There was a four foot wide Double Christian Door, Indian Shutters and "Pumpkin Pine" colored wide board flooring.
She sipped her drink, surprised to find it really was her favorite, a pumpkin spice latte.
Sprinkled in the assortment of oldies were a few exceptions—two couples both named Dawkins, and Pumpkin Green, a young man taking a break from his cross country hike to California in support of the homeless, or so he claimed.
Not the case with Pumpkin Green.
It was Pumpkin Green's third day since arriving with an overladen shopping cart he insisted on lugging to his second floor room.
Dean wondered if Bird Song could afford the food bill as he sat down and joined Pumpkin for a cup of coffee.
Pumpkin paid them no mind.
Dean grabbed the near-empty plate, salvaging the few remaining morsels while Pumpkin was searching for more empty pockets to fill as he rose to leave.
On the way to the pool, with Pumpkin and the Texas widow as his passengers, Pumpkin told Dean that Langstrom had recruited him for the Fourth of July water fight.
Dean was in front of Bird Song, trying to mow the lawn, still blanketed with the moisture of the now-ended drizzle when he remembered his promise to pick up Pumpkin Green and whoever else needed chauffeuring from the pool.
After leaving the church, amid handshakes and greetings from town friends, the couple was surprised to meet Pumpkin Green.
Pumpkin took time before answering.
Pumpkin looked at the picture of Randy Byrne, one leg up on a boulder, an I-own-the-world smile on his young face and Jen smiling at him with a look of love.
"I'll tell Billy you want to talk to him, when I see him tomorrow—if he's still talking to me," Pumpkin said.
I would rather sit on a pumpkin and have it all to myself than be crowded on a velvet cushion.
Having each some shingles of thought well dried, we sat and whittled them, trying our knives, and admiring the clear yellowish grain of the pumpkin pine.