The Report From Potter's Point, October

Originally published in October 2002

Well, not an awful lot went on in Potter’s Point last month except for the “situation” at the little Arbutus-Standish ranch house out at Cranberry Estates by the bogs.

Lynn Arbutus sat in the bathroom a couple of Mondays ago painting her toenails. On the floor by the tub, baby Ally was trying to eat the bath mat. Lynn was stewing.

For one thing, she was upset about how overly dramatic Gary had been with regard to her son Alf. Well, all right, Alf was now legally Gary’s son, too, but she was the only parent with a known biological link to the boy. And Alf was a good boy. The Friday night when Alf had stayed out all night, Gary had been way too hard on him. Alf was fifteen. Not coming home was something fifteen-year-olds did sometimes. But Gary had got the police after him and the next morning had given the boy a long, loud lecture about the consequences of a whole slew of vices, including the Seven Deadly Sins, except Lynn was pretty sure Gary had mixed a couple of them up with the Seven Dwarfs. Sleepiness and Grumpiness weren’t sins.

Gary went on and on, sounding just like all of Alf’s teachers and counsellors.

Alf said he’d been at the Pillsburys’ playing computer games with Duncan and it got so late he’d slept over. Lynn believed him. Gary, always suspicious, wanted to call the Pillsburys to verify the story, but Lynn told Gary if he did that he’d be showing Alf they didn’t trust him.

“But I don’t trust him,” Gary had said. “You don’t take a shower and put on Old Spice aftershave and go through your father’s sock drawer looking for, um. . . things. . . if you’re gonna play computer games with somebody named Duncan. Or else. . . we got even more trouble. . . Who is this Duncan? What kind of a name is that? Sounds like something you’d name a Muppet.”

“Well if you can’t trust people, you won’t make a very good father. . .”

Gary had given Lynn an odd look and had walked out of the kitchen. That’s when Lynn noticed the empty Slush Cups in the trash. Not good.

Slush Cups are only available at Grabbit-Fast stores, like the one out to the other side of Hope Falls, which is where Lynn had told Gary she was working nights. Only that was not where she was at night. If Gary had driven out there—even after she told him the manager didn’t approve of personal visits or calls—he knew she wasn’t where she was supposed to be. What did he know?

He had not said anything.

Two weeks later he still hadn’t mentioned it. Hadn’t really said much of anything.

The house was so small it was hard to avoid another person, but Gary was doing it. Because Potter’s Point was nearly eight inches below the average rainfall for the year, a couple of weeks ago the cellars at Cranberry Estates had finally dried up. Gary had been in the cellar a lot.

As Lynn sat in the bathroom painting her toenails, she wished she were where she was really supposed to be. In Los Angeles. An actress. It didn’t have to be movies. Television would be fine. A lot of people have told her she looks almost like a younger Edie Falco on The Sopranos, although having been unable to afford HBO until recently, Lynn wasn’t sure if the comparison was good or bad.

Actresses have it made. Even if their shows go off the air. Just look at Calista Flockhart getting all cozy with Harrison Ford.

Lynn did have acting experience—she’d played the mayor’s wife in a high school production of The Music Man and had been one of the Pidgeon Sisters in the Puritan Players’ production of The Odd Couple. Then she studied drama once at a summer workshop on Martha’s Vineyard, conducted by an actor who had appeared as “Bather #16” in the film Jaws. She got a bit part in a TV commercial for a local discount furniture warehouse. It wasn’t something that required a move to L.A.

So while Calista was snuggling with Harrison Ford, Lynn ended up with Gary Standish, a Potter’s Point Public Works backhoe operator. Okay, chief­ backhoe operator.

Not that Gary was a bad guy. He was pretty lovable in a Labrador retriever sort of way. Lynn could, in fact, picture him swimming across Weweinitt Pond with a duck in his mouth. And he worked hard. He couldn’t help it that there had been no Sunday snow storms last winter to increase his earnings. No snow at all. Then with the state cutting funds for road work, the town actually had to sell the surplus road salt at public auction to meet payroll expenses.

Harrison Ford seldom worries about state funding cuts.

So Lynn had to bring in some money somehow. And she’d found a way. She just couldn’t tell Gary about it. He wouldn’t understand. Most folks in Potter’s Point wouldn’t understand. Except maybe Haddie Finnan. For a woman of seventy-something years, Haddie was pretty broad-minded.

Lynn scooped up the baby and went to the phone.

“Haddie, could you come over for coffee?”

“Well, I was gonna go skinny-dippin’ with Vern Winterbottom at Weweinitt Pond, but I’ll stand him up if you’re talkin’ Irish coffee.”

Yes, Haddie might understand.

That’s the Report from Potter’s Point for this month. Hope to see you soon!

EDITORS’S NOTE: The Town of Potter’s Point, population 3,717, is located in the southeastern part of Massachusetts, on the shore of Butler’s Bay. Its primary industries are cranberry growing, boat building and quahogging.

Copyright © 2002, 2025 by Christopher J. Richard. All Rights Reserved. Minor revisions were made to the column, which first appeared in Fairhaven’s Monthly Navigator.