Write-Off

By Leah J. Salisbury

In Write-Off, Author Leah J. Salisbury introduces us for the first time to Claire Phillips, a forty-ish businesswoman and accounting manager from a large New England city, who moves with her chronically ill husband to a small Vermont town. It is here, in Dayville, Vermont, that Claire’s moral values and ethics are turned upside down with the onslaught of her predecessor’s mysterious disappearance and the several subsequent murders of friends and co-workers. Claire struggles with the loss of those dearest to her, while learning the hard lesson of not knowing which friends she can really trust. Her dilemma is made even worse by having a difficult and unreasonable boss, by the demands of her job, and by the eventual threats on her own life.

Salisbury’s first novel leads us on a journey of intrigue and suspense as she explores the personalities and motives behind white collar crime and the several possible candidates guilty of Dayville’s alarming number of murders, while weaving a tale of romance, love, and suspicion amongst the staff of a private girls’ boarding school

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Dec 20, 2019
• ISBN: 9781728339801

Leah J. Salisbury

Leah J. Salisbury’s second novel, Disposal of Assets, addresses issues of accounting irregularities and the everyday emotional and psychological struggles in the business environment. Salisbury, who holds BA and MBA degrees, worked over forty years as a financial and accounting manager in the corporate world, and cleverly weaves the facts of business life into her characters and backgrounds. Having spent much of her own childhood in rural Vermont, Salisbury enjoys creating fictional characters who blend seamlessly into the New England environment. She presently lives in Maine with her husband and cats, where she is writing a sequel to Disposal of Assets, in a third tale of murder and missing persons.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Write-Off:

noun: An elimination of an item from the books of account.

verb: To eliminate an asset from books.

Merriam-Webster Dictionary

I turned my car slowly into the driveway of Gregory Hill Academy, an old and prestigious girls’ boarding school in up-state Vermont I had always heard about and wondered who could afford to send their children there. Now it was my time to find out. But, far from being a student and even farther from being wealthy, I was a business teacher and certified management accountant, and I was to be employed as the Academy’s new financial manager. The glorious golden and red tops of the maple trees blanketing Vermont’s green hills glittered against the solid deep blue of the warm September sky; in fact, the day was so warm, and so brilliant, that I had shut my air conditioner off somewhere down around Brattleboro, and drove the next hundred miles with the windows open and the wind blowing my hair. I pulled over now, not yet in sight of the school, before continuing up the winding, tree-lined driveway, to brush my shoulder-length hair back into place. I was a bit nervous: I wanted to make a good first impression.

As I drove up to the school, I was glad I had purchased the new soft beige suit for this occasion. Hartford, Connecticut, where I was from, had some nice stores, and I had bought the suit because it was a flattering style, as well as a good match for my dark blond hair. I drew the line at trying to coordinate accessories, though, and my shoes were just my plain good brown pumps. As my Civic rounded the last corner of the steep drive, I saw the buildings for the first time, except for the brochure pictures which Jo-An Senecal, the headmistress, had shown me during my interview in Wellesley, Massachusetts, where Gregory Hill’s board of directors held their monthly meetings.

The buildings and grounds before me were breathtaking. The architecture was neo-classical; the buildings were constructed of Vermont’s ubiquitous gray granite, dating back to the early 1900’s. The lawns were extremely well manicured and very spacious, extending down the drive to the gate where I had just entered. Spreading across before me, embracing five or six buildings in its velvet green quilt pattern, the lawn was now scattered with a few stray red or orange leaves. The flowerbeds of zinnias and ageratum lining the driveway were meticulously tended and weeded. There were several large clay urns of marigolds and red chrysanthemums placed appropriately on the imposing granite steps of what appeared to be the main building. I could not see any signs directing me to the administration building, but I assumed the building in front of me to be the one where I was to meet Jo-An. I recalled seeing only one sign at the main gate, a small, very plain green and white sign on a post about five feet high that read, GREGORY HILL ACADEMY.

I pulled into one of five Visitor spaces, shut off my CD player, and shut off the engine. Poor old car, I thought. Almost 100,000 miles, and still struggling along. I looked at the other cars in the lot. About half of them were Subaru’s. Not a good sign: I’ll definitely need to get four-wheel drive if I’m going to live in Vermont. I took one last glance in the mirror, and got out of the car, taking my purse and briefcase with me, and leaving behind my boxes of stuff, luggage and plants.

