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He went into the kitchen and watched Suzanne make tea. She was wearing faded white jeans and a long mustard colored sweatshirt that clung to her curves. So compact and modest. Where did that superb quilt come from? "It's so good to see you," she said, putting his tea in front of him. He looked at her intently. "God, you're beautiful!" She sat down, considering. "My teeth are too big.
He motioned her over and pointed. "The Early People they've been waiting for the sun." "So have I," Francesca said. She was wearing tan jeans and a long gray sweatshirt. "Brrr." "Somebody keeps making sculptures here," Oliver said. "I started noticing them this week." "Do you come here often?" she asked. "Yeah." "I try to walk here on Sunday mornings.
No sculptures or arrangements. He and Francesca might never have been there. A figure appeared in the distance, walking with long familiar strides. He balanced the bag on the log and started toward her. She was wearing a gray sweatshirt and jeans. Her hair was shorter than it had been. Her eyes. Her beautiful mouth. They walked into an embrace that became tighter and tighter.
Directly in front of him across the room he saw the young woman, barefoot and wearing, instead of her business attire, purple sweatpants and a torn green sweatshirt. Worse than this, she was turning cartwheels and saying what sounded to him like, "Put it in the lake, dip it, water proof it, French dip it, soak it, drench it, pinch it, wrench it."
She didn't seem conscious of the change. Joe looked away. Three-footers curled peacefully along the beach as far as he could see. They sat on the soft sand, and Mo took off her sweatshirt. Joe lay back with his head on his shoes and admired her breasts, high and shapely beneath a gray T-shirt. Steady, he said to himself, the woman barely likes you. Who was she, anyway?
"When I lived here," Joe said, "there was only one traffic light on the island, and it wasn't on a highway; it was in the middle of a cane field, for the trucks." "It's changing fast," Mo said. "Too beautiful not to be discovered." "If they stop the sugar subsidies, it's all over." Joe pushed his empty plate away. Mo was wearing a black sweatshirt, tan jeans, and running shoes.
"They're the ones you got to watch," Joe said. "I'll go home and clean up, take a couple of aspirin, take it easy." "I know!" Rhiannon said. "I'll make you dinner." Joe couldn't talk her out of it. At five o'clock, she was standing at his door holding a grocery bag. She was wearing square cut black cotton pants and a maroon sweatshirt pushed up on her forearms. Her hair was brushed back.
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