Bonnie

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I invited Mark, my cousin, to bring his family out to my summer place on Long Island for a weekend. He hesitated, saying he had to arrange a sitter for the younger kids. I told him I expected them to come, too. I had plenty of room and it would be good to have some youngsters making a racket in the place. It was too big and empty for a 40-year-old guy who liked kids, and the house and grounds demanded the patter of little feet busily raising Hell.

Let's get one thing straight: I'm not crazy about Mark, who's five years older than me. He's okay, and sometimes fun, but he's prone to self-pity. Still: He's family. And I remembered more than a few times – when I was a loner kid – when Mark went out of his way to pal around with me. Now he was on some hard times, I was doing pretty good for myself and I figured it was payback time. He'd been essentially solidly established and was making good money working for a financial paper – until the big crash. His income went from Real Good to Unemployment and to Mark, the job was everything. A little fresh salt air and sunshine and barbecuing – not to mention, a change of scene – would do him good.

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