“We’ll return with money for the gas!” we promised.
“No. No. Please.” “Go home. Be well. Don’t bother to come back.”
These good neighbors, without expecting anything in return, gave us three bottles of cold water and $6.09 worth of gas. Where else in the world could someone receive such treatment?
Bio: Fran Castan, a native New Yorker, spent her first summer in East Hampton in 1968. After commuting to the East End for 25 years of weekends and summers, she and her husband, Lewis Zacks, became full-time residents. Castan taught writing and literature at The School of Visual Arts. She’s the author of a book of poems, The Widow’s Quilt and a new collection of her poems and her husband’s paintings, Venice: City That Paints Itself. This piece is part of a memoir in progress.