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Show 51 And Hunt remembered being very at sea, churned up, self-conscious. "Any candidates?" he'd said. Clowning. Leaping either on or past'the obvious. And then it had been Martha McAllister's turn to be off-balance, embarrassed. "I think it's chowder time," Hunt had offered, looking at his watch. "Want to get dressed." And they'd walked again to the pier, lunched. Hunt bought wine. The day was greyer, gustier. They'd joked. Hunt had tried to keep the conversation light. And it had worked until, over the last of the rose, Martha'd asked: "What do you envision marriage to be?" "Whose?" "Yours - when you have it." "I don't know," Hunt had said and felt discomfort. Dreamer! That was the third element. Hunt was a dreamer, afraid of being called to announce the claims of his heart. He expected Giving. He expected Sharing. He expected the dimensions of Love that he had.Witnessed in his mother. But he was reluctant to insist, reluctant to make such outrageous claims. Except in shifting and absurd ways on hismelf. God what an asshole! "You don't really know what you envision marriage should be?" "I'm a kid," Hunt had said, leaping, clowning, sidestepping the reluctant and the driven Dreamer, trying to. "No, you're not," very seriously Martha McAllister had said. "Hell, I was yesterday! Where has my youth gone?!" And Hunt had tried to ride out of the situation and moment on the back of a joke. Walking back up the hill, he had quieted. "Sorry I was flippant back there," he said. |
