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guy seemed disappointed that the game had ended, but finally trotted off toward one of the bed and breakfasts located along the beach.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, with the thought that Janet might just might come back with me after lunch, I quickly went around taking shirts and
jackets off door knobs and consigning them to washer or closet. I ran a dust cloth over the most obvious surfaces, took out trash and papers, put dishes in
the dishwasher and turned it on and closed the door to the office/workroom. So much for housecleaning. Anyway, I had done that kitchen floor the day
before, hadn t I? Finally, I changed the bed. Well, you can never tell. You might get lucky. If you don t, you ve got a nice clean bed to feel lonely in.
After my shower, I dried my hair and dressed rather formally for me, selecting a white cowl-neck sweater and navy flannel slacks. I even added a single
strand of pearls to the outfit and got out my trusty camel s hair topcoat instead of my usual L. L. Bean all-weather jacket.
Fargo watched these I-am-going-out-and-you-can t-come-withme actions with ever-deepening sadness, finally disappearing entirely under the bed and
refusing to come out, even to get the biscuits I left for his consolation while I was gone. Telling myself I had absolutely no reason to feel guilty, I picked up
the pictures for Jay s gallery, called a spuriously cheery, I won t be long! Now you be a good boy! in the general direction of the bed, and left. Feeling, of
course, terribly guilty.
I was on time to the minute, when I reached Mrs. Madeiros house. Don t think I was eager or anything. As I started up the driveway, Janet waved from
the big front window, obviously putting on a jacket. When she came out, she looked absolutely stunning in dark charcoal brown slacks, a burnt orange
turtleneck and a brown tweed blazer that didn t seem warm enough for the weather. She was walking fast in the chilly air.
I turned back to the car, opened the passenger door for her and then went around to my side. She got quickly into the car and shivered once, putting
her hands out to the heater. Brrr! I always seem to forget March is still wintertime! Winter should end with February, shouldn t it? She turned and smiled
at me, and I found it very easy to smile back.
If not January, I answered. I turned toward Route 6. Hungry?
Working on it. What s the drill?
Nothing special. I indicated the canvas bag on the back seat. We ll drop the photos off at Jay s gallery, which you ll probably enjoy. He has some nice
stuff. Frankly, I think a lot of it is pretty pricey. But at some point in your young life, if you like, you may want to try and pick up a Shari Mittenthal there. She s
not really well-known and so she s not awfully expensive yet, but I think someday she will be. Get something that has a fence in it, fences are starting to be
her trademark.
That would be great. I ve never had anything by an undiscovered artist who later became famous. In fact, I don t think I ve ever owned an original.
Wouldn t it be fun, years later at a really posh party in your penthouse, to say casually to admirers, Oh, yes, it s an early Mittenthal. I realized simply years
ago on Cape Cod she d someday be very, ah . . . worthwhile.
Meow. You re not nice. I laughed.
Of course I am. That s just a fantasy, I m really nice. Well, usually nice. Uh, sort of nice.
We d better quit while we re ahead.
We drove past the dunes, which for some reason reminded Janet of sleeping elephants, she said. We went by the rows and rows of boarded up
cottages and motels along Beach Point. More than the leafless trees, the grey sand grasses or the lack of traffic, these closed up little buildings with their
gaily painted trim and their optimistic signs of Beach-front Rooms & Cottages! and Low Weekly Rates! and Some Units With Kitchens! calling out to
empty parking lots made me know the winter was still with us.
When they had cars and vans in the front yards, and towels and bathing suits on the clothes lines, with coveys of small children on the swings and slides
centered on the lawns, and the smell of grilling food permeating the air along the two-mile strip, then I would know that summer had well and truly returned.
We passed Truro, finally turning off on the road down to Wellfleet harbor. I coasted to a stop in front of Jay s Art Gallery.
Janet helped me carry one of the bags of photos in and then looked around the gallery while Jay and I completed our business. True to form, Jay
admired all the photos spread out on the back-room table, then picked up three, held them out to me with an apologetic moue, murmuring, These are
lovely, too, Alex, but somehow I just don t get the feel they re quite us.
I shrugged mentally and took them from him. I found them little different from the others, and there was no us. Jay was never attached to anyone for
longer than the eleven o clock news. But he then handed me a check for a sizable amount for photos he had sold over the winter and told me to check with
him the end of April, when he was expecting the season to pick up and would need a goodly number of photos for the summer. What the hell, I thought,
we all have our little foibles.
See anything you like? I asked Janet as I walked back into the gallery.
Oh, yes. Very much so. You re right about Mittenthal, there s one complete with fence I really love, but right now . . .
Yeah, I know. I ve learned to leave my checkbook home when I come here. Let me just put these pictures in the car and we ll eat. I wondered how
Janet was fixed for money, and told myself to be sure I got the lunch check.
We walked down the block to Separate Tables, a big old Victorian-style house that had been converted into a restaurant. The owners had been clever, I
thought, by leaving the original design of the downstairs alone instead of knocking out walls to make one large dining room. You had a choice of dining in
several rather small rooms: the library, the parlor, the dining room or the sun room. The library was the bar, complete with books.
We had a drink in the library and moved on to the sun room, which was warm and bright in the early afternoon. It overlooked a small garden. In the
summer, I knew, it would be charming, but now it was a uniform wintry grey, with an empty, leaf-strewn fountain and some small statues of animals
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