Backyard by Norman Draper

Author:Norman Draper [Draper, Norman]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corp.
Published: 2014-10-09T16:00:00+00:00

16

The Good Life . . . and the Bad

Out came the Bombay Sapphire gin and Canada Dry tonic, the 2005 Sagelands merlot, and some chilled white wine George and Nan kept in the refrigerator for the McCandlesses, those poor, lost souls who didn’t know what they were doing.

Then came the toasts. Those were mostly raised to friendship, conviviality, and life given over to joyful languor, although that’s not how it was always phrased. Before they could clink glasses, Nan motioned to Steve and George to go easy on the first toast; last time, they had gotten so enthusiastic about a salute they proposed to a couple of cranberry-breasted purple finches that were visiting the feeder that they shattered their wineglasses.

These were times the Fremonts cherished more than any others, except maybe those occasions when they were so lost in admiration for their gardens as to be struck dumb. It was at impromptu gatherings such as these where they rehashed special old times, planned their children’s’ futures, and extolled the glories of the present. They did not broach sobering, unpleasant topics such as making ends meet or the decline of the silver maple—that lofty old patriarch—in the front yard. Occasionally, the McCandlesses and the Winthrops playfully tried to coax the Fremonts into traveling with them. The Winthrops planned to drive out to Oregon next summer. The McCandlesses fell in love with Banff; they wanted to go back. It was all in vain. Everyone knew that. The Fremonts could not be pried loose from their backyard and unhurried lifestyle.

“How about Fitchburg?” Juanita said. “Couldn’t we lure you down to Fitchburg to do some biking? Great bike trail. Great bed and breakfasts. Antique shops coming out the wazoo, Nan. It’ll be in October. The trees will be all blazing color. What else will you have to do here anyway?”

“Our own maples will be flaming,” George said. “The ashes will be a brilliant yellow. The mums and sedum will be blooming. I really want to see what those mums look like this fall. We’ll be having our last opportunities for grilling. The Muskies will be in the playoffs. . . .” That prompted a few chuckles and guffaws.

“What, you don’t think so?”

“The Muskies are going nowhere this year,” Steve said.

“They have a shot.”

“No way. They’re ten games out. How can you say that?”

What followed was what always followed when these three sets of friends got together. It started with the three males, who engaged in what seemed to the women to be an interminable and painstakingly detailed breakdown of the Muskies, in which every player’s statistics and strengths and weaknesses were recited, and every minor leaguer with a chance to move up to the bigs was vetted. Then would come the breakdown of the other teams in the division, the other teams in the league, and even a few teams in the other league, especially if they had players of trade value to the Muskies.

The women at first listened politely, offering a few observations and posing some general questions.

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