Chapter 15
Hannah asked, “What happened to Rose after that?”
Aunt Zo laughed a little and said, “Hoo boy! Well, that’s a whole other story. I’d tell you, but I’ve got to go. I’ve got appointments up the wazoo today. Doctors and specialists – don’t rush to get older, Hannah. It’s a bitch. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
Hannah said goodbye and hung up the phone feeling better than she had in months, alive and energetic. She made herself a big breakfast of pancakes and bacon and a whole grapefruit and took a long barefoot walk down the boardwalk, grateful for another warm day. She headed up-island first, stopping at the halfway point where the little red firehouse was. Looking down the boardwalk at the line of taller stately homes that took over the island to the north, she thought of Mr. McGrath. Did he and his wife really like being completely alone? Wouldn’t a visitor be a welcome thing? She wondered about the old man and his wife, that expression on his face when her mother’s name was mentioned. Perhaps Hannah had misunderstood it. If he knew her mother, as he clearly did, he had to like her. Everyone did.
Her mother: both her closest friend in the world and a complete enigma. Hannah had seen many pictures of her mother as a little girl, framed and in photo albums, and in all of them Keeley looked like a little blond angel, dear and sweet with big velvety-blue eyes, a perfect dimpled smile. Now she knew that her mother had actually been a hellion, a fire-starting bra-stealing troublemaker. Had that been why Grandmother rejected her own daughter, for being a “bad” girl? Questions filled Hannah’s head, buzzing and insistent as flies.
Hannah turned around and headed south to the Barefooter house. As she reached it she realized it was the only house you could actually hear on the island, its wind chimes clanging and pinging in the breeze. Taking the key out of her pocket, she kissed it and then unlocked the front door, which swung open on their little living room. Compared with the loud décor on the exterior of the house, the room was a study in Zen-like simplicity. Everything was how it had been when Hannah was little: clean and spare and white with cool touches of gray and blue.
She stepped onto the gray-painted floor and looked around at the white painted walls, the couch and chairs draped in machine-washable white slipcovers, Aunt Zo’s painting still hanging over the couch that depicted three sandpipers running on a beach, foaming water on the retreat that had left a scattering of bubbles on the sand. Whenever Hannah saw that painting and the others at her aunt’s house, she was always shocked that Zo wasn’t famous, her artwork hanging in museums around the world. She had said as much to Zo, who only laughed and flopped her hand at Hannah, saying, “Honey, you have to die first.”
The only cluttered area of the room was the overstuffed bookshelves, bulging with photo album after photo album, each filled with photographs documenting over thirty years of friendship between the four women. This was their treasure trove, their collective memory-bank. Hannah was amazed that they still kept it all here, risked floods and storms and water rats in order to keep their memories in their only shared space. The Barefooter House, their sacred place, let no man put asunder.
Although Hannah’s grandfather had bought the house for Keeley when the four girls were in their early twenties, later, when they were older and had jobs, they went in together to own it jointly. Each of the Barefooters had contributed exactly one quarter of the original cost, giving it to Keeley, who – struggling financially at the time – gladly took the funds. Once Hannah had asked about it, wondering why it wasn’t enough for Keeley to own it and share it. Her mother had said, “Because it’s our house, always was. Dad just got it for me so it wouldn’t completely fall down. It was a wreck back then. But it’s all of ours, and that’s the only way it will ever be.”
The house smelled musty, so Hannah left the front door standing open and went around the tiny two-room cottage opening windows. In the kitchen, Hannah was surprised to find it had changed dramatically. It had been plain and simple when Hannah was here last with a white painted wooden table against one wall, the gray-painted sink with its water pump against the other, and the little white stove and oven in the corner, the undressed windows letting in clean white squares of light. Now it was a cheery yellow with white lace handkerchief curtains on the windows and much more clutter than ever before, including a cute egg timer in the shape of chicken, an earthenware pitcher filled with wooden spoons and a whisk, and a colorful rag-rug on the floor.
Although she loved how it looked, it was too different. She was so glad the living room hadn’t changed. She quickly opened the windows, went back into the living room, and stood in the middle of the room looking around.
