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Will watched in amazement as Elizabeth deftly grabbed three or four rings at a time, her fingers flying, each one hooking a ring. Every time he passed he could only grab one, sometimes two if he was quick enough.
“What's the point of this?” he called up to her.
She laughed. “Eventually the brass ring will appear. If you grab it, you get a free ride.”
“I don't want the brass ring. I don't want a free ride,” he declared seriously, making her laugh even harder.
Neither one of them got the brass ring, but Will pocketed one of the silver ones as a souvenir, and they headed back out into the sunshine, eventually stopping for lunch at a restaurant on the harbor with outside seating. They each had a cold beer and relaxed, enjoying the balmy weather.
“Are you up for some walking?” she asked as they finished their meal. “I thought I'd show you the gingerbread houses.”
After paying the bill they headed that way, and as they walked through the small village of brightly painted Carpenter Gothic-style cottages, Will could only shake his head. The houses were packed together on shady, tree-lined streets, with some only having a dozen feet between them. He’d never seen anything like it.
At the center of the village stood a massive, open-sided Victorian tabernacle, surrounded by a park. Will stood inside the wrought-iron building, gawking in amazement at the beautiful architecture and admiring the stained-glass windows that sat up high and cast multi-colored light all around them.
Elizabeth took a lot of pictures, of course, then asked if he wanted to sit for a while under one of the stately oak trees that dotted the park. The temperature had climbed steadily, and enjoying the shade seemed like a good idea.
“It's nice here,” he said as he leaned back against the tree. “I feel like I’m in a fairy tale.”
She leaned her head on his shoulder. “I came here all the time with my grandparents. They have concerts and plays in the tabernacle, and every August, the village hosts Illumination Night. The homeowners string up lanterns across their porches, and from house to house. It’s really pretty.”
“I get the impression you didn't sit still much when you were little.”
“Not if I could help it.” She eyed him curiously. “What were you like when you were little? Always in trouble, like me? Getting into everything?”
He grinned and shook his head. “My parents told me I was theperfectson. Never in trouble, great grades, always looking out for Georgie…”
“Hm. Never in trouble? Somehow I doubt that.”
“It's true. I mostly hung out with Charles, or I kept to myself. Even in high school. I was never comfortable in big crowds, so I didn't go to parties or anything like that. The only thing I did was play music, but even then, I got to hide behind the guitar. It made it a little easier.”
“Musicians always get the girls, though. They must have loved you.”
“If they did, I didn't know it. I was kind of blind to that stuff for a while, especially after my mother died.”
“What was she like?”
His expression softened. “She was amazing. Beautiful. The older Georgie gets, the more I see my mother in her facial expressions, or in the way she moves. It's funny that those little things were passed on to her. And she was always singing, in the kitchen, in the car…” He smiled. “She always made me sing with her, and she had the most diverse musical tastes. One minute we'd be listening to the Grateful Dead, the next we'd be listening to Etta James.”
He paused. “When I think about my parents together, it strikes me now just how opposite they were. Whenever I picture my father, he'salwayswearing a suit. I saw him dressed casually, of course, but if he jumps into my head out of the blue, he's in a suit. But whenever I picture my mother, it's always how she looked when we were on the Cape. Barefoot, wearing shorts, with her hair down... I remember how my father used to look at her when he came home from a long day in Boston. He’d be bone-tired, but would light up the moment he saw her.”
Elizabeth watched him as he stared off, obviously lost in his memories. “It sounds like they were happy.”
“I think they were. I mean, I remember them being affectionate with each other, and I remember them laughing a lot. My father was only like that with us—but not as much with me. I was a boy, after all.” He smiled. “I think he liked that I was musical, that I had that part of my mother in me, and Georgiana too. My mother always said she wanted her little girl to play the piano, so my father made sure Georgie learned. I think that for him, it was a way to keep my mother alive.”
“It sounds like you're a perfect combination of both of them.”
“I'd like to think so, though I'll never have the ease among people that my mother did. In that respect, I'm much more like my father. But I spread my wings a bit in college. Charles was at Yale, so I needed to make friends. The guitar was a good icebreaker.”
“I bet. Especially with the girls…”
“Yeah, by then I’d started to notice them more.” He narrowed his eyes. “Why do you want to know about that?”
“I’m just trying to form a picture of the young you in my mind.”
He nudged her playfully. “You don't have to picture the young me, because you, my lucky girl, have me right now.”
Her mouth dropped open slightly. “Lucky girl? My, aren't we a little full of ourselves today.”
