Long shadows had crawled across the floor. The curtain hung listlessly in front of an open window through which a chorus of cicadas hummed.
Infant brown eyes stared into larger, older blue ones. The uncle stared, hypnotized, at the undulation of his nephew taking milk from a bottle: the tiny mouth puckered around the rubber nipple, the cheeks dimpled under the cheek bones, the soft throat coaxed into his stomach the only sustenance the child had known in its uncompleted trip around the sun. And the action repeated, over and over.
A cane, its chrome handle glinting in the late-afternoon sun, stood neglected next to its owner, who's eyelids had become too heavy to stay aloft. A brown-and-white dog, paws twitching as he chased rats behind his eyelids, rested with his chin on his human's thigh. The drone of the monotone radio announcer, the breeze-like noise of thousands of fans, and random punctuation of the crack of the bat, had ceased to be the noises of a minor league baseball game. To the white-haired man dozing on the rustic sofa, it was the sounds of a sandlot game in which he'd pitched more than fifty years ago.
Two girls -- cousins in name only, but that was enough -- were still in their bathing suits, carefully sifting through the day's lake treasures. The older girl, whose considerable four more years' life experience gave her a sense of responsibility, patiently instructed the younger girl on the importance of organization. "This rock is red," she explained. "Red rocks go here." Her two-year-old colleague, intent on dissecting a dried, curled oak leaf, ignored her.
The aftermath of a perfect day pervaded them: sailing, swimming, sun-bathing. All day a sun as bright as crayons had undauntedly moved across a spotless azure sky. Even now, when the orange ball dipped to the horizon, the cabin felt balmy. A rare breeze swept the cabin, bringing with it the smell of grass and mud, a smell as distantly familiar as the last day of school.
In another part of the cabin, a door opened, and someone emerged from the shower which she'd taken cool to sooth her sun-assaulted skin. She passed a closed bedroom door -- the only married couple of the group was still napping -- and joined the rest of her acquired family.
Roz joined Frasier and the baby, Martin and Eddie in the living room, and kneeled next to the raggedy-haired girls. Her daughter immediately began to explain each new treasure, and Roz grinned at her child's expanding understanding of the world. Niles and Daphne's two-year-old became restless, and Roz pulled the toddler onto her lap. Alice continued her recitation while the younger girl lolled into the cradle of Roz's arms.
"Hey, Frasier?" Roz's voice was stark and sudden.
"Hmm?" He didn't look up.
"What time tomorrow are you guys going back to Seattle?" she asked.
"Oh . . . I don't know. Whenever," he replied.
"'Kay." Roz reached over the child in her lap to disentangle the elastic band in her daughter's lake-knotted hair. Alice squirmed away, and Roz let her go. It could wait.
Another door opened, and the last two family members emerged. Arms around each other's waists, they wandered into the living room and languidly curled together in an oversized armchair.
"Thank you for watching the baby, Frasier," Daphne said.
"Anytime," he responded lightly. "I don't mind holding onto him a little longer," Frasier suggested not-so-subtly, clearly not ready to hand over the tiny bundle.
Daphne smiled. "You can borrow him for a little longer, if you like."
"As you like," he tossed back.
The baseball game howled at an impressive catch. Martin stirred. "When's dinner?" he said vaguely.
"I am kinda hungry," Roz admitted.
Though all were hungry, no one moved.
"I saw surf and turf take out down the highway," Daphne suggested.
"Wasn't that several miles away?" Frasier said.
No one answered; they'd all reached a consensus silently.
"Surely there's something eatable in this entire house," Niles said. "Roz, why don't you go look."
Daphne and Niles' toddler had fallen asleep in Roz's lap even as she'd played; her curious leaf was still curled in her fingers. "The fridge was empty when we got here," Roz said. "All that's in there is the hot dogs I brought for the kids."
"Oo, hot dogs," Martin mumbled, still drifting between here and dreamland. His father took him to a game at Three River Stadium once, and bought him a hot dog; he could still feel the spicy sting of the mustard on the corner of his mouth.
"Hot dogs!" Alice chimed in approval.
The Crane brothers wrinkled their noses.
"Fine with me," Daphne said. "Niles?" she prompted, knowing he would protest, yet hoping he would let it slide and not quicken the day with an argument.
"Sure. Whatever," Niles said, genuinely not caring. He was staring intently at the chair arm, amusing himself by mentally tracing the history of the style of fabric.
"But hot dogs are--" Frasier saw Niles shake his head, forty-plus years of brotherhood allowed Frasier to grasp the significance: let's give them a vacation from our idiosyncrasies, the look said. "Just fine," Frasier finished.
"Yay!" Alice said.
The group, as one, drifted into the kitchen.
end