A Place We Knew Well by Susan Carol McCarthy

Author:Susan Carol McCarthy
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2015-09-28T16:00:00+00:00

Avery sat alone at the kitchen dinette trying to read between the lines of the Sentinel’s upbeat coverage of yesterday’s events: ARMS SHIPS APPARENTLY TURNED BACK. KHRUSHCHEV SEEKS SUMMIT TALK. A map showed the “Cuban Missile Sites” at San Cristóbal, Guanajay, Sagua la Grande, and Remedios. Inside, there were a few of the photos that had appeared in yesterday’s New York Times. But as usual, there was no mention of the locally based U-2s, or of the US military’s maximum DefCon Two readiness for all-out war. He scowled out the window at the fog creeping snail-like off the lake—not as thick as yesterday’s but still an annoyance—when a sudden movement caught his eye.

It was a man—some kind of workman in blue jeans, shirt, cap, plus a wide leather tool belt—trundling a load of wooden stakes into Avery’s backyard. What the Sam Hill? The guy walked right past the window like he owned the darn place!

Avery set down his coffee mug and strode to the back door. Mindful that Sarah was still in bed, he resisted the urge to yell from the steps. Instead, he walked out after the guy until he was close enough to ask, “Can I help you?”

“Nah,” the guy called over his shoulder, “I got it.” And continued on his way.

“Got what, I’d like to know.”

At that, the guy stopped and turned. And Avery saw, for the first time, the logo on his shirt pocket for Bob’s Pools & Igloos.

“Oh, hi,” the guy said. “I’m here to stake out your igloo. Called your wife yesterday. She said to walk right in.”

“My wife? Not possible.”

“Well, sure, got the paperwork right here,” the guy said. He turned back to the wheelbarrow, removed a file folder, walked up to where Avery was standing, and handed it over.

Avery glanced over the contract for “One airtight, watertight, radiation-tight Igloo Fallout Shelter”…color: pool blue…price: an astounding $1,474.83!…signed by: his neighbor Roger Stout.

“You got the wrong place. Roger Stout lives”—he pointed toward their shared hibiscus hedge—“thataway.”

“Oh.” The guy’s face fell. “Next door, huh?”

“Yup,” Avery said, returning the paperwork. What in the world was Roger thinking?

The guy seemed to scan the gentle green slope of Avery’s backyard with regret. “Sorry about that,” he said.

Watching the fellow collect his load and roll back the way he’d come, Avery wondered, And what if I wasn’t here to stop him? He shook his head. Fifteen hundred bucks for a gol-durn igloo? Roger’s nuts!

Back inside the kitchen, he packed his lunch and checked the clock. He’d planned to stop by the cottage—alone today—to check the whole house, put up the FOR RENT sign, and, he’d noticed yesterday, run the mower over the front and back lawns. Rather than disturb Sarah with his good-bye, he left her a note: Good morning. Please call me when you’re up. Love, W.

At the cottage, he checked all the rooms to make sure that Marjorie had left things shipshape. She had. On his way out back, he stopped beside the kitchen table. Here, right

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