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“Rose probably thinks I’m a virgin,” Elizabeth said.
“There was a kind of reverence when they asked about you, come to think of it.”
“Ha! Well, my dear, trust me. It wasn’t because I was a virgin. A few of them might have been, however. You know, in these parts, we call that a testosterone relationship. There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s mother nature’s way to ensure the propagation of the species.”
“I think I understand that,” Maggie said, laughing. “Keep talking.”
“You said Val, correct? Val was eighteen when I met him. We made love behind the train station.”
“Get over yourself!”
“No, I swear. It was so hot, I mean temperature-wise, and a creek runs behind the PO. You know what I mean, you’ve seen it before. We stripped naked and went for a swim, and then we did it, right out in the open. It was in the dead heat of August, and smart people were either in the bay fishing for their dinner or sleeping in front of a fan.”
Maggie knew the kind of day it had been, almost like what they were having now, dog days, no relief unless you were naked and in the water. She imagined the cold water of the spring-fed creek cooling off a body, and then making love in the shadows. She’d take a closer look at Val the next time she ran into him.
“Afterward, I ran home through the woods, you know the way, the dirt path the cars take, and it took me a good hour, but I was home before Lonnie and Greta woke from their nap.
“Greta said she got pregnant with your mother that afternoon. I, however, did not.”
“How old were you?”
“I was seventeen.”
Seventeen. When she was seventeen, Maggie had been watched over by Rose and her father, Dan, not making too many moves without their observation. There was no testosterone relationship for Maggie Angel at that age.
“Seventeen seems like a million years ago,” Maggie said, contemplative.
The sound of a horn beeping got her attention.
“Aunt, I have to go. The hardware store guy must be here to install my satellite dish!”
They said goodbye, and she ran out the front door and did a quick sprint to the gate.
The driver waved to her as she approached. “Maggie Angel? Steve Casson.”
She waved back and stuck the key in the lock. The combination lock would be put to use after he left. Pulling the chain through the fence, she pushed the gate to the other side so he could get through with his truck, a bright red shiny thing, not new, but in mint condition. Unfortunately, it was now covered in dust from the road.
“You want a lift to the cottage?”
“Ha! No, I’ll meet you up there. I need the exercise.”
He nodded at her and took off, and she ran after him.
Arriving at the house seconds apart, he looked at her sidelong. “You’re not even out of breath,” he said, grinning.
“I’m hiding it,” Maggie replied, smiling back.
Her lips were twitching a little from embarrassment; Esteve, or Steve, was gorgeous. He had a massive chest and shoulders, and when she saw him unloading the bags of cement, she could see why. They weighed fifty pounds apiece and he had ten of them, throwing them to the ground like they were a fraction of the weight.
“Do you need anything from me?” she asked.
“No, I’m good. I’ll take some measurements to see exactly where the satellite is, and then that will determine where I place your temporary dish and also where the tower will go.”
He got out a handheld device and walked around the property with it, writing down something in a small notebook.
“You have a strong signal right here,” he said, standing in front of the house. “If you don’t mind this thing being right here on the roof, you should get pretty good service. I think the porch roof is sturdy enough.”
“I don’t care,” she said. “It’s just me. I don’t think I’ll have much company.”