I hadn’t planned on moving to Vermont. In fact, my husband and I were content to live in Connecticut for the rest of our lives. However, Gene, who had a hectic schedule as a plant manager, traveling between three manufacturing sites almost weekly, had begun complaining of a strange weakness and numbness over the last several years. He attributed this to his diabetes, from which he had suffered for ten years, until one morning he couldn’t get a spoonful of oatmeal to his mouth; his hand dropped the spoon and he was left without any muscular control in his right arm. We immediately called his doctor, and after several weeks of tests, we learned he was in the early to middle stages of multiple sclerosis.

The shock of this diagnosis numbed me. I don’t remember much about the next few days, except working with Gene to learn more about the disease and what we should do. We knew the illness could stabilize for periods of time, or gradually worsen. After two months of cutting back his schedule, and with very understanding bosses, Gene trained his replacement, and retired at the age of forty-eight. But the fear of what we would do in the event the MS worsened lingered over us.

Then, one day in early July, I received a call from my mother-in-law, Florence, who with Gene’s father, lived outside of Burlington, Vermont. Flo and Jack had offered to do anything they could when they’d learned of their oldest child’s illness. Flo was calling to say she had heard of a job possibility while she was at the beauty shop, an opening for a business manager at the Gregory Hill Academy, only seven miles outside of the town where they lived. I was presently the business manager for a school district outside of Hartford, and also teaching two classes in economics and business. I had been in this job for five years; prior to my becoming certified, I had been an accounting manager for an international computer company, having worked for them since I graduated from college, twenty years ago. I had earned my graduate degree at nights, just before I met Gene. Gene had recently been widowed, and we were introduced through mutual friends. We hit it off from the start. Although Gene had grown up in Vermont, and I in Connecticut, the rule of fives was a constant source of amazement to us, as we continued to discover how many people we each knew, who knew someone the other one knew. Besides being totally compatible, we fell in love, and were married six months later.

Flo was really excited about the job possibility at Gregory Hill. She said she didn’t know the whole story, except the current business manager had just resigned and moved out west somewhere, and why didn’t I apply for the job? I thought about it, and talked to Gene. His folks were almost seventy, but healthy and active. They had a large farmhouse on several acres. Jack had been a successful contractor, while Flo had been a cook at the University for many years after their six children were grown. Now they were offering to share their house with us and look after Gene, if I could land this job. I, too, picked up on her enthusiasm. Jack and Flo were wonderful people, and this position seemed like a godsend. I sent my resume, references and cover letter that night, addressing the letter and envelope generically to Headmaster, Gregory Hill Academy, Gregory Hill, VT. After all, what did we have to lose?

When I received a call from Jo-An Senecal, the headmistress, three days later, I knew it sounded good. But she was perplexed, she had said. How could I have known there was a position open? The advertisement had only appeared in the Boston paper the day my resume arrived by mail. I told her my mother-in-law had heard about it locally, and Jo-An was thrilled that I had family in Vermont. The hardest part of recruitment and retention is the relocation and adjustment, she had said. She sounded as if she’d had a lot of experience with this type of problem, and I asked her that. She had laughed, and said she’d fill me in when we met. We set an appointment for the following Monday, and I met her in Wellesley, Massachusetts, at eight a.m., a two-hour drive from my home in Connecticut.

Jo-An was so excited during the interview, talking on about Gregory Hill and the challenges for a private school going into the next century. She said she had lived in Gregory Hill for the last two years, when she had been hired by the Board to bring the Academy out of the last century of thinking and technology and prepare it for major changes, not just in curriculum but in capital additions and building renovations. Jo-An was a dynamic person. I had never met anyone quite like her and felt a bit overpowered by her knowledge, education and background.

We met for well over an hour, during which time Jo-An told me all about her experience before Gregory Hill at The Simpson School, a co-educational private day school in Virginia. She had been with Simpson five years, and wanted to pattern her successes at GHA after Virginia. Jo-An told me about how she had increased Simpson’s enrollment, revitalized its sinking endowment funds, worked on establishing diversity, among students and staff, for cultural and ethnic enrichment. She talked about her years at Oxford, England, where she had done graduate work, and her undergraduate years at Radcliffe. She was on the boards of a half dozen charitable organizations, most of which held meetings in Massachusetts and New Hampshire, so she was constantly traveling. That’s why I need a good financial manager, she had said, finally getting around to mentioning the position for which I was interviewing. I need someone I can trust to run the office and to upgrade our computer system. I just don’t have the time to do it myself.

I looked at her and smiled. You shouldn’t have to do it yourself. It appears you have quite enough projects going on without having to worry about the office work.

