It was still raining like a cow pissing on a flat rock; thanks Grampa, for that lovely old quotation sticking in my mind; but no way was I letting these soggy people get in my classic car, so we walked. James found a plastic bag and put it over Henry Eight’s head and carried him. Alan and Candy jumped in mud puddles like six-year-olds. We did split up when we got to the cabins, the kids into hers and James and I into mine. “Come over here in an hour and bring your gear,” I said, and they nodded, smiling sheepishly. The hell with it. I had ideas too. I wasn’t going to play Dad yet; I had something else in mind.
And…so did James. I mean as soon as my door shut, we were stripping off wet clothes anyway, right? So. Um. “Do you want to shower first?”
“During.” Like we weren’t wet enough alrea
