Kitabı oku: «Love - From His Point Of View!», sayfa 5
Six
The next day, Manny came over for lunch. He dropped off the paint we’d chosen and some painting equipment, then helped Seely move the furniture out of the living room.
I can’t explain how I came to agree to this. Slippery, that’s what she is. She started out by acting as if I’d already agreed. I recognized this trick, since Annie used to pull it. She’d get me to agree that music is important, mention that she wanted to spend the night with a friend, then pretend that meant I’d agreed to let her go to a concert in Denver with that friend.
When I explained Annie’s teenage tricks to Seely, she looked thoughtful and said she really needed to meet my sister. The next thing I knew we were discussing paint colors.
I did protest. She wasn’t being paid to paint my house, for God’s sake. And I couldn’t help her. She wouldn’t have let me, for one thing. I couldn’t pretend it would be unreasonable to forbid me to paint the living room, so I was bound by our agreement.
But that did not make it reasonable for her to do it, either. I asked if she’d ever done any painting.
“Not a lick,” she’d said cheerfully. “We’ll pull the couch into the middle of the room. You can lie there and supervise.”
Sage green. That’s the color we ended up with.
I sat on the couch with my bad leg stretched out, and scowled as Manny and Seely carried the last of the chairs into the dining room. Supervising didn’t suit me nearly as well as everyone seemed to think.
“You sure you don’t want me to help with the prep?” Manny was asking her as they rejoined me. “Or move the rest of the junk out?” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder in my direction.
“I’m sure I can work around the couch.”
“Wasn’t talking about the couch.”
Seely’s lips twitched.
“Manny thinks he’s a wit,” I mentioned. “You might not be able to tell, since his face muscles atrophied years ago. That’s the only expression he’s got.”
Manny has an evil chuckle, like a machine gun misfiring. He employed it as he headed for the front door, advising Seely in between bursts not to let me give her a hard time. He paused in the arched entry. “Meant to tell you—that doctor called this morning.”
“What doctor?”
“The one that put you back together in the E.R.”
“Oh,” Gwen said. “The idiot.”
Manny fired another couple of bursts. “That’s the one. He seemed to think you’d hurt your shoulder a few days ago instead of when you drove off a mountain. Wanted me to confirm that.” He shook his head. “Weird guy.”
“Yeah.” I frowned as Seely walked Manny to the door. Harry Meckle was weird, but he wasn’t really an idiot. Just the opposite.
The doorbell rang. I heard them talking to someone else at the door and reached for my walking stick.
“Stay put,” Seely called. “It’s just a delivery.”
I sighed and put the stick down. A moment later I heard the door shut, then she came back into the room carrying a box. “I like Manny. I wish you’d told me, though. I’m afraid I stared at first.”
“What? Oh. That’s right—you hadn’t met him in person.” In addition to being a pain in the butt, a master electrician and the best foreman I’ve ever had, Manny is a dwarf. “I didn’t think about it. To me he’s just Manny.”
She handed me the box, treating me to that slow smile. “Not ‘Manny the dwarf.’ Just Manny.”
“Well, yeah.” The logo was printed in the corner, so I knew what it held. I didn’t want to open it now. “You know how it is. Once you know someone, you don’t see them the same way.” I decided to give her a hint. “There should be a screwdriver in the toolbox. You’ll want to remove the switch plates first.”
“I was hoping for a tool belt.” She bent and rummaged through the toolbox. “I’m sure I’d feel more competent with a tool belt.”
My lips twitched. Picturing a tool belt slung around those thoroughly female hips didn’t make me think of competence.
Seely ambled over to the entry and began unfastening the switch plate there. “You like to read, don’t you? I noticed that your bookshelves are heavy on history.”
It turned out that Seely enjoyed history, too, though she was a slow reader. A mild case of dyslexia, she said, made a book a major investment of time for her. She considered herself lucky, since she’d been diagnosed early, and talked about a teacher who’d helped her. When I asked, she claimed paramedic training hadn’t been too hard. It might take her a while to read something, but, as with many dyslexics, she had an excellent memory.
Though she usually leaned more toward historical fiction than the straight stuff, she asked if I could recommend something on American history “without too many battles,” since she was more interested in people than military action.
I did, of course, and invited her to borrow my copy. By then she’d finished taping off the woodwork and was prying open the paint. She poured it into the pan. “Oh, look! Isn’t that luscious?”
