The End of The Road Read Online Free PDF Page B

is a ship’s bell that I hung up back in the day when I grew weary of calling my always scattered family to dinner. It still gets regular use, even to summon Stretch, who has learned it often means food and is no dummy when it comes to mealtimes.
    “You can light the candles on the table while I retrieve the bread from the oven and put it in a basket,” I told her. “Then you can ring it. Everyone can fill their own bowls with stew from the kettle on the stove.”
    In just a few minutes all were settled at the table, where, irrepressible, Lew glanced around with a twinkle in his eye.
    “Good friends, good meat . . . ,” he began, then hesitated, noticing the warning frown that Harriet, a dedicated churchgoer, was aiming at him, and concluded with, “. . . good . . . ah . . . oh, good grief . . . let’s eat.”

FOUR
    MUCH LATER JOE AND I SAID GOOD-BYE to our company at the door as they left. It had been a good evening, full of spirited conversation and laughter, reminding me why I like living where I do and miss it often when I’m gone. I very much like traveling to new places in my motor home and the last couple of years had mostly been full of the pleasures of discovery, meeting new people and visiting old friends. But there had been a trade-off in leaving behind the place and people I know and love that left me a little lonely at times.
    “Many thanks, Maxie,” Lew said, turning to me as he zipped up his coat.
    “You’re more than welcome anytime,” I told him. “And thank you for the books.”
    “Let me know what you think of them.”
    He had volunteered to give John a ride back to the Driftwood Inn, so they went out the door together after John added his gratitude as well.
    “It was kind of you to include me,” he said as I took the hand he offered. “You have a fine collection of friends and I enjoyed meeting them.”
    Harriet gave me a hug and hesitated long enough to remind me of a quilters’ gathering at her house the following Thursday.
    “Bring along that pattern book you found in Hawaii,” she requested as she wrapped a woolly red scarf around her neck. “And that beautiful fabric you brought home as well, yes? The girls would like to see it.”
    Girls! Having met in grade school, most of us would always be girls to Harriet.
    Smiling, I promised I would, and she was the last to go, closing the door fir mly behind her after instructing us to stay inside where it was warm. “You’ll freeze for sure if you wait on the step to wave us off this time of year.”
    Taking her advice, Joe and I settled at opposite ends of the sofa with the last of the wine half filling our glasses.
    “Great evening, Mom,” Joe said, kicking off his shoes and stretching his long legs out onto a stool to toast his toes in the warmth of the fire that was slowly becoming a heap of ashes and glowing coals. “It was good to see Marty and Joyce. Thanks for asking them.”
    “You’re welcome, dear. I enjoyed them, too.”
    A thoughtful look took the place of his smile.
    “Now,” he said, “tell me about John Walker. He said you met and rescued him out on the spit yesterday.”
    “Not much to tell. I took Stretch for a walk and we met him as we came off the beach. He’d walked all the way out there and it was about to pour rain. He would have been soaked hiking back, so I gave him a ride to town. Seemed the friendly thing to do for a visitor.”
    “Oh, I’m sure it was. He’s a quiet sort—listens more than he talks—but I liked him. Doesn’t say much about himself though, does he?”
    “I guess not, but I didn’t ask a lot of questions. I imagine that in a group of strangers—especially those that were here tonight and know all about each other—almost anyone new would mostly listen. When people get acquainted and comfortable they tend to loosen up, but some are more reticent than others.”
    “He was vague when I asked where he was from. Told me he was born in the South, but that his parents lived in