Ah, this was better. She could practically hear their voices, their laughter, their songs. The wind chimes tinkled and clanged outside and small waves thumped and swished against the pilings the house rested on. These were the sounds of Hannah’s childhood. The smells were the mustiness of all of the houses on the island that came from age and being locked up half the year, the pungent smell of sea wrack, the sweet scent of freshly squeezed limes for the Barefooters’ Mean Greens, the mouthwatering smell of frying soft-shell crabs in the morning.
Every August of her childhood, Hannah had four mothers. It had been heaven.
Aunt Zo practically took over, carrying Hannah around everywhere with her, waiting on her like a little princess, telling her stories and making up magical games to play. Pam became the disciplinarian, administering the rare punishment when needed, as well as the nurturer who cooked all the meals for the gang and kept their world spotlessly clean. Amy was the protector and the champion, chasing off little boys who picked on Hannah, pulling splinters out of Hannah’s feet with tweezers and tender care, remembering to bring blankets and sweaters along when they went on a trip to keep Hannah warm if it grew cold.
Her mother, relieved of sole responsibility, relaxed and suddenly embraced being a parent. Always affectionate, her mother became mushy, hugging and kissing Hannah constantly. She became indulgent, too. Usually strict about her rules, they were always bent in August. Of course Hannah could stay up past her bedtime. Of course she could have that ice cream cone. Whatever her baby-darling wanted.
God, how Hannah missed those long-ago Augusts. She sighed and walked over to the bookshelves. A bright red leather photo album shouted out to her. Dog Days! She pulled it out, clutched it to her chest, and then walked over to the couch and sat down with it. The album was fat and overstuffed with photos. There were more photos than the album allowed, so some were just piled in the front, loose. She opened the album with a smile and the colorful photos jumped out at her.
Here was one with the four Barefooters at the last celebration, all clinging to each other and grinning for the photographer, their smiles wide and unself-conscious. Hannah gazed at the four of them jealously. The next photo showed two men who lived down-island, Jeff and Kevin, wearing their usual costume for Dog Days: the clueless loser. The costume consisted of Hawaiian shirts and khaki shorts, black socks and sandals, white zinc-oxide slathered on their noses and cheap sunglasses. They were grinning and holding up their Mean Greens in a toast to the photographer. Here was another, this one of Amy’s husband, Uncle Gus, holding up the sailboat race’s trophy that he had won last year, his face red with embarrassment, looking down and laughing – probably due to something one of the Barefooters had shouted out to him. Uncle Gus was shy and boyish. Hannah loved him to death and sometimes liked to pretend he was her father.
It was the best party anyone could ever hope to go to, Dog Days, and the Barefooters threw it every year, inviting all their friends as well as everyone on the island. Dog Days’ roots must have come from those long-ago Fourth of July parties at the McCallister’s house, except now the party was held the first Saturday of August at Keeley and Ben’s huge new house, a kick-off to the Barefooter month. There were all of the contests Aunt Zo had mentioned in her description of that Fourth of July party: the greased watermelon rolling contest for the babies, the diving contests for the children, the sailboat races for the grownups. There were also tons of other games and races including the raw-egg passing contest, where opposite-sex adults passed a raw egg to each other using only their necks. If you dropped it, you were pulled out of the game. The last standing couple won a bottle of champagne, which they usually started drinking immediately.
There were also balloon races for the teenagers. Manning small sailboats, two-person teams had to collect blown-up colorful balloons that had been placed in the water along the marshy shore of the island. This had to be done from the sailboat, without an engine and keeping at least one foot in the boat at all times. The pretzel-like contortions the kids effected to get the balloons were hilarious. In spite of the pains they had to go through to collect the most balloons, the kids of the island were more than willing. After all, the prize was always the newest hottest piece of technology on the market. Last year it was a Wii.
The Barefooters had been throwing Dog Days as long as Hannah could remember and the party got bigger and more elaborate every year. Now that Keeley had married Ben, who worshipped her and gave her everything her heart desired, the sky was the limit. They still had the clambake, but now they also had caterers brought in who passed appetizers and tended a fully-stocked bar, a live band playing all of the Barefooter’s favorite songs, and a professional fireworks display at midnight.
It was a wonderful and exciting party every year. Hannah loved Dog Days. Yet she had missed it this year, the first year ever. She missed all the fun and craziness because she wanted the answer to a reasonable question. An honest, complete, and satisfying answer.
