down on a little white plastic table. It was too sweet for her taste.
“We started house hunting,” said Molly, tucking her long blond hair behind one ear. “Toby’s had a really good summer fishing and we’ve saved enough for a down payment.”
“That’s great,” said Lucy, hoping that assuming a mortgage together might be the spur the couple needed to get married. “Where are you looking?”
“Anywhere and everywhere,” said Toby. “Trouble is, prices are rising faster than we can save.”
“It’s true,” nodded Molly. “Even with what we’ve got we’re worried we won’t qualify for a mortgage. It’s the monthly payments—plus Toby’s income falls in the winter.”
“I ought to do a story on this for the paper,” said Lucy. “How rising prices are locking young people out of the housing market.”
“It isn’t just prices,” said Sid. “It’s all these regulations. Young folks can’t just buy an old fixer-upper like we did and take their time renovating it. Now you can’t even get a mortgage on a house unless its septic system is up to code—that adds a good five or ten thousand to the cost.”
Lucy thought of the years she’d struggled with a failing cesspool, carefully timing baths and flushes and pumping the washing machine water out a hose running through a window into the back yard. She’d never get away with that now, especially with a nosy neighbor like Mimi. Then she remembered that Mimi was gone, murdered, and finished off her drink.
“Let me get you another,” said Sid, hopping to his feet as Sue appeared with a tray of hors d’oeuvres.
“Be sure to try the mini spanikopita,” said Sue. “They’re yummy.”
The little spinach pies were delicious, and so were the cheese and olive swirls and the bruschetta and the crab and artichoke dip. Lucy was feeling full, and a little bit woozy from the second apple martini, which went down a lot quicker than the first, when Sue announced dinner. They all gathered around the big round table under a market umbrella that Sue had set with Provence-style linens and pottery and Sue started passing the mustard-seed crusted burgers on home-made rolls. Then came the horse-radish slaw, warm mushroom and stilton salad, pea tendrils with lemon dressing, cauliflower-leek kugel, and Southern-fried chicken. “That’s for anyone who doesn’t like fancy burgers,” said Sue, with a nod to the girls.
Lucy knew she shouldn’t, in fact, she kept saying so, but she was unable to pass on any of it, declaring she’d have “just a taste.”
“That’s what French women do,” said Sue. “That’s why they never get fat.”
“And what’s your secret?” asked Lucy, wondering how Sue could cook the way she did and still stay rail thin.
“She doesn’t eat during the week,” said Sid, earning a sharp glance from his wife.
“That’s not exactly true, I just try to balance it out. If I have a big dinner, I just have coffee for breakfast.”
So when the lemon curd mousse cake and strawberries with mint sugar and lavender syrup came, Lucy tried to pass. “I couldn’t eat another bite,” she said, rubbing her taut tummy.
“Oh, Lucy, you have to try it. I worked for hours,” coaxed Sue.
“It’s true,” said Sid. “It’s what she does now. She cooks all day long.”
“I wish Lucy would cook like this,” said Bill, diving into his cake. “Lately all she’s been cooking is dog biscuits.”
Lucy gave him a dirty look and shook her head. “No, no. None for me. Everything is delicious but I’m too stuffed.”
“Oh, just a bite…”
“Okay,” said Lucy, “a bite.”
Sue handed her a plate with an enormous slice of cake topped with heaps of glistening berries. It was too much for Lucy who could hardly bear to look at it; she was beginning to feel sick to her stomach from all the rich food.
“Well, aren’t you going to taste it?” demanded Sue.
“I really don’t think I can,” protested Lucy. “Could you wrap it
“We started house hunting,” said Molly, tucking her long blond hair behind one ear. “Toby’s had a really good summer fishing and we’ve saved enough for a down payment.”
“That’s great,” said Lucy, hoping that assuming a mortgage together might be the spur the couple needed to get married. “Where are you looking?”
“Anywhere and everywhere,” said Toby. “Trouble is, prices are rising faster than we can save.”
“It’s true,” nodded Molly. “Even with what we’ve got we’re worried we won’t qualify for a mortgage. It’s the monthly payments—plus Toby’s income falls in the winter.”
“I ought to do a story on this for the paper,” said Lucy. “How rising prices are locking young people out of the housing market.”
“It isn’t just prices,” said Sid. “It’s all these regulations. Young folks can’t just buy an old fixer-upper like we did and take their time renovating it. Now you can’t even get a mortgage on a house unless its septic system is up to code—that adds a good five or ten thousand to the cost.”
Lucy thought of the years she’d struggled with a failing cesspool, carefully timing baths and flushes and pumping the washing machine water out a hose running through a window into the back yard. She’d never get away with that now, especially with a nosy neighbor like Mimi. Then she remembered that Mimi was gone, murdered, and finished off her drink.
“Let me get you another,” said Sid, hopping to his feet as Sue appeared with a tray of hors d’oeuvres.
“Be sure to try the mini spanikopita,” said Sue. “They’re yummy.”
The little spinach pies were delicious, and so were the cheese and olive swirls and the bruschetta and the crab and artichoke dip. Lucy was feeling full, and a little bit woozy from the second apple martini, which went down a lot quicker than the first, when Sue announced dinner. They all gathered around the big round table under a market umbrella that Sue had set with Provence-style linens and pottery and Sue started passing the mustard-seed crusted burgers on home-made rolls. Then came the horse-radish slaw, warm mushroom and stilton salad, pea tendrils with lemon dressing, cauliflower-leek kugel, and Southern-fried chicken. “That’s for anyone who doesn’t like fancy burgers,” said Sue, with a nod to the girls.
Lucy knew she shouldn’t, in fact, she kept saying so, but she was unable to pass on any of it, declaring she’d have “just a taste.”
“That’s what French women do,” said Sue. “That’s why they never get fat.”
“And what’s your secret?” asked Lucy, wondering how Sue could cook the way she did and still stay rail thin.
“She doesn’t eat during the week,” said Sid, earning a sharp glance from his wife.
“That’s not exactly true, I just try to balance it out. If I have a big dinner, I just have coffee for breakfast.”
So when the lemon curd mousse cake and strawberries with mint sugar and lavender syrup came, Lucy tried to pass. “I couldn’t eat another bite,” she said, rubbing her taut tummy.
“Oh, Lucy, you have to try it. I worked for hours,” coaxed Sue.
“It’s true,” said Sid. “It’s what she does now. She cooks all day long.”
“I wish Lucy would cook like this,” said Bill, diving into his cake. “Lately all she’s been cooking is dog biscuits.”
Lucy gave him a dirty look and shook her head. “No, no. None for me. Everything is delicious but I’m too stuffed.”
“Oh, just a bite…”
“Okay,” said Lucy, “a bite.”
Sue handed her a plate with an enormous slice of cake topped with heaps of glistening berries. It was too much for Lucy who could hardly bear to look at it; she was beginning to feel sick to her stomach from all the rich food.
“Well, aren’t you going to taste it?” demanded Sue.
“I really don’t think I can,” protested Lucy. “Could you wrap it
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