My husband and daughter are criminals.
In honor of the summer solstice, I give you this evidence, which surely belongs in a police locker: The two of them, illegally soaking their feet in a public fountain in Boston.
It was 2009, and we’d traveled by ferry there from Provincetown during one of our annual Cape Cod vacations. There, we spent the day wandering the public market, seeing the sights, grabbing a bite to eat and even visiting with my college mentor who happened to be there.
Somewhere in the house is a caricature we had done of Catherine that day — it’s all braces and glasses and big hair, but manages to be an accurate likeness anyway.
It was a beastly hot day and we were dusty and tired as we counted down the final hour before the return ferry. These two had no compunction about flouting the law.
However, the illicit dip wasn’t the most memorable part of the day. On the ferry back to P-town, we encountered rough seas that had us seeing the horizon from a variety of unusual angles, teeth clenched against the building nausea. On dry land, Catherine and I vowed NEVER AGAIN.
As I recall, the rest of the trip was clear sailing.