Suddenly her blue eyes turned icy cold. She stared right at me, all expression leaving her face. She replied, and it seemed she wasn’t answering me, but the room in general. We’ll see. Just as quickly, her eyes warmed, and she was present in the room again. So, do you think this is the kind of position you’d be interested in?

Oh, yes! It definitely sounds like an exciting place and a real challenge, I replied, slightly confused by the turn of the conversation. Jo-An just nodded and smiled. I continued, But I have a few questions. How many staff do you have? And how many presently work in the office? May I see copies of the last two years’ financial statements and management letters? Are there any outstanding problems or issues needing urgent attention? And what kind of computer system are you using? I’d like to compare your standards with public schools. Some of the standards right now throughout the public school districts are… Jo-An cut me off. I’ll give you an organizational chart which will show you the staff positions. But we need to hurry. The Board is meeting this morning and I’ve asked them to meet you. Are you ready?

Jo-An stood up. This was all happening so fast. I knew my credentials were good, and I presented myself well on paper, but how could the Board meet so quickly? As if reading my mind, Jo-An said, The Board meets the last Monday of each month. When I received your resume, and after I spoke with you, I emailed them each a copy. Or faxed, in several cases! I’ll tell you about that later! But we frequently meet here because this is where the Board President has his office. We were walking down the hall, and I was struggling to keep up with Jo-An’s long stride. Even though we were about the same height, she was stockier and more broad-shouldered, and walked with a determined, no-nonsense stride, much as she spoke.

I noticed a ladies’ room. Excuse me, but do I have time to stop in here for a minute?

Jo-An impatiently looked at her watch. Well, ok. She hesitated. Maybe I’ll use it, too. As we were washing our hands, Jo-An asked, So, where did you say your friends lived? In Gregory Hill?

I was glad to make small talk. My in-laws, I politely reminded her. My husband has had to retire because of illness and we heard about this position through them. They live in Dayville. I was going to ask what happened to my predecessor, when Jo-An interrupted. How wonderful! That’s right, you did mention something. We have a terrible problem with staff adjusting to the climate and the isolation. It’s wonderful to know you won’t have that problem. We hurried down to the conference room.

The Board was wonderful: twelve very professional and astute individuals from every field imaginable; educators, doctors, investors. We talked for over an hour. I was impressed, and I guess they were with me, because that evening, Jo-An called, offered me the job at a better salary than I was making, and asked when I could start. We agreed on September first; but I said I still had questions. For instance, why was there an opening? How many staff are there? May I see the auditors’ statements? Jo-An laughed, and said, All right. First, Kevin, the business manager before you, had to leave in July to move back to California to care for his aging mother. Secondly, we have twenty staff members, twelve of whom are teachers. Our student/teacher ratio is quite good, as our enrollment is now three hundred eighty students for grades nine through twelve. Oh, and we prefer to call our teachers mentors so please try to use that term as much as possible. I’ll mail you a brief orientation package with the staff names, the first semester schedule, and some ideas I had for what you could start working on. We can talk more when you arrive. And, I was wondering, would you consider teaching a couple of courses yourself? We’re excited to have someone with your computer experience. We need to upgrade our Internet access, sophisticate our e-mail, replace the server, do all that stuff. We want to eliminate the computer lab, as all the students have laptops of course, and I can use that space for something else. Right now we have a couple of old PC’s sitting in there. Is this all right with you? I had agreed, in a daze at how quickly this had all happened, and not fully aware that Jo-An had not answered all my questions.

So now, as I entered the front door of the main building, I eagerly awaited my first day on the job. Little did I know what awaited me beyond those granite walls.

Chapter 2

Inside the front door, in a huge arched foyer of dark mahogany paneling, was a beautifully appointed sitting area to the left and a reception desk to the right. The desk was of Queen Anne design; and partially concealed behind a wall to the left of the desk was a switchboard monitor. A pleasant-looking, sixty-ish woman, with short, gray hair, wearing a print dress and navy blazer, was seated behind the desk. She greeted me with a friendly, May I help you?

The nameplate on her desk said Winifred Grant. I replied, Yes, I’m here to see Jo-An Senecal. I’m Claire Phillips.

Winifred stood up, a big smile on her face. Oh, Claire, how do you do! We are so glad you are here. What a pleasure to meet you! She extended her hand across the desk, but before I had a chance to take it, Jo-An Senecal burst around the corner. Claire! And on time! You must have stayed with your family last night?

