Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
We got to thank Steve personally the day we moved back into the house. Jane called
that morning to ask if she could bring him by to discuss finalizing the upstairs work and to
go over our plans for the lower level.
A few months earlier Jane had briefed us on Steve's background. Born and educated in
Maine, he'd worked as a graphic designer in Boston before chucking it all five years earlier
and moving with his second wife, a veterinarian, to start a new life in Vieques.
Jane had characterized him as an interesting enigma.
My take was slightly less nuanced. “Aging hippie” flashed across my brain when he
walked in the door—long of hair, lean of limb, and decidedly mellow of mood.
So mellow, in fact, that I couldn't help wondering if he'd taken a hit or two off the old
bong that morning.
“How's it been living here?” I asked, curious to get his take on Vieques.
Big smile.
“Fabulous.”
“Any regrets?”
He stroked his stubble.
“None. In fact, I've never been happier in my life.”
“And your wife?”
“She's in heaven. Never liked the city anyway. Born and bred in Vermont.”
He spoke in short, staccato phrases. This unusual speech pattern could be attributed, I
decided, to one or all of the following factors: (a) he was a New Englander; (b) he was shy;
and/or (c) he was high as a kite.
And a bit of a loner. In fact he struck me as one of those guys who'd rather dig a drain-
age ditch than sit through a meeting, particularly with people he didn't know very well.
But it was clear that he was passionate about his craft. After a couple of minutes of
chit-chat, he headed for the kitchen and began inspecting his work. When we joined him he
explained how he'd repaired the damaged cabinet (we wouldn't have known which one it
was if he hadn't told us) and how he'd found a place to stow the gas cylinder for the stove
in a dead space under the counter.
Clearly, he was a gem.
Maximum points for Jane.
☼ ☼ ☼
Over the next few days we settled easily into our old routine. We'd get up early and work
like banshees for four or five hours,
at which point we'd look at each other in disbe-
lief.
“Why aren't we at the beach?” we'd ask in unison.
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