Gwendy's Magic Feather

62

THE DRIVE FROM CASTLE Rock to Windham takes forty-five minutes but dinner is worth every mile of it. Both Gwendy and Mrs. Peterson order stuffed shrimp a la Guiseppi, side salads, and cups of seafood bisque. Mr. Peterson decides on chicken cacciatore and devours an entire loaf of Italian bread all by himself before his entrée arrives. “You keep that up,” Mrs. Peterson tells him, “and we’ll be visiting you in the hospital.”

After they finish eating, Mr. and Mrs. Peterson take to the dance floor and slow dance to back-to-back ballads sung by a Frank Sinatra look-alike set up on a small stage by the bar. At the conclusion of the last song, Mr. Peterson dips his wife over his bended knee, before pulling her close for a kiss on the cheek. They return to the table giggling like a couple of high-school sweethearts.

“You sure you don’t want to give it a whirl, Gwennie?” her father asks, sliding out Mrs. Peterson’s chair for her. “I still have a little gas left in the tank.”

“I’m stuffed. I think I’ll just sit here until I float away.”

“Will there be dessert for anyone?” the waitress says from over Mrs. Peterson’s shoulder.

“Not me,” Gwendy says, groaning.

Mr. Peterson pats his full belly. “None for me, either.”

“No, thank you, dear,” Mrs. Peterson says, and as her husband asks the waitress for the check, she turns to Gwendy. “I think I’ll just have one of those yummy chocolates of yours when I get home instead.”