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The Gate House :: Demille Nelson
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“Got it.”
“Photo ID?”
“Got it.”
“Well, I guess you’re good to go.”
Susan said to him, “Call or e-mail as soon as you get in.”
“Okay.”
I remembered some trips I’d made when I still lived at home, and my send-offs hadn’t been quite as sad or solicitous as the send-offs that Susan and I give to our children. Well, maybe we overdo it as much as my parents underdid it.
Susan said, “We’ll call you from London.”
“Yeah. Good.” He asked, “When are you going to London?”
“Tomorrow.” As we told you last night.
“Great. Have a good trip.”
I reminded him, “Don’t forget, you have a Brioni suit coming in about eight weeks.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
Susan reminded him, “Write or e-mail your grandparents – all of them – and tell them how much you enjoyed seeing them.”
“Okay.”
Well, the briefing seemed to be finished, and the driver was waiting, and Edward seemed anxious to get on the road.
We hugged and kissed, and he said to us with a smile, “You look good together.”
That sort of caught me off guard, and I didn’t reply, but Susan said, “Thank you. We’ll see you in L.A. in July, maybe August, then here in August for our sail.” She added, “And maybe a wedding in between.”
He smiled. “Great.”
One more hug and kiss, and Edward was in the car, which moved slowly down the gravel drive. He opened the rear window and waved, and then the car disappeared into the shadows of the tree-lined driveway.
Susan was wiping her eyes with a tissue. It’s always sad to see a loved one off, but it’s much sadder when you don’t know when – or if – you’ll ever see them again.
S ophie was staying until the Stanhopes arrived, which was scheduled for about 9:30 A.M., unless I went over to The Creek and cut the brake lines on their car.
Anyway, Sophie wanted to know if she should go out for the newspapers. I really wanted to see the blood-spattered front pages and read the sensational coverage of the Father’s Day… what? Massacre? No. Only Sally Da-da had been clipped. That wasn’t a massacre. How about the Father’s Day Pop-Pop?
But I’d promised Susan – and Felix Mancuso – that there would be no newspapers in the house. Maybe I’d go out later, after the Stanhopes left, and read the Daily News and the Post in a coffee shop.
I replied to Sophie’s offer, “No newspapers today.” I did say to her, however, “Mrs.
“Got it.”
“Photo ID?”
“Got it.”
“Well, I guess you’re good to go.”
Susan said to him, “Call or e-mail as soon as you get in.”
“Okay.”
I remembered some trips I’d made when I still lived at home, and my send-offs hadn’t been quite as sad or solicitous as the send-offs that Susan and I give to our children. Well, maybe we overdo it as much as my parents underdid it.
Susan said, “We’ll call you from London.”
“Yeah. Good.” He asked, “When are you going to London?”
“Tomorrow.” As we told you last night.
“Great. Have a good trip.”
I reminded him, “Don’t forget, you have a Brioni suit coming in about eight weeks.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
Susan reminded him, “Write or e-mail your grandparents – all of them – and tell them how much you enjoyed seeing them.”
“Okay.”
Well, the briefing seemed to be finished, and the driver was waiting, and Edward seemed anxious to get on the road.
We hugged and kissed, and he said to us with a smile, “You look good together.”
That sort of caught me off guard, and I didn’t reply, but Susan said, “Thank you. We’ll see you in L.A. in July, maybe August, then here in August for our sail.” She added, “And maybe a wedding in between.”
He smiled. “Great.”
One more hug and kiss, and Edward was in the car, which moved slowly down the gravel drive. He opened the rear window and waved, and then the car disappeared into the shadows of the tree-lined driveway.
Susan was wiping her eyes with a tissue. It’s always sad to see a loved one off, but it’s much sadder when you don’t know when – or if – you’ll ever see them again.
S ophie was staying until the Stanhopes arrived, which was scheduled for about 9:30 A.M., unless I went over to The Creek and cut the brake lines on their car.
Anyway, Sophie wanted to know if she should go out for the newspapers. I really wanted to see the blood-spattered front pages and read the sensational coverage of the Father’s Day… what? Massacre? No. Only Sally Da-da had been clipped. That wasn’t a massacre. How about the Father’s Day Pop-Pop?
But I’d promised Susan – and Felix Mancuso – that there would be no newspapers in the house. Maybe I’d go out later, after the Stanhopes left, and read the Daily News and the Post in a coffee shop.
I replied to Sophie’s offer, “No newspapers today.” I did say to her, however, “Mrs.