I could only smile my reply to Winifred, who had politely resumed her seat, while Jo-An had steered me away from the desk, and into the sitting room. No, I drove straight up from Hartford. I left about five a.m. I’ll stay up here during the week and go home on weekends until we sell the house. My sister is looking in on my husband until he can…

Jo-An laughed. Five? I was already here working, and then I had a meeting in Burlington. I just got back here myself. She paused for breath, and put her hand on my shoulder. Come on - I’ll introduce you to the staff, and the people who’ll work for you, and then show you around. Classes start next week, but we’re already fully staffed. By this time, we were walking down the main corridor, stopping to admire the paintings and statues lining the walls. Jo-An was obviously very proud of the school’s collection of artwork, and was describing in detail the various donors of the paintings and the net worth of the collection. She had already explained to me during the interview in Wellesley that one of my first projects would be to set up a computerized fixed asset ledger. These items, the paintings and artwork, were all part of the school’s assets, and I was truly impressed.

I had the chance to really look at Jo-An as we stood in front of Ethan Allen’s portrait, one of many historical figures from Vermont’s history. She had switched the conversation in mid-sentence and was talking on about how excited everyone was about my coming, and how I could decorate my office any way I wanted, but how she had already decided the carpet in that office was the wrong color so she’d had it replaced, and how Roland, the plant superintendent, had just painted the walls a few weeks ago, a lighter color. She never took a breath between sentences.

I watched her as she spoke. Jo-An was probably in her late thirties. She was wearing a baby blue boucle knit jacket that seemed far too warm for the day and about one size too small. Under it, she had on a rounded collar, Peter-Pan type blouse, a style I hadn’t seen since my high school days, and a navy blue wrap skirt, mid-calf length, with a pair of brown penny loafers on her feet. I noticed her ankles were fat and puffy. Her straight brown hair was cut short, and to keep a piece of hair from falling into her face, she had it clipped to one side with a tiny barrette. She seemed heavier than when I met her a month ago.

In the hall, we ran into two mentors. Claire, I’d like you to meet Cindy Berthiaume and Laura Thomas. Cindy is our guidance director and teaches sociology and psychology. Laura is our phys-ed director and coach for intramural sports. Gregory Hill has an exceptional record in field hockey and basketball. Both women smiled warmly, and we shook hands. We’ll see you at nine! Jo-An called after them, as we continued down the hall.

Just a few feet from Ethan Allen was the entrance to the office area. There were three offices lining the outside walls, with a central area containing a copier, fax, and worktable. This space opened to Winifred’s back, where the receptionist was busily typing little white labels on an old green electric typewriter. Jo-An’s office was the middle one, whose door was open. I could see the sign Headmistress on a small plaque on her door. She unlocked the door to the first one, containing only a sign Office. What do you think? she asked, standing aside so I could look in.

The office was beautiful. It was probably fifteen feet square, but the opposite end was all windows, the old-fashioned kind that went clear to the ceiling and actually opened up for fresh air. Jo-An was right, the paint was new, shiny and with that faint, lingering turpentine smell. And the light peach color contrasted nicely with the beige carpet. There was a new valance of beige, teal and peach. As I walked closer to admire the gorgeous view of the distant mountains, I noticed there were two sets of old pull shades hiding under the valance. I assumed, from the financials and budget copy Jo-An had sent me, that there wasn’t enough money to spend on new blinds. However, I was very pleased with the overall effect, and turned to compliment Jo-An.

This is wonderful! You did such a nice job. Thank you very much. You know, I’ve never had such a lovely office in my life! And the view - it’s fabulous.

Jo-An smiled. I’m glad you like it. But it needed paint anyway. There were a lot of holes in the wall from when Kevin was here. I spent one whole night patching and repairing the walls after he left. We don’t encourage you to hang things on the walls. If you want a bulletin board, let me know. I’ll get you one. And I’ll put it up. I can’t trust maintenance to do anything right or on time. Now, if you’d like to leave your things here, I’ll introduce you to some more people. At nine I’ve asked the staff to meet in the conference room for a coffee and bagel welcome.

I was really impressed and so moved by this last statement, about being welcomed, that the comment about Kevin’s making holes in the wall hadn’t sunk in. As we had a couple of minutes, Jo-An took me to the third office, on the other side of her own, and about the same size as mine. It was cluttered with file cabinets and boxes of papers. Lydia, this is Claire. Jo-An introduced me to the bookkeeper/payroll clerk and then abruptly turned and began shuffling through papers on top of a file cabinet. As I approached Lydia’s desk, Jo-An interrupted. Lydia, now that Claire is here, maybe you can find the time to catch up on some of this filing. It’s really a mess. She said it as a statement, without any real emotion, but I could see Lydia’s embarrassment at being rebuked in front of me. After all, I was her new boss.