I looked. She’d taken the drapes down already, so light from the two tall windows flooded the room. The old pair of painter’s coveralls I’d found for her completely obscured that glorious figure; her exuberant hair was braided tightly away from her face.
Which glowed. Not in an unearthly way, though. With pure delight. “Luscious,” I agreed.
Maybe I did know how I’d ended up agreeing to let her paint the room, after all.
As she spread great, sweeping strokes of sage green across my walls, I found myself telling her how I’d come to enjoy reading so much. I didn’t miss the architectural career I might have had; the hands-on business of construction suited me. But abandoning college before I could get my degree had nagged at me, as if I’d drawn most of a circle and never finished that last arc. So I’d started reading the kinds of things I thought would complete my education. In the process, I discovered a taste for history.
“It’s full of great stories,” she agreed, stepping back to survey her work. The roller work was almost done; next came the nit-picky brush work. “Daisy says we have to know where we come from to understand where we are.”
“Your mother sounds like a bright woman. You missed a spot up by the ceiling in the west corner,” I pointed out politely.
She glanced at me over her shoulder. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Who’d have thought it?” I shook my head in amazement. “I never tried sitting around watching someone else work. I like it.” Especially when she bent over and the coveralls stretched tight across her round, lovely bottom.
She’d ordered me to stay on the couch. I doubt she was thinking about me making a quick tackle, then rolling her onto her back on the drop cloth. I was, though. Never mind that I’d probably have passed out if I’d tried. It was just as well that our agreement kept me from pitting common sense against the irrational optimism of lust.
Seely got the spot I’d pointed out, then stretched…an inspiring sight. “So what do you think? Will it need a second coat?”
I made myself take a good look at the walls. “Hey,” I said slowly. “This looks good. Really good.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” She put her hands on her hips, surveying her work. The streak of green paint along her jaw curled up at one end, as smug as her smile. “Though I still say red would have worked, the green looks great. Refreshing.”
She’d brought me some paint chips to choose from that morning. I’d held out for a lighter, warmer shade than she wanted, being more familiar with translating the way a color looked on a tiny chip to an entire room. “You were right about the room needing color.”
“Well!” Her eyebrows rose. “A man who can admit he was wrong. Color me amazed.”
“You have brothers,” I muttered. “Or used to. You probably murdered them and buried the bodies.”
She let out a peal of laughter. “Watch it, or you’ll end up with a green nose.”
“To match yours?”
She lifted a hand to her nose. The bracelet she never removed slid down her arm. “It isn’t…”
“It is now.”
“I must look like a little girl who’s been finger painting.”
“No,” I said slowly. “You look like an uncommonly beautiful woman. Only slightly green.”
The smile she turned on me was different. Hesitant.
“Why have you never married, Seely?”
Her smile faded, as if it were on a dimmer switch and I’d just turned it down. “You’re changing the rules on me. Feeling safe, are you, over there on the couch?”
My heart began to pound. I didn’t have to figure out what she meant. “Not safe at all. You?”
She shook her head and bent to get the narrow brush I’d told her to use around the baseboards. She took the brush and the paint tray over to the window and settled on the floor, giving me plenty of time to wonder why I’d suddenly taken us both into the deep end.
Because I wanted her to know, I decided. I didn’t want her to have any doubts that I was interested, even if I couldn’t do anything about it yet. I wanted her aware of me the way I was aware of her.
I wanted an answer to my question, too.
For a while, it didn’t look as though I was going to get it. She seemed totally focused on the strip of wall she was painting next to the baseboard. At last, not looking up, she said, “I lived with a man for several years. His name was Steven. Steven Francis Blois.”
I chewed over that for a moment, then offered, “There was a king of England named Stephen Blois. William the Conqueror’s grandson.”
She snorted. “Oh, yes. Every time Steven was introduced to someone he’d say, ‘no relation.’ When they looked confused or asked what he meant, he’d grin and add, ‘to the former king of England, that is.’”
She bent and dipped her brush in the paint. “It was cute the first dozen or so times I heard it.”
Sounded like she wasn’t hung up on the man anymore. Encouraged, I said, “Stephen wasn’t much of a king. Weak. The country was torn apart during his reign—barons chewing on other barons, eventually civil war.”
