"A great event, Kate." He cut a piece of cheddar and broke off the end of a loaf of French bread. He pointed at a quart mason jar. "What's this?"
"Pear and ginger chutney."
"Yumm." He walked out on the front porch. Jackson was throwing a Frisbee to a border collie—honey colored, white at the throat—scrambling and leaping against a background of blue gray water, boats, and a distant wooded shore. Joe could remember nothing in his life as assured and as photogenic. He was happy for Kate and Jackson. This weekend was a parent's reward; he accepted it gratefully. Yet it was hard to relax. He had social duties, and, besides, he was increasingly something other or more than a parent.
Jackson rubbed the dog's head and threw the Frisbee as far as he could.
He came over and shook hands. "Congratulations," Joe said.
"Thank you. How was your trip?"
"Fine, that's some ferry! Fast."
"Did you come on the Clipper?"
"Yes."
"She's a hummer," Jackson said. "We drove to Anacortes and took the car ferry."
"Are your folks here, Jackson?"