I had to say something to put her at ease. Jo-An was flitting around the office, picking up invoices, eating some potato chips from a rolled up, half-eaten bag she found on the cabinet. Well, Lydia, I’m very happy to meet you. Do you think you’d have time later today to sit down and tell me what you do and how things work? I smiled at her.

Lydia smiled back, looking relieved. As soon as I get payroll done, maybe by two-three o’clock, if that’s all right?

That would be fine. Why don’t you come find me when you’re ready. I turned to Jo-An. Do you have anything specific planned for me today? Any meetings? Introductions?

No, I thought the nine A.M. session would take the place of our weekly department head meeting, which is always Tuesday morning at ten. You just get adjusted and settled in. I’ll leave some folders on your desk to go through, as I begin to sort out the mess in my office. Kevin left things so unfinished. Jo-An abruptly walked out the door, tossing the now-empty potato chip bag into the wastebasket. Come on, it’s time for bagels.

Lydia looked at me, smiled wryly, and led me to the conference room.

The conference room was just across the hall from our offices, and was a fairly large room. The focal point was the giant mahogany table, extending from the end nearest the door to the windows at the far end. There were about twenty high-backed upholstered armchairs placed formally around the table. Four or five staff members had already arrived. I recognized Cindy and Laura, and moved over to say hello. They offered me coffee, and we talked the usual small talk as our shyness wore off. Within a few minutes, there were twelve staff members in the room.

Jo-An’s voice cut into the chatter. Everyone - may I have your attention for just a minute. We’d like to welcome Claire Phillips to Gregory Hill. As I’ve told most of you already, Claire has a great background in computers and business and is going to be a wonderful asset for us, as well as for me. Maybe now I’ll be able to get caught up or even take a day off! Jo-An reached across the table for a piece of spinach bagel someone had left on the platter, and popped it into her mouth. Laura, standing next to me, whispered under her breath, Yeah, right. She’s been here two years and she’s yet to take even one day off.

I looked at Laura in surprise. She continued, in a whisper. Stop by my office later. I’ll fill you in.

At that moment, Roland Gilbert stepped forward to introduce himself. He was probably the tallest man I’d ever met in my life, and large, too, but not fat. Roland must have stood at least six feet five inches, and he reminded me of Little John in Robin Hood, or even the Jolly Green Giant. Although Roland had a full gray beard, and looked very imposing and intimidating, he had twinkling, kind eyes. We shook hands, and I liked him immediately.

It’s a pleasure to meet you, Roland. And your job is..? I was fairly sure, from the way he was dressed, in work pants and a red plaid, short-sleeved shirt, that he was the maintenance supervisor Jo-An had mentioned.

I’m in charge of plant services. The grounds, security, mechanical, whatever. I’d be glad to show you around, anytime. Before he could say more, Jo-An had worked her way to his side, and between bites of a sesame bagel, asked Roland a question.

Roland, do you think you could dig out the blueprints and schematics of the heating system and boiler sometime today? We need to go over the capital budget in the next few weeks, and I was wondering if this would be a good time to get bids on re-doing the entire HVAC system?

Sure, Jo-An. I’ll bring them over. After lunch ok?

Fine. Bring them in here. We can work better at this table. Jo-An turned to me. Let me introduce you to the rest of the staff. I followed her around the room, to where a short, chubby man in his forties was talking to two women.

Edgar, this is Claire. Claire, Edgar Rousseau, our dining services manager, and a great chef, too!

I’m sure Jo-An is a good judge of food, I thought to myself. I shook hands with Edgar, who also seemed to be pleasant and easy-going, much like Roland. Edgar, however, seemed less sure of himself, and looked frequently at Jo-An, letting her take the conversational lead. Jo-An introduced the two women with him.

And Claire, this is Sherry Fielding, our music teacher, and Francine Jablonski, our art director and history teacher.

While Sherry asked me the usual questions about settling in, and moving up here, I couldn’t help let my mind wander. I studied Sherry’s face as she talked. She was a tall brunette, with very fair, freckled skin. She had long, tapered fingers, and I wondered what instruments she played. I reminded myself to try to find her later, as I played guitar, and was interested in taking some private lessons. I was mediocre at best, and this seemed like a good opportunity for some self-development.

