Julie, attired in a long skirt and open sweater, over an embroidered peasant blouse, shook our hands and introduced us to a demure young lady, dressed similarly to her mother. Molly O'Malley was a pretty child, easily recognized as Julie's daughter with her long blond hair and beautiful eyes. While not as thin as her mother, you could tell she would inherit her mother's height. The child was shy, but seemed excited in a subdued way by the new surroundings. Howie too, dressed for the occasion, even donning a tweed jacket complete with elbow patches. The four of us were put to shame in jeans and sweat shirts.
"I'm pleased to meet you," said Miss Molly as she shook each of our hands in turn. Julie stood nearby, as proud as any mother could be. Howie beamed with delight. Bumpus came over for a sniff. Molly held out her hand and passed muster allowing this new person to scotch down and pat him.
Martha had brought along baby Claire and Molly was enthralled. Martha asked if she'd like to hold the baby, thrilling Molly further. She politely asked her mother for permission which was granted. I began to wonder if Martha would ever get her baby back! We adults passed banalities back and forth while Howie opened wine, of an obvious expensive vintage us Gustefsons only admired.
Martha, free to indulge, surprised me by drinking more than her share, an uncommon practice on her part. She was sitting with Betsy and me while Quinn was talking gardening with Howie.
"God," said Martha, empting a glass. This stuff makes me horny! I hope Quinn doesn't have a head ache tonight." Betsy and I laughed. Martha patted my knee. "If he bails out maybe Betsy will lend me you for a fill-in."
"Don't do it without asking," my wife retorted before changing the subject. She was never quite sure how to respond to Martha's candor though the two continued to be best of friends.
Gone was Julie's candor expressed on her first visit. She seemed nervous and her open smile was less in evidence, unless speaking of her daughter.
"Molly hasn't been around pets or babies," she said, as if apologizing for her daughter's enrapture over the infant.
"I'll give her a call any night about three AM and see if her she's still enthralled," Martha said as she sipped her wine.
"Need a hand with the barbeque, Howie?" Quinn asked as he glanced over at a state of the art cooking unit in the rear corner of the patio.
"Yes," he answered. "I've got some charcoal stuff I found in the garage. I've got some gasoline I use in the lawn mower."