the fire department.
“It was sandy, with wagon ruts on either side of a high center.” Victoria looked in the side mirror, where the road spun out behind them. “One night, a boy from Edgartown who was courting one of my sisters, and my cousin Leonard from West Tisbury, who was courting an Edgartown girl, both fell asleep on the way home,” she continued. “When their horses met at Deep Bottom, they stopped, nose-to-nose. The boys slept on.”
Noreen laughed. “Imagine that happening today.” She waited for cars coming from her left, then turned right. “It must have taken a couple of hours to go the eight miles or so from Edgartown to West Tisbury.”
“Now we get in a car and think nothing of driving from one end of the Island to the other. We used to go to Oak Bluffs two or three times a year, a great occasion. Now, Elizabeth commutes, drives there every day.”
“Domingo told me Liz Tate accused him of harassing her niece, one of the dock attendants.”
“Domingo's too refined,” Victoria said.
“Domingo, my husband?” Noreen turned to Victoria in astonishment. She swerved and a car horn honked. She moved back to her side of the road. “You gotta be kidding me.”
“He has such courtly manners,” Victoria continued.
Noreen raised her eyebrows. “Are we talking about the same person?” She sneaked a quick look at Victoria.
“And he knows so much about poetry.” Victoria looked straight ahead, her nose lifted. “He appreciates it. Not many people do these days.” She moved slightly in her seat.
“I'll give you that.” Noreen turned into her drive. “Domingo likes Elizabethan poetry because the guys who wrote it were sneaky, plotting, and conniving, and wrote in code.”
Noreen stepped outside the car and leaned in through the driver's side to talk to Victoria. “He identifies with that shit. Excuse me, Mrs. Trumbull.” She opened the back door to take out the groceries. “Come in and have a cup of coffee.”
Victoria carried one of Noreen's bags of groceries into the house and dropped it onto the couch. She sat in the wicker armchair in front of the glass-topped table while Noreen brought in the rest. Sunlight filled the large, sprawling room. At one end, opposite the table, a wall of mirrors reflected green plants and sunlight, and the couch with Domingo's harpoons above it. Afternoon light poured through two skylights on either side of a brick chimney behind a large black wood-burning stove.
Noreen stepped up into the kitchen, returned with two mugs of coffee, and sat across from Victoria. Sunlight filtering through the plant-filled window lit up Victoria's face, made her wrinkles stand out in strong relief, hummocks and gullies of time. Her eagle's beak of a nose cast a long shadow on her cheek. Her eyelids drooped over her bright brown eyes. She put a knobby hand up to her face to brush back a loose strand of hair that waved naturally around her face in a white halo.
“You and Domingo have a thing going with that poetry.” Noreen stirred her coffee. “If I didn't know my husband pretty well, I'd worry about you two.”
Victoria looked down modestly. “The best thing about getting old,” she said, “is that you can flirt with the men and their wives don't mind.”
Noreen sipped her coffee and watched Victoria's face. “I'm not so sure about that, Mrs. Trumbull.”
A car pulled into the drive. Noreen pushed the plants aside and looked out.
“Elizabeth. She's early. Domingo must have gone softheaded.” The white Rolls-Royce pulled in next to Elizabeth's car. “And here he is. Wonder who they left in charge?”
Elizabeth pushed the sliding door aside, came in, and dropped onto the couch.
“What a day!”
“Domingo giving you a hard time?” Noreen poured a cup of coffee and handed it to her as Domingo came into the room.
“Thanks.” Elizabeth took the cup and sniffed the fragrance. “No, it's not so much Domingo, for a wonder.” Domingo rolled his eyes.
“It was sandy, with wagon ruts on either side of a high center.” Victoria looked in the side mirror, where the road spun out behind them. “One night, a boy from Edgartown who was courting one of my sisters, and my cousin Leonard from West Tisbury, who was courting an Edgartown girl, both fell asleep on the way home,” she continued. “When their horses met at Deep Bottom, they stopped, nose-to-nose. The boys slept on.”
Noreen laughed. “Imagine that happening today.” She waited for cars coming from her left, then turned right. “It must have taken a couple of hours to go the eight miles or so from Edgartown to West Tisbury.”
“Now we get in a car and think nothing of driving from one end of the Island to the other. We used to go to Oak Bluffs two or three times a year, a great occasion. Now, Elizabeth commutes, drives there every day.”
“Domingo told me Liz Tate accused him of harassing her niece, one of the dock attendants.”
“Domingo's too refined,” Victoria said.
“Domingo, my husband?” Noreen turned to Victoria in astonishment. She swerved and a car horn honked. She moved back to her side of the road. “You gotta be kidding me.”
“He has such courtly manners,” Victoria continued.
Noreen raised her eyebrows. “Are we talking about the same person?” She sneaked a quick look at Victoria.
“And he knows so much about poetry.” Victoria looked straight ahead, her nose lifted. “He appreciates it. Not many people do these days.” She moved slightly in her seat.
“I'll give you that.” Noreen turned into her drive. “Domingo likes Elizabethan poetry because the guys who wrote it were sneaky, plotting, and conniving, and wrote in code.”
Noreen stepped outside the car and leaned in through the driver's side to talk to Victoria. “He identifies with that shit. Excuse me, Mrs. Trumbull.” She opened the back door to take out the groceries. “Come in and have a cup of coffee.”
Victoria carried one of Noreen's bags of groceries into the house and dropped it onto the couch. She sat in the wicker armchair in front of the glass-topped table while Noreen brought in the rest. Sunlight filled the large, sprawling room. At one end, opposite the table, a wall of mirrors reflected green plants and sunlight, and the couch with Domingo's harpoons above it. Afternoon light poured through two skylights on either side of a brick chimney behind a large black wood-burning stove.
Noreen stepped up into the kitchen, returned with two mugs of coffee, and sat across from Victoria. Sunlight filtering through the plant-filled window lit up Victoria's face, made her wrinkles stand out in strong relief, hummocks and gullies of time. Her eagle's beak of a nose cast a long shadow on her cheek. Her eyelids drooped over her bright brown eyes. She put a knobby hand up to her face to brush back a loose strand of hair that waved naturally around her face in a white halo.
“You and Domingo have a thing going with that poetry.” Noreen stirred her coffee. “If I didn't know my husband pretty well, I'd worry about you two.”
Victoria looked down modestly. “The best thing about getting old,” she said, “is that you can flirt with the men and their wives don't mind.”
Noreen sipped her coffee and watched Victoria's face. “I'm not so sure about that, Mrs. Trumbull.”
A car pulled into the drive. Noreen pushed the plants aside and looked out.
“Elizabeth. She's early. Domingo must have gone softheaded.” The white Rolls-Royce pulled in next to Elizabeth's car. “And here he is. Wonder who they left in charge?”
Elizabeth pushed the sliding door aside, came in, and dropped onto the couch.
“What a day!”
“Domingo giving you a hard time?” Noreen poured a cup of coffee and handed it to her as Domingo came into the room.
“Thanks.” Elizabeth took the cup and sniffed the fragrance. “No, it's not so much Domingo, for a wonder.” Domingo rolled his eyes.
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