I remember saying something like, “Deb have you noticed that this wood is so dry that it’s like painting a sponge?” I lavished the paint onto the surface, and it soaked down into the grain before I could reload my brush. While I had hoped it would be a simple task getting Bobby back into operation, I realized then that it was a bigger job than I expected. We would need to get another quart of paint, and apply a second coat to seal the majority of the leaks. At least I had a sense that we were making progress.
Mom and Betsy were still at the Chalet, but there was talk of them moving to the island soon. Deb had spent a couple of nights with Mom, and now that Hughie had gone, it was my turn. Since Mom had some health problems, she was taking prescription drugs to control her conditions. Mom waited until five o’clock each evening to have her cocktails, but when there was a long delay before dinner, it made for a difficult evening. This was before doctors understood the compounded effects of mixing alcohol and medications, which in Mom’s case reduced her ability t...
... middle of paper ...
... venue to Comfort Island sooner rather than later.
Two days later Betsy and Mom did move to Comfort. I looked up the date in Dad’s diary and found it was July twelfth. Before I had access to these diaries, I would have guessed that Mom and Betsy spent the entire two months that summer at the Chalet. When I reported my finding to Betsy, she was amazed to hear that their total stay off the island was only three weeks. She revealed that she and Mom played so much gin rummy and Honeymoon Bridge in those three weeks that she permanently lost her taste for card games.
Dad, Deb, Betsy, and I had made preparations for the move. I had worked on the lawn and beach. Deb and Betsy bought paint and curtains. Dad had supervised while Gerald Slate fixed assorted plumbing problems, plugged holes in the ceilings and performed general cleanup. Mom reluctantly agreed to a trial run.
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