surge of resentment rise in her. Mac, you were the root of the problem, she told herself. Your demands on me—they do sometimes get to be too much. Adam was wrong about not wanting me to run for office, but he was right about that.
When she did not answer, after a moment her grandfather turned away from her.
Gert appeared and took both of Nell’s hands. “I know there is little anyone can say at a time like this that will offer any real consolation, but Nell, I want you to remember that you haven’t really lost him. He’s on a different plane now, but he’s still your Adam.”
“Come on, Gert,” Mac said, taking his sister’s arm, “Nell doesn’t need to listen to that kind of talk now. Try to get some sleep, Nell. We’ll talk in the morning.”
They were gone. Nell walked back into the living room, aware that she was half listening for the sound of Adam’s key in the lock. She moved about the apartment as though in a trance, arranging some magazines on a side table, straightening the decorative pillows on the deep, comfortable couch. The room had northern light, and the couch had been reupholstered last year ina warm red fabric that Adam at first questioned, then approved.
She looked about the room, noting the eclectic combination of furnishings. Both she and Adam had strong likes and dislikes. Some things from her parents’ home—wonderful artifacts from their travels—had been kept in storage for her. Other items she had bought—most of them at hole-in-the-wall antique shops or at obscure auctions found by Aunt Gert. Many things had been purchased only after a period of negotiation. Negotiation and compromise, Nell thought again, another pang of sorrow gripping her. Adam and I would have worked everything out, I just know we would have.
She crossed to a three-legged table that Adam had found one day when she was off at a party fund-raiser, and he had accompanied Gert on one of her foraging expeditions. Adam and Gert had hit it off from the beginning. She will miss him tremendously too, Nell thought sadly. She knew Gert encouraged him to buy the table for her.
Sometimes she worried about Gert, concerned lest someone take advantage of her. She is so trusting, Nell thought, letting all those psychics and channelers influence virtually every decision she makes. Yet when it came to bargaining over things like this sofa, Gert was amazingly sharp. Her own apartment on East Eighty-first Street was a cheerful, somewhat dusty hodgepodge of furniture and artifacts she had either inherited or accumulated over the years, and which now had the pull of sentimental ties and cozy familiarity.
Adam, on his first visit there, had laughingly commented that Gert’s apartment was like her mind: busy,eclectic and somewhat fey. “No one else would have art deco lacquer cheek by jowl with rococo fantasy,” he said.
Aunt Gert’s furniture! The stuff in this room! What in the name of God was her mind doing, thinking about tables and chairs and carpets at a time like this? When would it finally register, she wondered, when would she finally get it through her head that Adam was dead?
But it was difficult, and it would continue to be. It was because she needed him to be alive, needed him to open the door and come in and say, “Nell, let me say it first: I love you and I’m sorry about the blowup.”
The blowup. First they had had an explosive fight, and then Adam’s boat had blown up. Detective Brennan had said it was too soon to know if it was a fuel leak that caused the explosion.
Adam named both his boats after me, Nell thought, but I hardly ever went out on either one with him. I’ve been so afraid of water ever since the time I was caught in that riptide in Hawaii. He begged me to come out on the boat with him. He promised he’d stay near shore.
She had tried to overcome the fear of the ocean, but she never really succeeded. She restricted her swimming now entirely to a pool, and while she could travel on an
When she did not answer, after a moment her grandfather turned away from her.
Gert appeared and took both of Nell’s hands. “I know there is little anyone can say at a time like this that will offer any real consolation, but Nell, I want you to remember that you haven’t really lost him. He’s on a different plane now, but he’s still your Adam.”
“Come on, Gert,” Mac said, taking his sister’s arm, “Nell doesn’t need to listen to that kind of talk now. Try to get some sleep, Nell. We’ll talk in the morning.”
They were gone. Nell walked back into the living room, aware that she was half listening for the sound of Adam’s key in the lock. She moved about the apartment as though in a trance, arranging some magazines on a side table, straightening the decorative pillows on the deep, comfortable couch. The room had northern light, and the couch had been reupholstered last year ina warm red fabric that Adam at first questioned, then approved.
She looked about the room, noting the eclectic combination of furnishings. Both she and Adam had strong likes and dislikes. Some things from her parents’ home—wonderful artifacts from their travels—had been kept in storage for her. Other items she had bought—most of them at hole-in-the-wall antique shops or at obscure auctions found by Aunt Gert. Many things had been purchased only after a period of negotiation. Negotiation and compromise, Nell thought again, another pang of sorrow gripping her. Adam and I would have worked everything out, I just know we would have.
She crossed to a three-legged table that Adam had found one day when she was off at a party fund-raiser, and he had accompanied Gert on one of her foraging expeditions. Adam and Gert had hit it off from the beginning. She will miss him tremendously too, Nell thought sadly. She knew Gert encouraged him to buy the table for her.
Sometimes she worried about Gert, concerned lest someone take advantage of her. She is so trusting, Nell thought, letting all those psychics and channelers influence virtually every decision she makes. Yet when it came to bargaining over things like this sofa, Gert was amazingly sharp. Her own apartment on East Eighty-first Street was a cheerful, somewhat dusty hodgepodge of furniture and artifacts she had either inherited or accumulated over the years, and which now had the pull of sentimental ties and cozy familiarity.
Adam, on his first visit there, had laughingly commented that Gert’s apartment was like her mind: busy,eclectic and somewhat fey. “No one else would have art deco lacquer cheek by jowl with rococo fantasy,” he said.
Aunt Gert’s furniture! The stuff in this room! What in the name of God was her mind doing, thinking about tables and chairs and carpets at a time like this? When would it finally register, she wondered, when would she finally get it through her head that Adam was dead?
But it was difficult, and it would continue to be. It was because she needed him to be alive, needed him to open the door and come in and say, “Nell, let me say it first: I love you and I’m sorry about the blowup.”
The blowup. First they had had an explosive fight, and then Adam’s boat had blown up. Detective Brennan had said it was too soon to know if it was a fuel leak that caused the explosion.
Adam named both his boats after me, Nell thought, but I hardly ever went out on either one with him. I’ve been so afraid of water ever since the time I was caught in that riptide in Hawaii. He begged me to come out on the boat with him. He promised he’d stay near shore.
She had tried to overcome the fear of the ocean, but she never really succeeded. She restricted her swimming now entirely to a pool, and while she could travel on an
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