All her life, when Hannah asked about her father, her mother and all the Barefooters would say things like, “Your father was a sweetheart,” or “You’re so much like your father,” without elaborating. Keeley would often sigh and say, “Your father was the true love of my life,” and get a sad distant look, her eyes unfocused and watery. But this was as far as it went.
If she pressed further, her mother would grab her and hug her, saying “Aren’t I enough, huh? Huh? Aren’t I?” and tickle Hannah, which Hannah hated, having her questions tickled away. She wished she wasn’t ticklish, didn’t cringe and laugh in spasms. Her Barefooter aunts would never directly answer the question either; they’d just reiterate their boring affirmations of her father’s kindness or attractiveness. Hannah wanted details!
All she knew was that his family had once lived in a house on Captain’s, too, that her father and Keeley had dated as teenagers, and that her father had died in a car accident when he was only eighteen. Hannah had been born the following spring, a “gift from God”. Keeley often said that Hannah was what kept her alive in the end, after losing her one true love.
When Hannah pressed with questions about her father, no one really answered them. She asked what his name was. Why didn’t she know her grandparents from that side? Could they visit his grave? But the answers would dry up, and it would be “Don’t worry about that” and “Hey, what do you want for lunch?” Her mother and the Barefooters were deliberate in their vagueness and evasion, their laughter studied, glances exchanged.
In June, Father’s Day came once again. Hannah always found herself yearning after the happy families that seemed to be everywhere on this holiday, feeling a loneliness she felt occasionally the rest of the year but much more strongly on Father’s Day. This year was worse. Maybe it was being recently engaged and feeling so deeply loved by Daniel. It had been a beautiful June day, picture-perfect. Hannah had decided to go to the beach and bring a picnic. She hadn’t thought about the cavorting families, the fathers carrying toddlers on their shoulders, the enthusiastic Frisbee games. “Dad! Dad! Watch me!”
She felt her tuna sandwich stick in her throat looking around. The beach was swarmed with families. Of course; it was a remarkably beautiful June day. Even spying families with grumpy fathers who were complaining about all stuff they had to bring to the beach made her sick with jealousy. Sure she had a mother, but she needed a father, too! Why couldn’t she at least know something about him, some details, a few stories?
Hurriedly, packing up her picnic, iPod, and the novel she had been looking forward to reading, she fled the beach as fast as she could, unable to outrun the tears. In the car she hunkered down to stay out of sight and let herself cry – an act that felt weird and awkward, her face contorting. She never allowed herself to cry, but she couldn’t help herself for the first time since she was a child. By the time her tears had abated, she had made her decision.
She would force her mother to talk. She would make it impossible for her to change the subject or take the upper hand. She would invite her mother for lunch at her cottage and corner her. Although her mother had disapproved of Hannah moving into the little remote carriage house to live all by herself “like a hermit”, once Hannah was ensconced, Keeley had relented. Lately she had been making noises about the house. What was it like? When would she be invited to see it?
Hannah knew Keeley would jump at the chance if Hannah suggested a weekday luncheon. Keeley spent every weekend in June and July on Captain’s, but went home to Manhattan with Ben during the week, not liking to be alone on the island without her usual entourage. But Manhattan and that lavish apartment also made Keeley uncomfortable. Hannah could tell by how itchy Keeley acted there, stiff and strange and nothing like the fun-loving happy person she was on Captain’s.
As expected, her mother had taken the bait, exclaiming, “At last! I was wondering when you were going to invite me out there. Now don’t make anything. I’m going hit Zabar’s and get us a huge pile of goodies and then we can just relax and enjoy the afternoon. Should I bring wine?”
Hannah insisted on supplying Mean Greens, knowing they would loosen her mother up, make her chattier. In fact, she pulled out all the stops. She put on Al Green on her MP3/CD stereo – one of her mother’s favorite recording artists. She bought daisies and arranged them simply in a glass pitcher, knowing her mother loved them and considered them “honest” flowers. It was a nice day, so she opened all the windows to let the fresh air circulate, just the way Keeley liked it.
And everything had gone perfectly at first. Her mother was visibly charmed by the tiny house, gasping, “Oh, isn’t it sweet!” They toasted with their Mean Greens in the kitchen and her mother admired Hannah’s new engagement ring, telling her how happy she was, how she couldn’t wait to meet Daniel. She cooed over the pictures that Hannah had of him, praising Hannah’s taste in men. “And he’s a pilot, too!” Keeley had giggled, and toasted Hannah again.
