home alone

Somewhere around my sophomore year of high school I read Truman Capote's In Cold Blood.

That did it for me. 

Never again would I feel safe sleeping alone in a house. If a family in the middle of Kansas could be bludgeoned to death by total strangers as they slept, no one was safe anywhere.

One other person in the house and I'd feel protected. Even if that other person could no more defend themselves against armed men than I could, I would still felt safe, or at least, safer. (I conveniently forget the fact that the poor Clutter family had four people at home at the time of their murders). 

So when Zelia tells me months ago that she'll only rent a house in the Hamptons if I promise to come out during the week so she won't be alone, I totally understand.

I go out again today. It's a charming house, a bit set back from the road. I even have a room with a deck and a view.

backyard view

deck of second floor bedroom

Before we go out for dinner (LT Burgers in Sag Harbor, excellent), Zelia says, "Lyn, come here. I want to show you something." She points to her bedside nightstand.

Zelia is petite (5'3", 110), with no experience wielding a knife. But when I'm not here, and her weekend guests have gone, she feels safe(r) with this paltry weapon by her side.

After I arrive she puts away the knife (so dull it probably couldn't cut through lettuce). Now that she has me, I guess she assumes there's no need for a weapon. As if there ever was!