But I'm with you, aesthetical y—maybe even practical y. Sonny Prescott told me the other day he's not so sure al the new computers are helping the industry. Makes it too easy, and God knows these waters are being overfished enough.'
John seemed to be off and running on a favorite topic and Sam was ready to join him, but Pix didn't feel like hearing about the demise of the island's fishing economy today.
She wanted to enjoy her lobster at the noon Odd Fel ows Lobster Picnic without worrying about the cost of bait and later at the Fish and Fritter Fry she didn't want to think about the growing scarcity of clams. As her friend Faith Fairchild was wont to say, 'Denial ain't just a river in Egypt.'
“Look at the children. Imagine making al those lobster costumes! Aren't they precious!' The lobster-boat float had to be a major contender for Most Original. The boat itself was a miracle of construction, papier-mache over chicken wire, and the red-clad children gleeful y wriggled about its hul snapping their 'claws' at the parade viewers.
Barton's lumberyard sponsored a huge float with Mother Goose figures and the cannery had opted for Alice in Wonderland. Sonny Prescott drew a big round of applause as Robert McCloskey's Burt Dow, Deep-Water Man, dragging his double-ender, The Tidely Idley, complete with rainbow stripes, set on wheels behind him.
“He must be roasting in al that foul-weather gear; they'l probably give him Most Foolish for that alone,' Sam commented.
“More lemonade, Pix?' asked Rebecca.
“Yes, thank you, but let me help you' Suddenly, Pix realized she'd been so intent on the parade, she'd forgotten about Rebecca, who was dispensing lemonade and now cookies in the hot sun. 'Does Addie feel any better?”
Before Rebecca could answer, Norman Osgood, coming toward them from the house, beat her to it. 'She says she's fine. Just wants to be left in peace—that's a direct quote—and she'l see everybody later.' He took the pitcher from Rebecca's hands and started pouring. 'I brought your hat,' he said, and plunked an old leghorn—her grandmother's?—on Rebecca's head. Handy man to have around, Pix thought. He was beginning to seem more like a member of the family and less like a guest al the time.
“Oh, Norman, thank you,' Rebecca gushed. 'This is so much better.' She turned to Pix. 'It's my gardening hat; actual y, it was Mother's. The straw makes it light.”
Pix was off by one generation, yet, who knew where Rebecca's mother had picked it up. Rebecca's garden was one of the showplaces of the island. She did put in some vegetables, at Addie's insistence, but they were behind the house. In front and on the sides were Rebecca's borders, plus an old-fashioned cutting garden. Her roses never suffered from Japanese beetles and her delphinium, in intense blues and lavenders, had been known to stop traffic during the tourist season.
“Look, it's Samantha! Samantha!' Pix cal ed, and was rewarded with a brief acknowledgment. The campers, singing lustily, dressed in immaculate Maine Sail Camp Tshirts and crisp pine tree green shorts marched in perfect synchrony, stopping opposite the judge's platform to flip their cards to form a perfect replica of Old Glory. They then crouched down so the crowd could see and flipped the cards again, displaying for al the message: HAPPY FUCK
OF JULY, SANPERE IS LAND! written on the hul of a sloop with yet another flag for its sail. The prankster had struck again. A gasp went up from the crowd and the judges al stood up simultaneously like puppets on strings, peering down from the roof. The children knew something was wrong, and predictably, Samantha's adorers moved in her direction. Jim, attired like his charges in the camp uniform, except with long pants, was shouting, 'Put the cards down! Put the cards down!' Ranks broke and the campers raced for the bank parking lot, parade's end, to the strains of 'Anchors Aweigh' as the band played valiantly on.
“I can't believe Duncan would do this. Not after what happened on Monday!'
“Why do you assume Duncan did it?' John asked. Pix was struck by the protective tone in his voice.
“Wel ,' she wavered, 'he seems to be very angry at his parents and there have been a number of incidents at the camp, unpleasant things happening.'
“Yes, I know,' John said impatiently, 'but that doesn't necessarily mean it's Duncan. Lots of kids fight with their parents and don't chop the heads off mice.'
