Stuart Woods: Son of Stone

“Thank you for asking,” Stone replied.

That weekend, Ben Bacchetti took the train down from Choate, picked up his father’s car, and drove himself, Peter, and Hattie to New Haven, to look for housing for themselves. Joan had reserved three rooms for them at a local hotel.

The following day Peter called home.

“Hello?” Stone said.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yes. In fact, it’s better than okay.”

“How so?”

“We found the perfect apartment for us-three bedrooms, living/ dining room, kitchen, and a nice study.”

“What’s the rent?”

“It would be around five thousand a month, if we were renting,” Peter replied. “It’s a new building, to be completed in a couple of months. We saw the model apartment, then took a look at the top-floor unit to get an idea of the space. I’ve decided to buy the apartment.”

Stone thought about that for a moment. “That might be a good use for some of your money, and you’ll probably make a profit on it when you leave Yale. How much is it?”

“It would normally sell for around a million and a half, but they’re asking a million two, because of the recession. I’ll buy the place, and Peter and Hattie will split the monthly maintenance payments.”

“Offer them a million, then settle for a million one,” Stone said. “Give them a check for ten percent and bring home the contract for me to read before you sign it.”

“Great, Dad, I’ll do that. Something else.”

“What?”

“As soon as I get home I’m going to take driving lessons and get my license, then I’m going to buy a car. I’ll need it around here.”

This, Stone thought, was as inevitable as sex with Hattie. “All right,” he said, “but if you get a speeding ticket the keys are mine.”

“Agreed,” Peter said.

That night after dinner at a New Haven restaurant they returned to their hotel, and Hattie led Peter to her room. There, she did some more leading, having had slightly more experience than Peter, and from that point on, Peter led.

At home the following day, Peter gave Stone the contract for the condominium. “How did you know they would take a million one?” he asked his father.

“I didn’t, but you always have to try. You have to remember that developers these days have excess inventory and not enough buyers. They need the cash, and with you as a buyer, they don’t have to wait for mortgage approval.”

Stone read the contract and found it acceptable. “Sign it, and I’ll find a New Haven attorney to close the sale for you as soon as the apartment is finished and has been inspected. You’ll need to speak to our insurance agency about insuring it, too.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Peter said. “Dad, I’m also going to buy Hattie a piano, a Steinway, as a surprise.”

“That’s a very generous gift, Peter, but you should take her up to Steinway Hall and let her choose it herself. A piano is a very personal thing for a pianist.”

“Hattie’s going to decorate the apartment,” Peter said. “How much should I budget for that?”

“That’s up to you,” Stone said, “or perhaps, up to Hattie. My advice is, buy nice things, but don’t go crazy. In four years, you may not want anything you buy now, except for Hattie’s piano.”

“That’s good advice,” Peter said.

Stone lay back in the cockpit seat of the twenty-nine-foot Concordia and watched the sun fall toward Penobscot Bay.

Hattie was at the helm, Peter was looking after the foredeck, and Ben Bacchetti and a girlfriend occupied the opposite seat. Dino was below, washing and putting away the plastic glasses.

They had been in Maine for nearly a month, and all the kids had become comfortable with sailing the yacht. Hattie called for a jib, then turned into the wind, sliding expertly up to Stone’s dock.

He looked at the house and thought how beautiful it was when viewed from the water. He had bought it from the foundation, and one day it would be Peter’s.

The kids made the yacht fast, folded the mainsail onto the boom, and tied on the cover. They folded and bagged the genoa and dropped it down the hatch into the forepeak.

Half an hour later, they were assembled in the living room, freshly scrubbed, and half an hour after that they were feasting on lobster, prepared by Mary, the housekeeper and cook.

Peter spoke up. “I’m glad we all learned to sail,” he said. “Let’s do this again next summer.”

There was a chorus of agreement, except from Dino. “I’ll be a passenger next year, too, and let you kids keep doing the work.”

“That works for me, too,” Stone said.

The next day they flew home to New York, and a couple of days after that, Stone and Dino rented a van, and the boys loaded it with theirs and Hattie’s belongings. Dino drove the van, and Stone rode with him, while the boys rode in Peter’s new Prius. Hattie rode with her parents. Peter and Hattie had already made three or four trips to New Haven to receive the furnishings they had ordered, including Hattie’s piano, and to oversee the painting and wallpapering.

When Stone and Dino walked into the apartment, they were impressed. “It looks like grown-ups live here,” Dino said.

“I like the pictures,” Stone said. “And the piano.”

They ordered in Chinese food for lunch, then Hattie played a couple of pieces for them on her new Steinway.

Finally, Stone, Dino, and the Patricks had to leave; it was time for the children to start their new lives at university.

Driving back in the van, Stone said, “I remember the day I moved out of my folks’ house and into the dorm at NYU. I remember the freedom I felt, and I guess that’s what the kids are feeling now.”

Dino nodded, but he seemed too choked up to talk for a while. Finally he said, “At least Ben’s out of his mother’s grasp.”

Stone laughed aloud. Then he wished Arrington could have been there on that day. Who knows, he thought, maybe she was.

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