“I don’t think Steven knew or cared what kind of a king his namesake had been. He wasn’t interested in history.” She chuckled. “Actually, he was an accountant.”
“An accountant.” That sounded safe and dull. Of course, a builder might sound pretty dull, too. “Doesn’t seem like your type.”
“Do we have types?” She studied her handiwork, then shifted to touch up another section. “I thought he had an open, inquiring mind. He was very New Age, you see. Into meditation, drumming, psychic stuff.”
Had he given her that chakra bracelet? I frowned. “Doesn’t sound like any accountants I know.”
“But he was still looking for rules, you see. Pigeonholes instead of answers. He didn’t think outside the box—he just used a different set of boxes.”
“So you’re not still stuck on him?”
Now she looked up. “I told you about Steven because you asked why I’m not married. While we were together, I took that commitment very seriously. We were involved for six years, and lived together for five. But it ended with a fizzle, not a bang. That was over two years ago.”
Steven Francis Blois must be a fool, to have had this woman for six years without marrying her. But maybe he’d wanted to get married. Maybe, for all her talk about taking the commitment seriously, she hadn’t been interested in taking that last step. “So, was it you or him who thought living together was a good idea?”
Her lips twitched. “Something tells me you don’t think much of living together without marriage.”
“It isn’t a moral thing for me. I just, ah…” Couldn’t think of a tactful way to put it. Well, I’d warned her I was blunt. “It’s always struck me as half-assed.”
She didn’t seem offended. “I take it you’ve never lived with anyone. What about marriage? Why have you never taken the plunge?”
“Uh…”
Her eyes lit with amusement. “Ben. You did open the subject for discussion, you know.”
I guess I had, though that hadn’t occurred to me when I blurted out my question. “I was serious about someone in college. Didn’t work out. After that…well, for several years I was too blasted busy. Felt as if I had to set a good example—couldn’t very well tell Charlie and Duncan how to act if I wasn’t being responsible myself. And Annie. Lord.” I shook my head. “I don’t know how single parents do it. I didn’t have time for much of a social life. Or the energy.”
She made a listening sort of sound, and resumed painting. “Annie’s the youngest, right? She’s been an adult for a while now.”
“I wasn’t in a hurry to get tied down right away, once Annie went off to college. I guess I got out of the habit of thinking about marriage. It seemed like there was plenty of time.”
“I imagine you were due a spell of blissful freedom. You’d been shortchanged on that when you were younger.”
“By the time I started looking around…” I shrugged my good shoulder. “It’s been suggested that I’m too picky.”
She paused in her painting. Her eyes were serious when they met mine. The blue seemed darker, subdued, like a pond shadowed by trees, hiding what lay at the bottom. I wondered if she was thinking about Gwen and the child we shared. “And are you looking now? Is marriage what you want, Ben?”
“I’m forty years old.”
She waited, letting her silence point out that I hadn’t really answered the question.
I grimaced. I had opened the subject. “I want marriage, yeah. Kids to fill this old house with noise, skateboards, dolls, friends. Younger brothers or sisters to give their big brother a hard time. And a woman to share those kids with me.” Someone who’d clutter the bathroom with female paraphernalia, and sleep beside me at night. Someone who would stay.
Her smile flashed, but somehow it seemed off. “Those skateboarding kids will turn into teenagers, you know. Your experience with your brothers and sisters didn’t put you off?”
“It wasn’t so bad. And maybe I learned a few things.” I’d had about all the serious talk I could take. “What kind of teenager were you? Wild or studious? Not shy,” I said definitely.
She chuckled and dipped her brush again. “Not studious, either. Though I wouldn’t say I was wild, exactly—I couldn’t bear to worry Daisy, so I didn’t go too far. But I didn’t have much sense. Is there anyone in the world as sure of themselves as eighteen-year-olds?”
We traded stories of our teenage days for a while. It looked as if she’d be able to finish up today, which wasn’t bad for someone who’d never painted a room before. Of course, I’d helped a little. It didn’t hurt my shoulder or my knee for me to sit on the floor and paint the strip next to the baseboards. Seely had argued some about that, but eventually she’d seen reason.
She was on the stepladder tackling the section next to the crown moldings by the time I figured out what was nagging at me.
Seely seemed open and outgoing. She swapped funny stories about growing up and spoke cheerfully about her eccentric mother. She’d told me about Steven, who I guess had been the one big love of her life.
