Chapter 11: Return TripJuly 1. I was tucked under the eaves of the gazebo between the East and West gardens reading David Leavitt’s Arkansas when the pool boy returned. A part of my mind believed that I was hearing things (car door slamming, a “Hello!” being called out in the distance, rushed footsteps on marble and Parquet flooring inside), but when I placed the hardback on the wooden bench next to me, I lifted my head and saw a handsome shadow lurking about inside the house on the first floor, moving from room to room.
He was in search of me, only me, which caused my c**k to bubble up with warm life inside my khakis. The high temperature was grueling. I found that the shade in the gazebo was the best way to keep cool. I had a beautiful view of the blue-green lake, the distant lighthouse