Francine spoke up. If you’d like to see our art department, I’d love to give you a tour. We have a spring art festival each year, featuring the students’ work, but I was thinking of expanding it this year to include staff. Do you paint? Francine had short, curly black hair, and very pale, ivory skin. She was also petite, and extremely energetic, in her speech and body language. I could picture her in Italy, sculpting, alongside a canal. Before I could answer, or ask either of them any questions, Jo-An interrupted everyone.

May I have your attention? Thank you all for coming to welcome Claire. I have to run, as there are some things I must do this morning. Edgar, thanks for cleaning up here. She grabbed two bagels, wrapping them in a napkin, and ran out the door. I introduced myself to the remaining staff: George Rossi, who taught Science, and who had been standing in a corner by himself, drinking coffee and staring at me throughout the whole meeting; Howard Coes, Math, who was very funny and did Groucho Marx impressions as we shook hands; and Marilyn Cookson, English and Theater Arts, who was about my age, but very formal and lady-like.

The rest of the day went by fairly quickly. I sorted through piles of papers; Jo-An flew in and out of my office several times with more stacks of folders, laughing, and saying, Here are some more. I was keeping them in my office trying to make sense out of all that financial business, but now that you’re here, I’ll give them all back to you!

I also went through the computer set-up and familiarized myself with the databases and software set-ups. There were some differences between what I’d had in Hartford and here, but nothing I couldn’t work with. I made notes of what I felt needed changing, or would be an enhancement, but decided to discuss my findings at next week’s staff meeting before I did anything. One thing I’d learned over the years was to never work in a vacuum, and I always tried to communicate my plans with my bosses and peers for added input.

I didn’t even realize it was 5:30, when Lydia poked her head in the door to say goodnight. I wished her the same, and asked if first thing in the morning would be a good time to talk and go over the business office policies. I had obviously lost track of the time today, and I apologized, although I remembered that I had asked Lydia to come see me. Lydia smiled, and said fine; she’d bring the coffee. Within ten minutes, I had straightened up my desk and was out the door myself. I looked around to say goodnight to Jo-An, but she was nowhere in sight.

I had taken a few minutes after the morning staff meeting to unload my car, and my plants looked very much at home on the spacious windowsill. I reminded myself to ask Roland to hang the little plaque my co-workers in Hartford had given me as a parting gift:

"Old Accountants Don’t Die - They Just Get Written Off."

I loved how we laughed when I had opened that gift at my going away party. However, my luggage and garment bags were all that remained in the car, and I set off for Dayville, a pleasant summer’s evening ride over two good-sized hills and a valley. The trip to Flo and Jack’s was only fifteen minutes but, I wondered, what it would be like in two feet of snow, or even an ice storm. As I drove into my in-laws’ driveway, I noticed Flo weeding her vegetable garden. I blew my horn, and she turned and waved, dropping her hoe and hurrying over to my car. I could see a large wicker basket of fresh tomatoes and yellow summer squash on the lawn.

I jumped out of the car and gave her a big hug. It had been Christmas since we’d seen them last. My in-laws were very warm, down-to-earth people. My, my, don’t you look nice! Flo exclaimed. Every time we see you, you’re never dressed up like this! You’re always in jeans. That’s a really nice suit. She gently fingered the soft rayon linen blend.

Thanks, Flo. You’re right. We’re always in our bummy clothes when we’re on vacation. As a matter-of-fact, I can’t wait to get into them right now! We both laughed, and I followed Flo into the house.

The Phillips’ house was a good-sized, Cape-style farmhouse with two large bedrooms and bath downstairs and three additional bedrooms and a bath upstairs. There had been six children - four girls sandwiched in age between Gene and the younger brother John, who had died of cancer at the age of twenty. Flo and Jack had always had the large downstairs bedroom, with the youngest child in the room next to theirs. When John had turned ten, Gene once told me, he decided to move upstairs with his older brother. At this point, the downstairs room became a guest room. Gene and I had our choice of taking the entire second floor, and installing an escalator-type lift on the stairway for Gene, or taking the two downstairs rooms. We decided on the second floor, primarily because it gave us three rooms to move our furniture into. But it also would give us the feeling of a separate apartment, and we wouldn’t be displacing Gene’s parents.

I went upstairs to change into shorts and t-shirt. Over the years, Gene’s sisters had taken most of the furniture from their rooms for their own growing families. In the large, south-facing room we had agreed would be our bedroom, and which had been Meredith and Anne’s room, there remained only