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The Gate House :: Demille Nelson
Страница: 454 из 490And surely the bastard would be happy to hear that I didn’t want his money; but somewhere in his dim brain he’d eventually understand that I didn’t owe him anything either, and that I was a six-hour plane ride away, and free to return if he didn’t take care of my children.
I thought about tomorrow – about getting on the flight, alone, and returning to London. Probably, I could get my job back, if I wanted it, and Samantha, too, if I wanted her. But really what I wanted to do was to find a yacht owner who needed an experienced skipper for a long sail. That, I knew from the last time, would remove the temptation – my and Susan’s – to make a bad decision based on love.
I heard a car pulling up and looked out the window. Elizabeth’s SUV came to a stop, and she got out.
I went to the front door and opened it before she rang the bell.
She smiled and said, “Good morning.”
“Good morning. Come in.”
“Just for a moment.” She let me know, “I got your e-mail.”
We entered the house, and I showed her into the office and closed the door.
She looked around, noted Susan’s oil paintings on the wall, and commented, “Susan is very talented.”
I glanced at the paintings, and a flood of memories came back to me – twenty years of living with a woman who had been delightfully crazy, and who had become, over the last ten years, a little less crazy, though no less delightful. And now, the Susan who had just walked out of here was… well, defeated. That, more than anything else, made my heart ache.
Elizabeth asked, “John? Are you all right?”
“Yes. So how are you holding up?”
“I have good and bad moments.” She added, “I’ll be fine.”
“I know you will.” I asked her, “Would you like to sit?”
“No. I’m running late for a staff meeting at one of my shops.”
“They can’t start without you.”
She smiled. “I’m afraid they might.” She opened her bag and took out a small, stationery-sized envelope. She said to me, “This is yours.”
I took the plain white envelope and saw that it was addressed to “Mr. John Sutter,” in Ethel’s hand. I said to Elizabeth, “Thank you.” I took it to the desk, picked up a letter opener, and said, “Let’s read it.”
“No. You read it. Mom addressed it to you.”
“Well, I know, but we agreed-”
“If there is anything in there that you want to share with me, give me a call.” She added, “I trust your judgment on this.”
“All right… but…”
“You don’t look well.”
“Father’s Day hangover.”
She smiled and said, “You should have seen me Sunday morning.”
“That was a nice gathering.
I thought about tomorrow – about getting on the flight, alone, and returning to London. Probably, I could get my job back, if I wanted it, and Samantha, too, if I wanted her. But really what I wanted to do was to find a yacht owner who needed an experienced skipper for a long sail. That, I knew from the last time, would remove the temptation – my and Susan’s – to make a bad decision based on love.
I heard a car pulling up and looked out the window. Elizabeth’s SUV came to a stop, and she got out.
I went to the front door and opened it before she rang the bell.
She smiled and said, “Good morning.”
“Good morning. Come in.”
“Just for a moment.” She let me know, “I got your e-mail.”
We entered the house, and I showed her into the office and closed the door.
She looked around, noted Susan’s oil paintings on the wall, and commented, “Susan is very talented.”
I glanced at the paintings, and a flood of memories came back to me – twenty years of living with a woman who had been delightfully crazy, and who had become, over the last ten years, a little less crazy, though no less delightful. And now, the Susan who had just walked out of here was… well, defeated. That, more than anything else, made my heart ache.
Elizabeth asked, “John? Are you all right?”
“Yes. So how are you holding up?”
“I have good and bad moments.” She added, “I’ll be fine.”
“I know you will.” I asked her, “Would you like to sit?”
“No. I’m running late for a staff meeting at one of my shops.”
“They can’t start without you.”
She smiled. “I’m afraid they might.” She opened her bag and took out a small, stationery-sized envelope. She said to me, “This is yours.”
I took the plain white envelope and saw that it was addressed to “Mr. John Sutter,” in Ethel’s hand. I said to Elizabeth, “Thank you.” I took it to the desk, picked up a letter opener, and said, “Let’s read it.”
“No. You read it. Mom addressed it to you.”
“Well, I know, but we agreed-”
“If there is anything in there that you want to share with me, give me a call.” She added, “I trust your judgment on this.”
“All right… but…”
“You don’t look well.”
“Father’s Day hangover.”
She smiled and said, “You should have seen me Sunday morning.”
“That was a nice gathering.