Hannah showed her mother into the dining room, but her mother stopped cold, looking at the fully-set little card table with it’s cheap cotton tablecloth and arrangement of daisies. “Oh, no, no, no!”
“What?” Hannah said, her heart stopping. And it had been going so well!
“We can’t eat in this little room on such a beautiful day! Let’s make this a picnic! We can sit on your little adorable lawn and enjoy the sunshine!”
Hannah breathed again. “Great idea, Mom!”
Once they settled in on the blanket they set on the lawn, Hannah let her mother take a few bites of her chicken salad sandwich before broaching the subject of her father. Her mother chewed and swallowed. “Mmmm! Oh, I’m being so bad! But I’ll be good tomorrow. Do you know I still weigh what I did in high school?”
Hannah had heard this a million times. Keeley was a perfect size two, slim and as lovely as a girl with just a few smile lines around her eyes. In contrast, Hannah’s weight was variable, rising and falling according to her good and bad moods. She admired how her mother held steady at 110 pounds, but couldn’t make herself follow her mother’s lead of weighing herself and her food religiously and counting every calorie that passed her lips. Beautiful and blonde and popular, her mother was like a movie star. How Hannah wished she was like her. Instead, she was a little heavy in the hips, dark haired, and generally preferred the company of books to people because she never knew what to say, how to act. She only wished she could be a social butterfly like her mother, to be able to shine and sparkle in public, utterly at ease, laughing loudly and without restraint.
“You are tiny,” Hannah said, nodding, and took a bite of her own sandwich. Chewing and looking around at the garden, the sunflowers and the rose bush she had planted a few weeks ago growing nicely, the bees happily buzzing by, she thought of her segue. “It’s great, the gardening I’m getting to do here. I just love getting my fingers all dirty and smelling that earth-smell, you know? Well, you’re not really into gardening, though, right? All we ever had was a lawn and that little meadow in back of the house. I must get that from my father, huh?”
Her mother was searching through the many containers of various types of salad she had brought from Zabar’s. When Hannah said the last sentence, her hand paused mid-reach.
“Uh…, maybe. Maybe!” Keeley said, in her usual bright hard voice she used when Hannah’s father was mentioned. Shellacked it was, her tone was that glossy and hard and impenetrable.
Hannah wouldn’t give up this time. “Well, you should know. Didn’t you know him for years? Did he like being outdoors? Digging around in the dirt? Planting stuff?”
Keeley found the pasta salad she was looking for, popped off the top, and grabbed a plastic spoon to serve it with. She didn’t answer right away, instead spooning the pasta curls and the chopped pieces of red pepper and celery onto her plate. Finally she spoke, “Who knows if these things are even passed down? I’m not like my mother, thank God in Heaven. And even if they are, who cares? The past is gone and done. It’s the future and right now that counts. What’s that quote again?”
Oh, no, her mother was going to change the subject and start talking about great quotes, one of her favorite subjects. Hannah said, “The past isn’t done for me because part of it is my dad. I just want to know more about him, that’s all.”
Keeley sat up very straight and took a bite of the salad and chewed, closing her eyes as she always did when she enjoyed something. When she swallowed, she said, “Mmm! This is definitely the best salad they make. I could eat the whole thing!”
“Mom, please.”
“Oh, stop it! Do you know why people are miserable in this wonderful country, in this wonderful time in history when we all have more luxury than any culture has ever had before? Because we sit around and find things to whine about. We focus on things we can’t change, like the past. God, that’s what’s really evil about psychotherapy! Those therapists actually encourage people to find some long-ago bad thing that happened to them and dwell endlessly on it. It’s terrible!”
Hannah put down her sandwich on the picnic blanket. She could feel her mother influencing her, forcing her to turn away from what she wanted to talk about, what she needed to talk about. “But I’m not going to focus on some bad thing. You yourself said that my father was, quote, a God among men, unquote. How could that be bad to want to know about a wonderful person who happened to be my dad?”
Keeley put down her plate and reached for her Mean Green. “I declare a no-history’s-mysteries rule for this lovely picnic. Let’s just have some fun, okay? You’re always so serious, geez!” She laughed, took a sip of her drink, and then looked at Hannah. “Look at you! Relax already! Life is for living! Here, let’s toast to life.”
