the Dimarcos. May, Cary, and I were to eat first and
be gone by the time the adults sat at the table. I
thought that was a blessing and was grateful for a
meal without Uncle Jacob glaring at me as if I were
one of th
e Jezebels he saw on every corner.
However, late in the afternoon, Cary and Uncle
Jacob returned home in a very happy mood.
Apparently, they had one of their best days at sea, a
catch of fifteen lobsters as well a dozen good-size
striped bass.
To celebrate, Cary declared that he, May, and I
were going to enjoy a real New England feast: clam
chowder, steamed muscles, grilled striped bass,
potatoes, and vegetables. Cary said he would prepare
the fish himself outside on the barbecue grill.
"Mother's busy with her own dinner. We can have our
own picnic,' he said.
"Fine," I told him.
"It won't be as exciting as the beach party, I'm
afraid."
"I said, fine."
He nodded and told May, who was very pleased
with the idea.
"You two can set the picnic table, if you like." I nodded without smiling, even though I was
happy with the idea.
Cary went about preparing the meal
meticulously. He was much better at it than I had
expected. None of the boys I had known in West
Virginia knew the first thing about preparing fish and