Last night I was overcome briefly by a memory of being at Liz's, the day after Christmas, talking in the kitchen with Andrew or Katie or Uncle Larry. At some point we became aware the the house had quieted down, and then that the cause of this peace was the absence of the little cousins. Where had they gone? And then I looked out through the French doors into the backyard and saw Jack placidly driving grandfather's old golf cart back and forth, with seemingly the entire roster of Peale cousins piled on and laughing gleefully. Jack wasn't smiling but his face looked relaxed and peaceful. I have no idea where he'd gotten the idea to do that, let alone the keys to the cart. Jack never learned how to drive and I'm pretty sure that's the only time I saw him behind the wheel of anything off a go-kart track.
Not sure what happened after that. I suppose he stopped driving the cart, the kids came back inside, and he did, too. Uncomfortably slotting himself back in with the Allen-Peales, probably heading back out for a cigarette at the earliest opportunity. But in the moment on the lawn feeling happy and comfortable
The image of him on the golf cart is one I cherish, for its incongruity, for the joy on the faces of our cousins, for the way it reminds me of Jack's mischievousness.
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