He drove into Augusta with the kids and Gwen and got gas at the first service station along the main street. After he filled up, he said “Well, people, I’m going to use the restroom here and pay for the gas. Anyone else have to go?” and they all said they could wait. He went inside, paid, peed, and bought a New York Times—something to read with his drink later — and a bag of cornnuts for himself and a bag of roasted sunflower seeds for Gwen. Back in the van, before he started up, he said “You kids must be hungry by now. Pizza okay? It’s quick and it’s just a few stores down.” He parked in front of the pizza shop he saw from the service station, gave them money for pizza and chips or a cookie and a drink—“Even soda, if that’s what you want,” and they went inside. “Oh, I forgot; I wasn’t thinking,” he said to Gwen. “You want something besides the sunflower seeds? I doubt you’d go for the pizza here, but you do like the veggie subs at Subway. There’s one on this side of the street on the way out of town.” She said “I’m happy. Maybe you want one. You like them too,” and he said “I do, but I’ll wait till Kennebunkport till I get anything. And those things can get messy when you’re driving.” “I’ll take over,” and he said “No, you said you were tired before, so you sleep.” They held hands and looked out the windows and every so often smiled at each other till the kids came back. “No mess, please,” he said. “Napkins on the lap; all that. And drinks, when you’re not drinking them, in the cup holders and with the lids on,” and he drove to the I-95 entrance about a mile away. “There’s the Subway,” he said to Gwen. “Last chance,” and she said “Thanks, but I’ll be all right.”
Their first trip to Maine together took the entire day. Long delays on the Cross Bronx Expressway and on the highway through Hartford and then Worcester, and getting through the New Hampshire tollbooth on 95 took another half-hour. And before they got on the road they stopped at her parents’ apartment for their Siamese cats, mother and same-litter brother of the two females Gwen owned, and the male was hiding and it took an hour to find him. They’d picked up the rental car in Yonkers the day before and loaded it with their belongings and parked it in a garage overnight near Gwen’s apartment. One back window was missing and the other couldn’t be opened, so they were able to get it at a reduced rate. She’d wanted to get to the cottage while it was still light out so he could see it from the outside when they got there. “Most people are bowled over by it. I’m just hoping you’ll like it,” and he said “I know I will. Everything you described. And Maine for two months? And out of the sweltering New York heat? And of course, being with you. As my dad used to say — I’ve told you, though I think he was referring to making money—‘What’s not to like?’” The front door was unlocked. “There are keys of an ancient kind,” she said, “but I’m not even sure if they still work. Whenever I asked Stan, the caretaker, for them, he stalled me, making me think he’d been given instructions by my eccentric landladies to withhold them. He’ll be here tomorrow morning around six with a container of souring crabmeat he’ll say his wife just picked. Always does, I always throw it out or bury it, and that’ll be the last we see of him, except by chance at the Brooklin general store, till the day we leave, when we’ll drop by his shack on our way out to say goodbye and tip him.” “It’s safe, though, to go to bed with the doors unlocked?” and she said “Break-ins around here only occur in winter. Antique thieves, who spend the summer selling their booty at flea markets in the area. The cottage has lost two precious wind-up clocks and most of its rare books.” They brought in the cats, put out food and water for them, set up the litter box and a wicker basket piled high with old towels for them to sleep together. Then they emptied the car of the rest of their things. She took him for a quick tour of the cottage and said “So be honest. What do you think?” “It’s beautiful,” he said. “The wood, stone fireplace, whatever those little diamond-shaped window panes are called, cathedral ceiling, the what looks like Shaker and Adirondack-style of just Maine-lodge-like furniture. Even the ceramic plates and bowls, I see. Nothing tawdry. Everything elegant. And you said a great view of the bay from the upstairs bedroom window? What a treat. Thanks for inviting me,” and she said “Thanks for coming and paying half the rent,” and she kissed him. “Now, lots of work to do before dinner and, for you, a pre-dinner drink, unless you want to fall asleep smelling mouse droppings and winter nests.” She swept the entire cottage. He wanted to help her, but there was only one broom. “Next summer,” she said, “if we’re still together, we’ll make sure there are two. You can strip the newspapers from the furniture and beds and burn them in the fireplace. And I guess you can hang up and put away our clothes upstairs and make our bed with the linens and pillows we brought up. But first clean out the mothballs and mouse droppings, if there are any, from the dresser and desk drawers. And as long as you’re up there, set up your work space. Mine will be the living room desk, where I always work. The table’s a bit wobbly upstairs, but maybe you can fix it. Do I sound too bossy? I don’t like it when I act like that, but I want to get everything out of the way tonight so I can get back to my writing tomorrow morning,” and he said “That’s how I am about my work too, and I’m glad for whatever I get here.” After they finished, she showered and he prepared dinner. Opened a bottle of Chianti from the case they brought from New York, poured himself a glass, put water on for green fettuccine, made an