"Went to church yesterday."
"Did the roof fall in? Har har!"
Even the unrepentant showed up for the harvest supper at the church. There's something about being marooned on a little island in a gale that makes exiles want to huddle together. Besides, the turkey dinner cooked by half the people on the island is pretty tasty. (And there's no takeout, Mr. Li.) So there was the Real Estate Lady, the Contractor, the Aging Rock Singer, the Architect—practically everybody I know on the island. And their families. I was with my family too. My ex bro- and sis-in-law and their kids. I sat next to my ex husband with his girlfriend and their kid. The roof did not fall in.
The lemon mirangue pie baked by the Real Estate Lady was excellent, the company was good, the chatter loud. And then we all ran into our cars in the rain and back home to shore up our separate fortresses.
And all the while, Citichild and Photochild were driving through the highlands of Mexico to arrive in San Miguel de Allende and safe harbor with more family.
fair warning: on block island or manhattan or in missouri, we can be a little salty
You didn't even mention what you wore to it. Or, for that matter, what everyone else was wearing. So was it Van Halen? Or Keith Richards? If not, how dull.
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