Nine Suppers in a Bass Boat

The First Night

I made pot roast, because it was Saturday and that is what I make on Saturday. Carrots and potatoes in the pan with it, onions underneath. Gravy over the one burner that worked on high, stirring.

At ten to six I took the tablecloth out of the hall closet. Not the everyday one. The good one, red and white checks, the one my mother gave me when we got married in 1994.

Rick was in the garage, digging out the life jackets he had bought along with the boat. He did not see me carry the first chair out the front door. He saw me carry the second.

“What are you doing?”

“Setting the table,” I said.

He watched me drag the kitchen table through the front door. It is a heavy maple table, and I had to turn it on its side to get it through. He came over and took one end without a word, because that is the kind of man Rick is. He will help you carry anything.

We set it on the driveway beside the boat. Then I went back inside and got the tablecloth, and instead of spreading it on the table, I spread it over the bench seat in the middle of the boat, between the two consoles.

It fit almost perfectly. I tucked the corners under the cushions.

Then I brought out two plates, two forks, two knives, two glasses of iced tea and the pot roast. I climbed into the boat on the step stool from the laundry room, and I set everything on the bench.

“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 on the passenger seat and put my napkin in my lap. Finally he climbed up on the step stool and swung his leg over and sat down across from me on the driver’s seat.

“The table’s right there,” he said, pointing at it.

“I know,” I said. “I needed somewhere to put the potatoes.”

And I did use the table. I set the gravy boat on it and the bread and a stick of butter, and I reached over the side of the boat for them when we needed them.

We ate. Neither of us said much. A robin hopped across the yard. Down the street somebody was mowing for the first time that year, and the whole block smelled like cut grass and my pot roast.

When we were done I washed the dishes inside, standing at my sink with the cabinet door beside my hip that had not stayed shut since about 2009. I pushed it closed with my knee three times while I rinsed.

Rick came in and dried. He did not say anything about the boat. I did not either.