Meeting Skip and Linda by Beverly

We met Skip and Linda in 2004, when Barbara Camph planned a surprise birthday party for Tommy. She arranged for a bunch of us to stay at a farmhouse in Normandy, where, a few days later, she and Tommy would join us for the celebration. That was the plan, and it didn’t happen that way, but that’s another story. Tom and I took the train to Rouen, and then we dawdled. Right across the street from the train station is the restaurant where Julia Child had her culinary epiphany, so we made a pilgrimage there to have a fabulous, long French lunch. Then we had to rent a car; that took as long as the lunch had. By the time we got on the road, it was early evening. Traffic was bad, and the directions to the farmhouse were terrible. One line read, “Turn left one-quarter kilometer before the church.” We got lost. Several times. When we finally arrived at the farmhouse—or what we hoped was the farmhouse—it was after one. The white, two-story farmhouse house was dark. The whole countryside was dark, except for what we could make out in the headlights of our rented car. “Go knock on the door,” I urged Tom. “What if it’s the wrong house?” he said. “Go knock,” I insisted. “Maybe we should stay someplace else tonight.” He told me later he was afraid some French farmer with a shotgun would open the door. “There isn’t anyplace else.” There really wasn’t. “Go knock!” He knocked. Very quietly. “Knock louder!” I whispered from the safety of the car. Brave man, he knocked louder. And above the door, a pair of shutters opened and a head emerged. “Who’s there?” a male voice yelled down from the window. “Tom and Bev,” my wonderful husband answered carefully. “Oh!” we heard a woman’s voice say. “We’ll be right down!” And they were. Skip and Linda got out of bed and came downstairs to unlock the door and welcome us in. They introduced themselves, fed us roast chicken, gave us wine and we all spent the next hour laughing and talking. I was amazed. “You’re being awfully nice,” I said to Linda, “considering we woke you out of a sound sleep.” “We’re happy someone’s here!” she said with that charming, half-sly grin. They’d roasted the chicken for dinner, expecting everyone to arrive on schedule. This was before we realized that although everyone else in the group might dawdle, Skip and Linda were always on schedule. We met them because we knew Donald, Barbara and Tommy, and Cynthia. The way people come into your life is random. The reasons they stay are a gift.