But she’d never said which of them had preferred living together to marriage. She hadn’t said anything about why she’d moved out, either, just that it happened two years ago. Yesterday she’d admitted to being angry with her father, but hadn’t told me the man’s name, or anything else about him. And she’d implied that anything weird I’d seen that night on the mountain must have been the product of shock.
Slippery.
Seely Jones was a much more private woman than she seemed. I could respect that, and yet…I glanced uneasily at the unopened box beside the couch.
Last year I’d gone wireless when I got a new laptop. It didn’t have to be hooked up to anything to connect to the Internet. So, on my first night home from the hospital I’d ordered several books on-line, paying to have them overnighted. I probably could have gotten them, or something similar, from the bookstore on Fremont Street. Susannah would have boxed up my order and dropped them off, if I’d asked.
Or I could have gotten books from the library for nothing. I’d known the head librarian since I was five. Muriel would have looked up my card number, checked the books out to me and brought them by.
But anyone who knew me would have been startled by my current choice of reading material. I didn’t want to explain. I didn’t want anyone speculating about my sanity, either. I was doing enough of that.
Finding myself in the company of Harold Meckle, M.D., was a nasty shock, but like I said, he wasn’t really an idiot. Just a jerk. Some of the things that happened on that mountain didn’t add up, not using any of the normal ways of calculating reality.
“That bracelet you wear,” I mentioned as I finished the last bit I could reach. “Did Blois give it to you?”
She didn’t turn around. “Why do you ask?”
“You said the little stones were for, uh, chakras. And that Blois was into New Age stuff.”
“Daisy gave it to me—her version of a ‘sweet sixteen’ present.”
“She’s into chakras?”
“Among other things.”
I decided not to press for more. Not now. I’d gotten one solid answer—Blois hadn’t given her the bracelet she never seemed to remove. That was something. Far from all I needed to know, though. Maybe I’m too stubborn for my own good. I’ve been told that more than once.
I wondered what Duncan would say about the request I planned to make the next time I saw him.
Seven
“Look, if you don’t want to do it, just say so.”
“I don’t want to do it.”
I sighed.
Duncan and I were sitting at the kitchen table with some of Seely’s excellent coffee. She was upstairs getting ready.
Not that she needed to. We were just going to drop by the office—though I hadn’t mentioned that part yet—then head to the building-supply center. And she already looked great. She always did.
But women have rules for that sort of thing. Not the same rules, mind—they vary from one woman to the next in some sort of changeable code. It seems to make sense to other women.
Setting has something to do with it. When Annie was doing handyman work, she’d run all over town in paint-splattered jeans or coveralls, her face bare of makeup and her hair tucked up in a cap. Dealing with clients or stopping at the gas station dressed that way was okay; going to the grocery store was not. I know this because she used to kick up a fuss if I asked her to pick up something while she was out. “I can’t go to the grocery store looking like this!” she’d say, even though plenty of people had seen her looking like that already.
Apparently, building-supply centers belonged in the “get fixed up first” category for Seely. I didn’t try to understand it.
I collected my walking stick and mug and lifted my left foot off the extra chair. My knee was a lot better, but I still kept that leg propped up much of the time. I limped over to the coffeepot. “Want some more?”
Duncan shook his head. He was looking tired, I thought. Night shifts didn’t agree with him. Then, too, he’d pulled a double in order to free up time for the camping trip with Zach—a trip the weather had cut short. We’d had our first good freeze Saturday night, accompanied by a light dusting of snow.
Duncan’s gaze held steady on me as I refilled my mug. “Maybe you should tell me why you asked. If you suspect Seely has a criminal background—”
“Nothing like that,” I said quickly. “There’s something she’s not telling me, that’s all.”
His mouth crooked up. “More than one thing, probably. Women have been failing to tell men everything for a few thousand years. Police departments don’t generally consider that a good reason to run a background check.”
He made my curiosity sound like a man-woman thing, not employer-employee. Which was accurate but annoying. “I didn’t want you to do it as a cop.”
“Well, as your brother I’m advising you to drop the idea.” He put the mug down. “Nosing around will just get you in trouble. Though if you really have to know something, you could hire a P.I.”
No way. I’d thought maybe Duncan could find out a few things discreetly. Her father’s name, for example. Some hint of why she was working at jobs way below her skill level. But I didn’t want some stranger snooping around in her life. “Never mind.”
