Vineyard Chill Read Online Free Page B

couple of eggs to go with it.” He started to rise, but I put out a hand.
    â€œYou sit. I’ll fry. You’re a guest.” I fixed his eggs and sat down again.
    While he ate, his eyes roamed around the room. He looked happy, and I was happy to have him there. Friends are scarce and rare.
    â€œPlace looks mighty fine. Not to criticize your housekeeping, J.W., but I think having Zee around has improved things quite a bit.”
    â€œNo doubt about it.”
    â€œI imagine there’ve been a lot of changes since I was here last.”
    â€œMore than you know. After you finish eating, I’ll take you on the two-wheel-drive tour and you can check things out for yourself. What you won’t see is the hundred thousand tourists we get in the summer.”
    â€œMostly locals here now, I guess.” He finished his meal and rose before I could. “No, I remember the rule, and it’s a good one: the cook doesn’t do the dishes; the eater does. Makes for peace in the valley.”
    He carried his dishes and my now empty cup to the sink, washed everything, and stacked it in the drainer. Like everything else he did, he worked smoothly and without wasted effort, as though every movement had been choreographed. When he was done, he came outside to where I was refilling the bird feeders. The two cardinals that sat in the catbrier between visits to the feeders were waiting for me to leave.
    â€œPretty birds,” said Clay.
    â€œThey’re even prettier when it’s snowed,” I said. “Bright red against all that white. Christmas card stuff. If you’re ready for the ten-cent tour, make sure you wear that coat. My heater has never worked right.”
    Overhead the sky was gray-blue, with high, thin clouds moving down from the northwest, dimming the midwinter sun. The wind was chilly and the trees around the house were bare ruin’d choirs.
    We drove up our long sandy driveway, where I turned left and headed into Edgartown.
    â€œA lot of these buildings weren’t here when I was last here,” said Clay, as we passed through the Y and went on. His eyes never stopped moving.
    â€œTrue.” When I’d first come to the island, Edgartown’s Main Street had been lined with useful stores and shops: drugstores, grocery stores, a paper store, hardware stores, and clothing stores. Now it was all T-shirt shops, pricey resort-clothing shops, and souvenir stores, most of which were closed during the off-season. If you needed anything useful, you often had to go to Vineyard Haven or Oak Bluffs to get it.
    â€œCannonball Park’s still here, I see.”
    â€œTrue again. And the cannons and cannonballs still don’t match.”
    â€œI remember when some drunk college kid tried to steal one of those cannonballs. The cops let him try to carry it for a couple of blocks before they arrested him.”
    â€œIt’s challenging to purloin a ten-inch ball of iron.”
    We drove down Main and to the docks, where we saw scallop boats going out toward the ponds, manned by fishermen thick with clothing.
    â€œThese guys earn their money,” I said. “I do some winter scalloping, myself.”
    Clay nodded. “Fishing is a wicked way to make a buck. I fished out of Alaska one season, and a couple of times I didn’t think we were going to make it back to land. Some of those guys go out in tubs that will hardly float.”
    â€œThey’re probably a lot like the fishermen around here. They have to choose between fixing up their boats, buying insurance, or buying fuel. Most opt for the fuel because that’s the only way they can get out to the grounds and maybe make a profit for a change. When were you in Alaska?”
    â€œOh, I thought you knew. A few years back. My second ex sicced the police on me and I had to get out of state, so I went north. I’d never been there, so I figured I’d be fine until the dust settled. And I was. Never