850: It became my . . .
At Home with the Glynns, Chapter 32
32
IT BECAME MY HABIT, on Saturday mornings, after spending the night in the twins’ bed, to climb back down the ladder, scamper to the ground outside the courtyard wall, and slink around to the front door, in a crouch, staying below the windows. Sometimes, from the top of the wall, where I could see into the kitchen, I would see Rosetta at the kitchen table, writing, and I supposed that she must be making use of this quiet time in the household, before Andy and the girls were up and chattering and clanking their forks against their plates, to work on her contest entries. If I saw her, I lowered myself to the top of the wall and flattened myself along it, supposing that the ivy and the angle would keep me out of sight.
I would knock at the front door, let myself in, announce myself, and go at once to the kitchen, where Rosetta would give me a hug and exclaim “Peter!” as if she hadn’t seen me in a long time, as if I had surprised her, as if my being there were part of a celebration, like a surprise party, as if I were a gift. Andy would walk in after a while, wiping paint from his hands, and pound me on the back. In a while the girls would drift downstairs, and when they came into the kitchen their greetings were more restrained, as if my being there were nothing remarkable, as if they had nothing remarkable to hide.
I remember this, suddenly: sweet autumn clematis. The Glynns had an oddly shaped piece of land, a trapezoid with tall hedges along the western and northern edges. The street called Mansion Prospect ran along the easterly edge, and one wall of their courtyard was the southern edge. The hedge along the northern edge met the road at an acute angle, and there was a triangle of wild woods there. The rail fence of their neighbor to the north extended beyond the neighbor’s land for some reason and ran along the bit of woods and then extended one length more. When I came around the corner of the house in my crouch, I could see that one length of fence beyond the edge of the woods. It was covered with sweet autumn clematis (Clematis paniculata). Now, when summer ends and the sweet autumn clematis blooms, it puts me in mind of lost time, and it always makes me randy, because it reminds me of my nights with the Glynns.
[to be continued]
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