Since my friend Vin has moved 65 miles away to be with his convalescing wife at the home of their daughter, I can no longer just roll down the hill a mere mile and a half to read to him. It used to be that we’d end up in his living room or on warm days on his patio. Today cell phones bridge the distance and allow us to carry on with our reading of The Racketeer by John Grisham.
To give Hannah space in our downstairs kitchen/living room, I head to our hideaway skylight room where our TV hangs on the wall. In a faux Laz-e-Boy rocker, I settle in ready to read. Normally at his home Vin provides horehound candies to soothe my throat. Today I place a glass of water on the table to my right to lubricate my throat. Then I am ready to give it my best show-stopping performance with all the inflection and animation of a Broadway divo (male diva).
It’s 2P and Vin is settled in a back bedroom in Massachusetts and I in Maine for the next hour plus. And I begin… I’m back in the warden’s office and something is up… And so continues Malcolm Bannister’s narration of his plan to trade information about the murder of a federal judge for the commutation of his ten year sentence. At 310P my voice says no mas, but we are 30 pages further down the road to the story’s no doubt satisfying Grisham conclusion. My gift is my reading, his gift is our friendship.