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Daisy's hair was light brown and streaked with gray. Her eyes were grayish blue. She smiled often. They drank and then ate sandwiches, occasionally pausing in their conversation to watch the Pacific grow dark. When they were done, Joe walked with her up the steps and into the lobby. "I love the Moana," he said. "Once, when Ingrid and Max and I were on vacation, Maxie disappeared in there."
In a high dormer window of a great city, in a nest of quilts and pillows, sits little Ingrid. Her blue Danish eyes look out from a pinched, snow-white face, and her thin hands are languidly folded in her lap. She gazes far down below to the other side of the square, where she can just see the waving of some green branches and an open door.
It would be carrying on something of his father in him, and the inheritance would take care of his immediate money problems. When he left Moody's, he was still sad, but at least he had a plan. He stopped in Portland for the night, thinking that there was no telling when he'd be back. He decided not to look up Ingrid; she was off and into her new life.
We've rented a house on San Juan Island to be a central gathering place, the week of Sept. 14-21. The ceremony will be Saturday, outside at the county park, followed by a dinner at the yacht club. I'm hoping everyone will come Mom, of course, and Ingrid and Maxie. The island is beautiful. I'm making a packet with maps, ferry schedules, and info on places to stay. More later.
I've been saving since Ingrid and I split up. I put a bed in the back of the truck, got rid of a bunch of stuff, and here I am." "When did you leave? You want some eggs?" "Three days ago. That's affirmative on the eggs," Joe said. "I've had it with computer programming. Jamming all that stuff in your head messes you up. You wake up at two in the morning and start working."
Ingrid knows how baby Tim must have labored to sew that red circle, how John Jacob toiled over that weaving-mat, and Elsa carefully folded the drove of little pigs. Everybody thought of her, and all the "chilluns" helped, and how dear is the tangible outcome of the thoughts and the helping!
I wanted to tell you right away. Love, Kate." "Big news, Batman!" It was a good marriage, but nothing would ever be the same. Sally and Ingrid on the same island? Yikes. He didn't have anything to wear. Joe reeled around the apartment and then e-mailed back, "Congratulations! I'll be there. More congratulations. Love, Dad."
"It's the Mediterranean diet." "Olive oil," he said. Ingrid had lost a few pounds, although she didn't need to. Her thick blonde hair was cut short and away from her even features. Her expression was practical and good-natured, dominated by eyes the color of transparent jade. "You don't look so bad yourself," she said. "Ah, well." "More serious," she said, "more gray in your mustache, thinner."
"A bit stagy, Batman," he said climbing into the truck and closing the door. "We must continue to seek truth and contend with the forces of evil." Batman stared resolutely ahead. Joe cut over to the interstate. When he reached the highway, he played the cassette: resonant voices and a single guitar, encouraging. "Sappy," Ingrid had declared impatiently. Joe smiled.
"A golden circus," Ingrid said. "I made a series. The clown is my favorite, but he's too sad for a wedding." The chairs were filling. Joe took his seat next to Sally in the front row. Ingrid sat behind them with Max. A bridesmaid, six months pregnant, wearing a light blue flowered dress, stood prettily on the bluff, her hands clasped around lace and a bouquet of white roses.
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