“Whoever did it, it was a horrible thing to do. They've been working on the parade routine for days!”
The old fire engine, bel s ringing and crank-operated siren blaring, was bringing up the rear of the parade. It effectively put an end to any conversation, and Pix, for one, was glad.
She stood up and stretched, trying to recapture the mood of the day. 'Anybody going to the children's games?
Why don't we walk up and leave the car here,' she added to her husband.
“Darling' He kissed her earlobe. 'You don't have any children in the games anymore. We don't have to go and watch our progeny dissolve in tears when the egg rol s off the spoon or the bal oon breaks when they try to catch it and they get soaking wet. There are other things we can do. Things at home. Grown up things.”
Pix blushed. She couldn't help herself. Mother was here.
“I know, sweetheart, but the camp wil be there. I'm sure everyone is quite upset, and Samantha may need help.'
“Al right, we can check in, however I doubt Samantha needs or wants us. She's doing a fine job on her own, and remember, I have to leave straight from the picnic.”
Pix remembered. She went to thank Rebecca and say goodbye to everyone. Ursula was going to the picnic with the Fraziers.
“Go home with your husband and help him pack, Pix,'
her mother said with a very amused look in her eye.
Saying good-bye to Sam had been hard. He would try to get up again for a long weekend, but the likelihood was that they wouldn't see each other until August. She didn't want to think about it. They'd checked in with Samantha at the games and the kids were not as upset as Pix had feared, especial y since the judges had awarded them the prize for Best Walking Group. Everyone was studiously ignoring the incident, except for some of the younger campers who were stil giggling. Samantha's sidekicks, Susannah and Geoff, were among the worst. They would get in control, glance at each other, and burst out laughing again. Pix watched in amusement herself at her daughter's struggles to be firm with the two. Samantha had told her that their initial homesickness had quickly given way to a friendship based mainly on a mutual love of corny 'Knock, Knock' jokes and mischief.
Jim and Valerie were overseeing the three-legged races, laughing just the right amount as they partnered unlikely combinations--fifteen-year-olds with five-year-olds.
Everyone seemed to be having fun. Duncan was nowhere in sight. Samantha's camp duties ended after the Odd Fel ows Lobster Picnic and she told her mother not to worry, which Pix correctly interpreted as meaning mother would not see daughter until midnight. She was tempted to extend Samantha's curfew—it was a holiday—yet the girl was stil looking pale, quite unlike her usual hale and hearty self. Pix wondered whether anything was wrong— unrelated to health. Samantha had seemed preoccupied for the last few days. Of course with everything that was happening, this was a reasonable response. But Pix's motherly intuition was picking up more, her antennae were twitching. She'd try to talk to her daughter later. Maybe the two of them would drive to El sworth for dinner and a movie tomorrow night. She needed to get her in the car for a good long drive.
Pix spread her blanket out on a choice spot on the library hil overlooking Sanpere Harbor and waited to see who would join her for the fireworks. They were due to start at 9:00 P.M. and it was 8:30 now. You had to arrive early to grab a good place. Her mother had decided to forgo the fireworks this year, as she had for the last two years. The first summer she'd declared she was going to bed early and had seen enough fireworks to last the rest of her life had Pix ready to check her mother into Blue Hil Hospital for a thorough examination. Ursula loved fireworks—or so she had always claimed. 'It's the beginning of the end,' Pix had told Sam mournful y. 'First fireworks, then she'l stop going out of the house altogether.' Sam had reacted less dramatical y. 'Just because your mother doesn't want to sit on the damp ground with hundreds of people chanting ooh and aah while they get cricks in their necks plus kids running around throwing firecrackers, waving sparklers in everyone's faces, doesn't mean she's cashing in her chips.'
And of course he'd been right. But Pix didn't like things to change.
Wel , her mother had made it both to the Lobster Picnic and the Fish and Fritter Fry. Few Rowes would miss the chance to eat lobster, dripping melted butter and lobster juice al over themselves and their neighbors at the
