They had been in Maine for nearly a month, and all the kids had become comfortable with sailing the yacht. Hattie called for a jib, then turned into the wind, sliding expertly up to Stone’s dock.

He looked at the house and thought how beautiful it was when viewed from the water. He had bought it from the foundation, and one day it would be Peter’s.

The kids made the yacht fast, folded the mainsail onto the boom, and tied on the cover. They folded and bagged the genoa and dropped it down the hatch into the forepeak.

Half an hour later, they were assembled in the living room, freshly scrubbed, and half an hour after that they were feasting on lobster, prepared by Mary, the housekeeper and cook.

Peter spoke up. “I’m glad we all learned to sail,” he said. “Let’s do this again next summer.”

There was a chorus of agreement, except from Dino. “I’ll be a passenger next year, too, and let you kids keep doing the work.”

“That works for me, too,” Stone said.

The next day they flew home to New York, and a couple of days after that, Stone and Dino rented a van, and the boys loaded it with theirs and Hattie’s belongings. Dino drove the van, and Stone rode with him, while the boys rode in Peter’s new Prius. Hattie rode with her parents. Peter and Hattie had already made three or four trips to New Haven to receive the furnishings they had ordered, including Hattie’s piano, and to oversee the painting and wallpapering.

When Stone and Dino walked into the apartment, they were impressed. “It looks like grown-ups live here,” Dino said.

“I like the pictures,” Stone said. “And the piano.”

They ordered in Chinese food for lunch, then Hattie played a couple of pieces for them on her new Steinway.

Finally, Stone, Dino, and the Patricks had to leave; it was time for the children to start their new lives at university.

Driving back in the van, Stone said, “I remember the day I moved out of my folks’ house and into the dorm at NYU. I remember the freedom I felt, and I guess that’s what the kids are feeling now.”

Dino nodded, but he seemed too choked up to talk for a while. Finally he said, “At least Ben’s out of his mother’s grasp.”

Stone laughed aloud. Then he wished Arrington could have been there on that day. Who knows, he thought, maybe she was.

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AUTHOR’S NOTE

AUTHOR’S NOTE

I am happy to hear from readers, but you should know that if you write to me in care of my publisher, three to six months will pass before I receive your letter, and when it finally arrives it will be one among many, and I will not be able to reply.