born seven years later, my parents were living in Florida, so we had the whole house. Those were crazy days, especially when Cliff was older and had friends down for a week, and Alicia had her friends down, too, and the girls thought the little boys were animals.” Eleanor smiled. “And they kind of were.”
“Are you lonely living there now?”
“Oh, no. I’ve got the best bedroom so I wake up looking at the ocean. And I’m used to sleeping alone. In the latter part of our marriage, Mortimer took to sleeping in another room. He said it was because he thought his snoring bothered me. I secretly believed it was because my snoring bothered him.”
They both laughed.
“Mortimer never cared much for our Nantucket home. Maybe because in fact it was my Nantucket home. He came down from Boston on most summer weekends, and for Thanksgiving and Christmas. He never enjoyed sailing or swimming or even walking on the beach. He loved cities.”
“And you love the ocean.”
“I do. The entire drama of the ocean, a new one every day.”
“So the ocean is your companion.”
Eleanor tilted her head, contemplating his words. “I’ve never thought of it that way, but I suppose it is.” After a moment, she admitted, “But the winter winds have caused a lot of damage, and much of the plumbing needs to be replaced.”
Silas laughed. “As we grow older, many of us have problems with our plumbing.”
Eleanor smiled. She found herself liking Silas better and better as the conversation went on. They had another drink. When they went to the dining room, she saw that Silas had put out placemats and cloth napkins and what Eleanor thought of as Maxine’s good china. Silas had made a beef stew with vegetables in a rich gravy laced with red wine. He set Nantucket Bake Shop rolls, warm from the oven, on a plate. He provided her own small block of butter in a porcelain ramekin like Eleanor used to hold crème brûlée, although how many years had it been since she had made a crème brûlée?
“I’m very sorry not to serve you a salad,” Silas said, “but the truth is, I dislike salads. Especially that frisée stuff that gets stuck in my teeth. But lettuce in general is a mystery to me. My children tell me I must eat it, but I eat broccoli instead. There are carrots and green beans in the stew.”
“But no lettuce in the stew,” Eleanor said somberly.
“No. No lettuce.” Silas shuddered.
The stew was excellent. The meat was tender, the vegetables plentiful, and the sauce so savory, she found herself dipping her roll in and munching it without the butter.
“Oh, good,” Silas said. “I like to do that, too, but I didn’t want to seem uncivilized.”
“But now that I’ve shown my true nature, you’re free to dip,” Eleanor told him, and they both laughed.
It was a very friendly meal. They laughed often, about little things, and they talked about Maxine and Mortimer and the old days. Silas refused to allow Eleanor to carry her bowl to the kitchen. Silas fussed around in there, muttering to himself, and returned with two Klondike bars on a gold-rimmed dessert plate.
Eleanor laughed. “I love Klondike bars!”
After a while, they discussed their children and grandchildren, but not in depth.
“Frankly,” Silas said, “I’m still exhausted from raising my son and daughter. I’d like to think I could be helpful in an emergency, but my grandchildren are still teenagers. Mountain and Ocean. Yes, those are their names. Mountain, male, plays drums. Ocean, female, is a Goth. Everything black and a nose ring.”
“Mountain and Ocean?” Eleanor echoed, and she laughed so hard she had to excuse herself to go to the bathroom.
“Would you like some coffee?” Silas asked when Eleanor returned to the table.
“No, thanks. I’d be up all night.”
“You women,” Silas said. “Maxine was that way. Coffee or even chocolate, or a phone call after nine o’clock, and she was tossing and turning in bed all night.”
“Maybe it is a gender issue,” Eleanor said. “I’ve often had trouble with insomnia. Sometimes I wandered around the house. Sometimes I turned on the light and read.” She laughed. “The light always woke Mortimer, so I bought him a sleep mask, but it caused a red mark on the arch of his nose so he refused to wear it. It’s another reason he started sleeping in the guest bedroom.”
They talked more about the eccentric problems of aging, laughing as they talked. When Silas’s mantel clock