Keeley reached her glass across to toast with Hannah. Hannah looked down at her lap. No, not again. Not again!
“Mom, all I want to do is ask a few silly questions about my dad. Then I’ll drop it. I promise. Please.” Hannah knew she needed more than that, but anything would be good, a thimble-full of water in the desert.
Hannah looked up. Keeley was still holding her glass out expectantly. Hannah reluctantly picked up her glass and touched it to her mother’s.
“To life!” Keeley said, raised her glass up as if toasting the sky, and then took a long drink.
“Mom?”
Keeley looked at her and rolled her eyes. “Eye-yi-yi, do you ever give up? No! I did sign up for this inquisition. I came out here to see your little house and have some fun with you!” Keeley said, smiling at her daughter in her usually irresistible way.
Hannah realized her mother wasn’t taking her seriously, as usual. What could she do? Action, that’s what Keeley responded to.
Hannah put down her drink and got to her feet. She looked down at her beautiful unreachable mother. “Did you ever think that I might have things that I want? You want to have fun. Well, I want to talk about my dad. I’m not asking for much, Mom.”
“Oh,” Keeley said lightly, sipping her drink and looking up at Hannah. “Well, honey, I didn’t sign up for that.” Her voice was steel underneath.
Hannah felt herself crumbling, tumbling down. “You don’t care. You just don’t, do you?” Hannah felt tears start again in her eyes. What was with the waterworks?
Keeley’s expression softened. “Sweetheart, I’m just trying to tell you something I’ve learned about life. The truth is that sometimes when you go digging into the past, you find things that are better left buried. That’s why I focus on the present and the future, because that’s what really matters.”
Hannah shook her head. “For you, that’s what matters. Not for me. I just wish you’d let me have this.”
Her mother looked down at her drink. “Not today, Hannah,” she said softly.
Hannah left her mother then, walking swiftly to the bathroom in her cottage to sit on the closed toilet and cover her face with her hands and feel the hope drain out of her along with a few hot tears. Finally, she composed herself, washed her face, and went back out to join her mother who seemed completely unaffected, sitting basking in the sunlight and nibbling on almond biscotti. Keeley acted as if their argument hadn’t happened, and Hannah didn’t broach the subject of her father again.
When Keeley left later that afternoon, they stood together in the driveway and she hugged Hannah hard. “I’m so happy for you, honey. Can’t wait to meet Daniel at Dog Days! It will be a blast!” Then Keeley climbed into her car, sang out, “Love you!” while waving extravagantly and then drove away, beeping out their family’s code from Captain’s as she left in a cloud of dust. Hannah waved until her mother’s car was out of sight.
The car-horn code dated back to the days before cell phones, when the only way that a family on the island knew that their guests had arrived was to have them beep out a specific pattern much like Morse code on their car horns, poised and waiting across the channel. Each family on the island had their own code. The Barefooters had hijacked the practice, using it as a way of announcing their arrival each other’s houses even on the mainland and always in farewell as they drove away.
Just hearing their code made Hannah both wistful and angry. Why couldn’t she be an insider like the Barefooters? Even as “their baby” she had always felt like the odd one out. Of course her mother assumed Hannah would bring Daniel to Dog Days. It was something Hannah had assumed, too. But, now, hearing her mother make that confident assumption infuriated her.
No, she wouldn’t bring Daniel. Let her mother get a taste of what it was like to want something and not get it. You withhold my father, I’ll withhold my fiancé.
Unfortunately, she had already told Daniel about Dog Days, how great it was, how much fun they would have. So she had to make up an emergency at the restaurant: they were shorthanded and needed Hannah to pitch in. The lie felt sour in Hannah’s mouth when she told him over the phone, the only way she could stand to do it.
He had sounded pained. “Oh, no! I was really psyched for that party! It sounded awesome! Damn! Are you sure we can’t go?”
No, they really needed her, Hannah said, and then assured him that they would go next year. She emailed her mother about not being able to make it, purposely failing to give a reason. Her mother had called and left messages for Hannah. “What do you mean, you’re not coming for Dog Days? You’re kidding, right?”
Hannah wasn’t kidding. She didn’t return the calls. On the morning of the celebration there was one last message from her mother left on her voicemail. “You’re seriously not coming? Come on, Hannah! What is this about?” Later that afternoon, messages started coming fast and furious from all her Barefooter aunts, each beseeching her to get her butt out to Captain’s, pronto.
