Skinny Dipping by Connie Brockway Read Free Book Online Page B

conversion, or sex reassignment,” she said. “If you’ve been declared ‘family,’ the only way out is death.”
    He couldn’t imagine a family so large and inclusive and unplanned. He and Karen had had only one child. Even before Karen had died a dozen years ago, they’d never been the classic nuclear family. He’d been working overseas most of the ten years they’d been married, while Karen had stayed in Chicago and raised their son. It wasn’t what Joe had necessarily wanted; it had just worked out that way. Karen took pride and pleasure in being a stay-at-home mom, and Joe had done his part by making it possible for her to be one.
    “But even that’s just an assumption. Or wishful thinking,” Mimi went on. “Actually, there’s hoards of Olsons on the Other Side just waiting to give the newly departed a big group hug.”
    Joe regarded her narrowly. She returned his gaze with unblinking sincerity. He didn’t think she was putting him on, but he wasn’t entirely sure, and that knocked him a little off balance. Joe read most people as easily as Superman reads an eye chart.
    She smiled. He relaxed. Of course she was kidding.
    She waved her hand around the compound. “And everyone else you see here who isn’t related to the Olsons has long ties to Fowl Lake. Why, the Sbodas over there”—she pointed to a group of redheads with a predilection for plaid—“ may have been the first family to build on the lake, though we Olsons fervently resist that notion. Besides,” she said smugly, “ we have our original buildings. Those cottages over there? They’ve been here since before World War One.”
    Unable to hide her pride, she continued. “Note the simplicity of the design, the clapboard exterior, the narrow porch, the length of the facade. Inside are twin rooms on either side of a central hall, a feature, you may be interested in knowing, that makes them the dictionary definition of ‘cottage.’ So do not make the outlanders’ mistake of calling them ‘cabins.’”
    “Go on,” he said, actually interested.
    “Well, the Olsons and the Sbodas were the first on the lake, and, as you can see, we are all still well represented. In fact”—she looked around—“excluding you, there isn’t anyone here without a pedigree going back at least three generations. The community around Fowl Lake is notoriously exclusive. We think of ourselves as sort of the Hamptons of the Bogs. Sans the money—Oh!” Mimi abruptly exclaimed, grabbing his elbow.
    “You simply cannot miss these cashew bars,” she said, picking up a battered pan of gooey-looking stuff and prying a roughly rectangular-shaped piece out with her fingers. Joe winced.
    “Susie must have just set these out,” she mumbled around a mouthful of bar. “They won’t last ten minutes once they’ve been discovered.”
    She bumped the pan against his chest. Thus encouraged, he used a plastic fork to pry another square from the opposite corner. One bite told him all he had to know. Some things were worth risking your health for. In quick order, he’d stockpiled several more before moving out of the way of the incoming crowds swarming toward them like yellow jackets at a barbeque, alerted by some sixth sense to the cashew bars’ presence. Together, he and Mimi retreated, carefully shielding their bootie with paper napkins.
    She led him to a bench completely encircling the trunk of an old ironwood tree and motioned for him to take a seat. She finished two more cashew bars before she spoke again.
    “What’s your story, Joe? How did you come to these strange shores? Who are your people and are they waiting in the woods for your signal to attack? Do we stand in imminent danger of having our picnic raided and our cashew bars plundered?”
    “Nope. I’m just visiting.”
    “Oh? One of the new places?” Her friendliness faded a bit. “Which one?”
    “I’m not exactly sure. It’s somewhere around here. I was on my way when I got the flat. Maybe