Star Counting

It was a clear night and every star seemed low in the sky and sharply defined, as if they were close enough to touch. My daddy and I were sitting on the side porch, listening to the tide coming in. We could hear the water slapping over the rocks and up against the breakwater. A hoot owl called softly from under the eaves and we could hear nightbirds rustling in the blackberry patch. From inside the house, a Red Sox game played on the tinny little radio and above it we could hear my mother and grandmother arguing over a game of gin. Lamplight from the sunporch spilled across the front and side yards making wavy yellowish patterns in the tall grass and the halyard on the flagpole clicked randomly making sharp metal-on-metal sounds. My daddy's week of vacation was over and come morning he would drive to the mainland and then on to Yarmouth and the airport and be home by day's end while we stayed for the remainder of the summer. I missed him already - his calm presence and intervention, his quiet nature and good humor - all helped smooth over the constant sparring and squabbling between the two women playing cards, the endless sniping of my brothers, the tension that seemed to drive the family. Even the dogs were less restless, seeking him out and curling up at his feet.

Friends had been in and out most of the day to say goodbye and wish him well and Aunt Vi and Aunt Pearl had come for supper, bringing fish chowder, fresh bread and sweet corn. Nana had made a blackberry cobbler that morning and we'd walked up the hill and back for ice cream - the sweetness of it had made my teeth hurt - and we'd stayed at the table longer than usual, not ready to let the meal end. My normally strict grandmother had even served second helpings of cobbler and didn't scold when we drank the melted ice cream straight from the bowls and when the Peter's Island lighthouse flashed on at precisely eight o'clock, we were granted an extra hour respite from bedtime, unheard of except when my daddy was there.

So we sat on the old whitewashed sideporch, he and I, wrapped in silence and salt air, filled with quiet thoughts and counting the stars.