“You know, this is weird.”
“What?”
“You. You’re acting different.” He nodded toward the front of the house. “The living room. It’s always been white.”
“You don’t like it green?”
“It looks fine. Felt weird when I walked in and saw it, though.” One corner of his mouth kicked up, as if he were reluctantly amused. “Sort of like a kid who goes away to college, comes home and finds out mom and dad redecorated without telling him.”
Dammit, I should have thought about how he’d feel. Charlie and Annie, too. This house was their heritage every bit as much as it was mine. “I ought to have said something. It’s your house, too, and you—”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Of course it is. Mom and Dad left it to all of us.”
“Twenty years ago, yes. But you’re the one who has lived here all these years, taken care of the place. This is your home.” He took a deep breath. “Gwen and I have talked about this. We want to deed my share of the house over to you.”
I slammed my mug down, ignoring the coffee that slopped over the rim. “Forget it.”
“There might be some tax liability for you, but she thinks we can minimize that.”
“Aren’t you listening?” I demanded. “Just because your wife could buy and sell this house ten times over doesn’t oblige me to accept a handout.”
Duncan shoved to his feet. “This has nothing to do with Gwen’s money! Dammit, you hard-headed son of a bitch, will you listen a minute?”
“I’m not hearing anything worth listening to. If you don’t—”
“Whoa!”
That came from Seely. Startled, I looked at the doorway.
She stood there, shaking her head. “Good grief. I can’t be accused of eavesdropping with Ben bellowing like a wounded moose. I heard him from the stairs. Ben.” She fixed me with a firm stare. “Do you really think Duncan offered to give you his share of this house because he enjoys flinging Gwen’s money around?”
I flushed. “No. But—”
“Not your turn.” She sauntered on into the kitchen, stopping in front of Duncan. “And did you really think Ben would take your inheritance from you?”
“That’s not what this is about.”
“It is to him.” She put her hands on her hips and looked from one to the other of us. “This is none of my business, of course. But it seems pretty simple. Ben lives here. Duncan doesn’t. Ben, I don’t know how you’re fixed financially, but could you buy Duncan’s share?”
“Sure.” I turned some numbers over in my head. The business had done well the past few years, and I wasn’t exactly extravagant. “We’ll need to get the place appraised, but I’ve got a pretty good idea of its current market value.”
Duncan shook his head. “We don’t want to use the current market value. It’s worth three times what it was twenty years ago, and none of us are going to make a profit off you. Charlie suggested—”
“You talked to Charlie about this? What is this, some kind of conspiracy?”
“Exactly. Annie, too. The plan was to wait until we could all be home at the same time and tackle you together. I, uh, jumped the gun.”
Seely chuckled. “Safety in numbers. A legitimate military tactic.”
I glanced at her. Did she know that Duncan had been in the Army until a few months ago? Probably. If Duncan hadn’t mentioned it, Gwen would have. People told her things.
“If you’re all in this together,” I told my brother, “you need to drop this notion of giving up your shares in the house for little or nothing. Charlie won’t take a fair price for his share if you and Annie don’t. The two of you may not need the money, but he does.” He’d just sunk every cent he had or could borrow into a partnership in a landscaping business. I’d already tried to give him a loan. Twice.
Duncan frowned. I decided to let him chew on that a while and turned to Seely. “Looks like you’re ready to go.”
She looked a damned sight better than “ready to go.” All that gorgeous hair spilled over her shoulders and down her back, and I could tell she’d fussed with makeup, turning her eyes sultry and her lips scarlet. She wore dark jeans and a sweater with geometric shapes in red, purple and yellow.
That sweater fit more snugly than anything I’d seen her wear before. My body took notice of this. Of course, my body had been on yellow alert almost constantly for the past three days.
“Just let me get my jacket and purse,” she said, and headed for the hall.
“I’d better be going, too,” Duncan said, carrying his mug over to the sink. “What are you getting at the building supply store?”
“We’re going to put up some shelves in my office here.” “I take it the ‘we’ means you’re supervising?” “All right, she’s going to put them up. I’m not taking advantage of her. She’s keen on all this home fixup and decorating stuff.”
“Hmm.” He stuck his mug in the dishwasher. “I owe Seely a thank-you.”
“I’ll tell her you enjoyed the coffee.” He slanted me an amused glance. “I didn’t mean for the coffee.”
