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 We re probably not there yet, but it s close. Seriously, I do think we need a break. I steepled my fingers in front of my mouth for a second.  Nova Scotia sounds fabulous. But we d really have to watch our pennies.
 New York?
 Hell, we could buy Nova Scotia for a week in New York.
 Well, she continued.  Personally I feel a little Vermonted-out for a while.
I nodded agreement.  Same with Maine. It s kind of like camping out in the backyard.
 Yes. She sounded discouraged and then brightened.  Then let me float this past you. Close your eyes and listen.
I did as I was told.
 Visualize tall mountains, but not the harsh Rocky-mountain type. Softer, gentler ones with moss to lie on beside a small stream, with tall pines and oaks standing guard. In the distance the mountains seem to blur a
little, as if a light, fragrant smoke drifts between them. Then you realize the fragrance is closer, and the whole mountainside has a pink cast from blossoming mountain laurel and rhododendron. Far up the stream you may
luck out and see a mama bear teaching her cubs to fish. And lower down is a beaver dam. When you get anywhere near they slap their tails like a rifle shot and all disappear. Below the dam in the white water, otters play
 that seems to be all they do, all day long. And in a nearby meadow polka dotted with yellow blooms, fox kits play-fight with mama serving as referee.
I felt myself drifting as she continued.
 At the foot of the mountain is a sizeable lake where boats are limited to sails or small electric trolling motors, slow and barely audible. The lake is loaded with various bass and bluegill. The inn there will even clean and
cook your own catch for your dinner. And at the top of the mountain is a small icy tarn, loaded with crappie that are the most tender, sweetest fish you ever tasted, and water so clear that when you look into it, you aren t
sure whether the clouds are above you or beneath. I m sure you ll want to make the hike up to it. She gave me a sweet, totally sarcastic smile.
 And, she added,  you hear the clop of horseshoes and look up to see riders on tall mounts with kind eyes and long, delicate legs, moving at a rapid, even pace they can continue for hours with no strain on them or
you. Most comfortable ride in the world. Give  em an apple and they re yours for life. They re Tennessee Walking Horses.
 My God, I breathed.  Cindy, are you suggesting suicide because you ve made reservations for us in heaven?
 Not quite. I heard her pouring more coffee and opened my eyes, rubbing them and peering between my fingers like a child who has had a dream too good to be true.
She spoke briskly now.  Remember my cousin Ken and his wife Frances?
 Yeah, I met them at your parents house once. He was something in politics and she was something in horses. Nice people, I thought.
 You thought right. He s in the Tennessee Legislature probably governor in the next election. And between you and me, I think the two of them are practicing a fancy waltz for the Presidential Inaugural Ball down the
road a piece.
 Wow! I sat up straight.  He asked me for a signed print of the picture of Fargo on the beach, leaping for a seagull. I sent it to him. You think he might hang it in the Oval Office?
  No. But it may be in his log cabin.
 He s got a log cabin? He s bound to be elected. These guys with a condo in Aspen, and a mansion at Westhampton, and a modernistic abortion at Malibu& they re a dime a dozen. Ain t nobody got a log cabin no
more! Where is it?
 It s in Tennessee, you idiot. He s smart enough to keep that local boy image just a simple mountaineer. It s near Beulaland.
 Beulaland. Is that a town or the Promised Land? I asked.
 Sort of both. The nearest real town is Elizabethton.
 Elizabethton, er& that s exactly& where?
 It makes kind of a triangle between Kingsport and Johnson City. She was grinning openly at my discomfort.
 Kingsport, of course! Oh, yes, on the& uh, river! I ve got it now.
 Sure you do, darling. When you drag out a map tomorrow, find Knoxville and go kind of northeast.
I didn t deign to answer that. And her thoughts fortunately took another tack.
 What I m trying to get to is this: Ken and Frances have been after me for ages to come down and use the cabin now that he s in Nashville so much, they rarely use it except in July and August, but they hate to see it
just sit there empty. And their two kids are not quite old enough to let them go there alone. I don t think I ve been there in almost fifteen years, but it s unforgettably beautiful and peaceful and fun in a bucolic sort of way.
Should I call Ken and see if it s not in use for a week or so?
I got up and returned with the phone.  Here. Call.
 Get my address book out of my purse while you re up, please. I was delighted to comply.
It was all settled in about two minutes. We would vacation in Tennessee.
After that it turned into a lengthy family gossip session and I took the animals out, trying not to yell hot damn! loud enough to startle the neighbors.
We finally got to bed, feeling as if large weights had been removed. Cindy struck a seductive pose.
 If we re going into the woods, I ll have to learn to be foxy.
I put my arms around her.  Get a load of my bear hug.
 I m a big mouth bass; now where should I nibble?
We carried on this rustic silliness into more and more graphic suggestions and the obvious conclusion.
Personally, I think it was a lot more fun than pretending Cindy was a rubber ducky in the bathtub.
CHAPTER TEN
Our getaway would have been a credit in speed to Scarface Al Capone with Elliot Ness in hot pursuit.
Cindy got Choate Ellis s hearty permission to take two weeks off, and did everything ahead of time at work that could possibly be done in three days. And in the evenings, of course, she house-cleaned.  So we won t
come home to a mess. I wondered if she had looked at the yard recently. It was my firm contention that Hadrian s Wall had been a simpler endeavor. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]