gas, Claire got out of the car, took a fall down a step and gashed her leg open on a mess of gravel.”
When he had hung up the telephone, he presented Laura with a choice. “The accident happened before they were ten minutes out of town, so they’re taking Claire back to my house as soon as she’s through at the hospital—Dad wanted a plastic surgeon to do the job. So we can either go back home or stay here for a swim. You decide.”
“No, you do.”
“No, it’s up to you.”
“Then I’ll say let’s start back.”
“Why? Do you really
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