It felt weird to sit in the passenger seat of my own car.
The Chevy was backup transportation, nearly ten years old but in good shape. Power windows, doors and steering; bench seats and a big back seat…big enough to give me some impractical ideas. Sexual frustration was bringing out the adolescent in me.
Seely drove with the same unrushed efficiency she did everything else. “I still don’t know how I let you talk me into taking you by the office. You aren’t supposed to be working yet.”
I pointed out that I hadn’t worked—I’d just checked on the work others were doing. I hadn’t even insisted on going to the Pearson site.
She grinned. “I suppose you think you get Brownie points for that.”
“I ought to.” If sexual frustration was robbing her of sleep and nudging stupid ideas into her head, it didn’t show.
“You’re staring at me.”
“I like looking at you.”
The faintest flush mounted her cheeks. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. I’d been careful not to since letting her know my intentions. That was the right thing to do. Sexual innuendos were out of place while she was working for me. Besides, self-preservation called for restraint. I had to keep my eye on the line I’d drawn, or I’d find myself tumbling off another edge.
But I liked seeing that flush.
I’d spent too much time the past three days trying to figure out what was going on in her head. We had something strong and hot flowing between us. I knew that much because I’d caught her looking at me a few times, too. At twenty, I’d have assumed that meant she agreed with me, that she wanted to have an affair as soon as the employer-employee thing was out of the way.
At forty, I knew better.
At least she hadn’t told me to forget it. I figured she was still making up her mind about me. I didn’t say anything else until she’d shut off the engine, hoping she’d spend the time thinking about the heat between us.
I pushed open my door. “You sure you want to tackle this? Putting up shelves isn’t easy. Goes a lot better with two people, and I won’t be able to help much.”
“You won’t be helping at all,” she retorted, coming around the car.
I made a noncommittal noise. No point in mentioning that there would be parts of the job where two pairs of hands would be necessary.
She matched her pace to mine—which was slow. I didn’t limp anymore as long as I didn’t try to outrace a snail. “This is my chance to learn from an expert,” she said. “I’m not about to pass that up.”
“Well, the expert suggests we get red oak. It’s not easy to work with, but it should look great.” I paused, considering the state of my office. “Eventually.”
“It is a bit of a mess in there.”
I grunted. The doors opened for us and I crept along to the left, where the lumber was stacked. I’d pick out the wood myself, that being the reason for this trip. Well, that and a bad case of cabin fever. We wouldn’t be able to take it home today, obviously, since I didn’t have a truck.
And we wouldn’t be able to do much with the wood until we’d cleared the place out. The room I used for a home office used to be a bedroom—my parents’ bedroom, actually. I’d taken their bed out about a month after they died, unable to stand seeing it there, all made up and waiting for them. Eventually Annie had claimed their dresser. Somehow I’d never gotten around to clearing everything else out, though.
My two favorite spots in the store were the tool aisles and the lumber section. Tools are always interesting, and being surrounded by all that wood hits me viscerally. I think it’s the smell—cut wood, sawdust, a whiff of sap.
Ed noticed my sling and the walking stick, so of course he had to hear the whole story, then felt obligated to spend some time assuring me I was lucky to be alive before he could put my order together. I arranged to have it picked up in a couple days. “That will give me a chance to clear the room out,” I told Seely as we headed for the front of the store with the ticket. Our slow speed wasn’t just due to my pace this time—she kept stopping to look at paint chips and light fixtures.
“Us,” she said. “It’s not as if I have much else to do. And we don’t have to remove everything. You have some good pieces in there, like that occasional table with the Queen Anne legs.”
“Yeah?” I smiled, pleased. “I made that when I was sixteen.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Shop class. It was a Christmas gift for my mom. I was trying to copy a picture I found in a magazine. Put in a lot of extra hours on it…had a lot of help, too.” As I spoke I saw Mr. Nelson’s face. He’d been the soul of patience, often staying late so I could work in the shop. “Lord, I hadn’t thought of Mr. Nelson in years.”
“Your teacher?”
“Yeah. He retired while I was away at college, moved to Albuquerque to be near his sister. He was an old bachelor, you see. I stopped in to see him once when I was there on business…” My voice trailed away as I remembered that visit. How sorry I’d felt for the old man, living alone, no one but a sister nearby. All of a sudden I could see my own future, and it didn’t look much different.
