Matt’s home, the house with the balcony, in Esteli.
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Hil’s living room.

The congenial, collaborating, conquering captains of their own destiny, arrived, mostly on time, vivaciously voluble, hiply hirsute, steeped in stories, and full of photos (361 on Mattís digital camera). Matt looked like his uncle Peter, freshly from a weekís camping trip in the high Sierras, while Hil appeared ready for a magazine cover shoot. Tell me again, why we were ever worried about these two?

From the airport, we (Lew and Jennifer, Maley, and Robby) drove as directly as we could manage to the Village Smokehouse – Hilís request – and our favorite after MFA stop. There we met Mark and Ginger, who had both been roused from deep sleep to join us, and ordered dinner but minutes before the grill closed at eleven. Home after midnight, and in bed by 2 AM after one long, luxurious, hot shower.
For the moment Diane won’t be asking, “I wonder where they are today?”

Maley hugging Matt, while Diane and Jennifer watch dad and daughter embrace.