He watched me try to drag our kitchen table through the front door.
It’s a heavy maple table. I had to turn it up on its side to get it through the doorway.
Rick came over and took the other end without saying a word. Because that’s the kind of man Rick is. He’ll help you carry anything. Doesn’t matter what it is or why.
We set it down on the driveway, right beside the boat.
Then I went back inside and got my mother’s tablecloth.
But instead of spreading it over the kitchen table, I climbed up into that boat on the little step stool from the laundry room. And I spread the tablecloth over the padded bench seat in the middle of the boat. The one between the two consoles.
It fit almost perfectly.
I tucked the corners in under the cushions.
Then I brought out two plates. Two forks. Two knives. Two glasses of iced tea. And the pot roast in its pan.
I set everything down on the bench seat. On my mother’s tablecloth.
“Karen,” Rick said from the driveway. “What is this?”
“Supper,” I said. “Come eat before it gets cold.”
He stood there a long time.
I sat down in the passenger seat of that bass boat and put my paper napkin in my lap.
Finally, Rick climbed up the step stool, swung his leg over the side, and sat down across from me in the driver’s seat.
“The table’s right there,” he said, pointing down at it.
“I know,” I said. “I needed somewhere to put the bread.”
And I did use the table. I set the gravy boat on it. And the dinner rolls. And a stick of butter on a saucer. And I reached over the side of the boat for them whenever we needed them.
We ate.
Neither one of us said much.
A robin hopped across the front yard. Down the street, somebody was mowing their lawn for the first time that year. The whole block smelled like cut grass and my pot roast.
When we were done, I carried the dishes inside and washed them at my sink. The cabinet door next to my hip hasn’t stayed shut since about 2009. I bumped it closed with my knee three times while I rinsed.
Rick came in and picked up a dish towel and dried.
He didn’t say anything about the boat.
Neither did I.
Ethan Blake is a skilled Creative Content Specialist with a talent for crafting engaging and thought-provoking narratives. With a strong background in storytelling and digital content creation, Ethan brings a unique perspective to his role at TheArchivists, where he curates and produces captivating content for a global audience.
Ethan holds a degree in Communications from Zurich University, where he developed his expertise in storytelling, media strategy, and audience engagement. Known for his ability to blend creativity with analytical precision, he excels at creating content that not only entertains but also connects deeply with readers.
At TheArchivists, Ethan specializes in uncovering compelling stories that reflect a wide range of human experiences. His work is celebrated for its authenticity, creativity, and ability to spark meaningful conversations, earning him recognition among peers and readers alike.
Passionate about the art of storytelling, Ethan enjoys exploring themes of culture, history, and personal growth, aiming to inspire and inform with every piece he creates. Dedicated to making a lasting impact, Ethan continues to push boundaries in the ever-evolving world of digital content.