That weekend was hot and humid and boring. She couldn’t have Daniel visit her in Greenwich and she couldn’t go to visit him in the city because it would expose her lie. She tried to get some extra shifts at the restaurant, but they were fully staffed and she only got Saturday night, as usual. Even having the best shift wasn’t that great as the restaurant was only half-full, most locals being away in Nantucket or the Hamptons or Maine, enjoying cool sea breezes and sailing and attending lawn parties where the women wore brightly colored Lily Pulitzer dresses and the men wore pastel button-downs and khakis. Hot, bored, and miserable, Hannah hoped her absence at Dog Days was ruining Keeley’s weekend as much as it was ruining hers.
Now, looking at the photos piled on top of the album, the ones from this year, Hannah couldn’t see even a flicker of unhappiness. No, Keeley was glowing in each shot, her shiny blond hair in a casual knot at the nape of her neck wearing a pretty green and white shift that accentuated her tan and flattered her slim waist. Here was Keeley flanked by two of the many men on Captain’s who worshipped her, everyone with their arms around each other’s shoulders. Here was Keeley sitting with the other Barefooters on the dock, each turned around to look over their shoulders at the photographer, their mouths open in laughter. Here was a shot of Keeley holding up a full pitcher of Mean Greens with both hands like a prize, a wide grin on her face.
Her mother had obviously had a wonderful time. As usual.
Hannah closed the album feeling contrite. What had she accomplished after all that? What was she accomplishing now, sitting in their little house alone? It had been kind of them to send her the key to their house and Pam’s, but wouldn’t she have gotten more out of a visit with each of the Barefooters, rather than sitting in an empty beach house on a nearly deserted island? What was she doing here?
One thing she could say is that on the island, even alone, she felt closer to her mother than anywhere else. She just wished she hadn’t been so foolish about Dog Days. Thank God Daniel pushed so hard for a visit later in the month, or she would have missed the entire Barefooter month, and missed her last chance to see her mother. Now, her mother had done something she had never done before. She had cut Hannah off. Keeley may have been constantly distracted and busy with her over-the-top social life, leaving Hannah only crumbs of attention, but it had never been intentional. It just was who Keeley was. Now it was on purpose, and even with her letter and the keys to her most sacred place, the wall was definitely up, all the way up, a hundred times worse than before.
Hannah stood and put the album back on the shelf, and then looked at the shelves stuffed with similar albums filled with happy Barefoot Girls memories. Her mother and the Barefooters had a knack for happiness; it was documented thoroughly here. Had their lives been just purely lucky and full of joy? If so, why had her mother left her – a defenseless child - all alone all those times? What happy person does that? And why didn’t her mother remember doing it?
She suddenly didn’t want to be in the house anymore. No more being alone. She wanted to talk to someone. Anyone.
She left the house, closing the windows and locking the door, and walked toward the north end of the island. She would walk by the McGrath’s house. Maybe they wanted company. She needed company. If not them, then Daniel? No, not Daniel. Not yet. She needed island people. People who knew her mother. Mr. McGrath knew her mother, Hannah had seen that look of recognition.
Just as she was passing Aunt Amy’s yellow house, she saw a boat approaching from up-island. It was Mr. McGrath!
As he pulled nearer, she started waving at him. He didn’t respond, so she waved more elaborately, practically pinwheeling her arms. Didn’t he see her?
“Mr. McGrath! Mr. McGrath!” she called. He seemed to glance at her, but then he looked away. Maybe he didn’t hear her. His boat's engine was loud.
His boat turned away and headed toward the community dock. “Mr. McGrath!” she yelled as loudly as she could, her vocal cords straining. His boat headed across the water, his head not turning to look back.
She watched him go, glanced down the boardwalk towards the north end of the island. Should she dare visit his wife? But she might frighten her. Mr. McGrath may have not told his wife about the other resident on the island. No, not a good way to start. Especially if she wanted to try and pick their brains at some point. And she did. Maybe these two islanders would be willing and useful sources of information. She knew one thing. She wasn’t giving up.
Hannah turned, stuffed her hands in the pockets of her favorite soft hoodie, and strolled back up towards Pam’s house, wondering what she should have for lunch.