Read Online Keeping Time: A Novel by Stacey Mcglynn - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Stacey Mcglynn
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pulling her eyes from the screen. Unable to focus on the telephone in her hand. Reading that the police were seeking any information regarding this elusive criminal who had struck again this afternoon on East Forty-eighth Street and Lexington Avenue, hitting a woman in her mid-thirties while waiting for the light to change.
Elisabeth’s mind flying through the facts. It couldn’t be Richard. He rode his bike only on Mondays and Thursdays, and today was Wednesday! A feeling of relief washing over her. It was finished—all her silly Dart Man fears, just because Richard liked darts and rode his bike in the city twice a week. She really needed a vacation. Thank goodness school and all the attendant parental duties were finally ending, bringing on the relative relaxation of summer.
“Mrs. Jetty?” The voice again, interrupting her.
Elisabeth, snapping out of it. Trying to backtrack to the last question, the one she was supposedly busy working out an answer for.
“I, uh—” groping for a response. Suddenly it didn’t seem like such a big problem anymore. Nothing she couldn’t handle. “Mrs. Caulfield, Michael will be all right. I’ll see to it that he studies for the new final you are so generously letting him retake on Monday. And he’ll do fine on the Regents. I’m confident he will.”
“I hope you’re right.” Mrs. Caulfield, barely concealing her doubt.
Cordial good-byes. Hanging up. Elisabeth, leaning back in her chair.
Inhaling, exhaling calmly. All tension regarding Richard dissolving. Regaining her footing—not as confident as she had led Mrs. Caulfield to believe, but confident enough. She would find the strength and persistence toword, but ther
THIRTEEN
THE NIGHT BEFORE Daisy’s trip toabies in strollersitDaisy Phillips New York, her fingers and toes, tingling with excitement. Two red suitcases lay open side by side on her bed. Daisy, sitting quietly next to them, her hands in her lap. Reviewing things again.
She had packed and repacked several times. Sometimes the baby blankets made the cut; sometimes they didn’t. Sometimes she thought it was stupid to take them; sometimes she thought it would be nice to have them. Sometimes she didn’t have the space for them; sometimes she did.
Checking her passport, tickets, flight information, U.S. currency. She had gone to the hairdresser. She had called her friends to say good-bye. She talked to her new boss at the library and explained that she would be gone for a month or more. The new boss smiled sweetly and suggested that Daisy needn’t call when she got back, thanking her for her past services. Daisy didn’t mind. Without Grace Parker she no longer had the same appetite for the job.
Going over all the travel plans in her head. The baby blankets—for the moment, anyway—omitted. Daisy, looking at the clock. Only seven. Wanting a good night’s sleep before traveling, but seven was ridiculous. And, besides, there was something else that needed doing.
Getting up, pouring herself a Cointreau, taking it into the bedroomwith her. Thinking about Paul, picturing him getting ready. She had seen it so many times that it was not hard to imagine. It calmed her to think of him—or maybe that was the Cointreau. Or maybe both.
Back on the bed, thoughts of Paul leading to thoughts of Michael. The reason for the trip. Finishing her drink, deciding not to put it off any longer. Picking up the shoe box from her bedside table that had been brought up earlier from the cellar, before the flood. The shoe box containing Michael’s letters—letters that she hadn’t seen in almost six decades.
Carrying the shoe box tightly against her body to the piano, the grand piano where Michael had played, thirsting for it as if it were life-providing water, so parched were his days on the military base.
Daisy, down at the piano, allowing herself to remember sitting beside him on the very same bench, watching the flight of his fingers over the keyboard, marveling at
Elisabeth’s mind flying through the facts. It couldn’t be Richard. He rode his bike only on Mondays and Thursdays, and today was Wednesday! A feeling of relief washing over her. It was finished—all her silly Dart Man fears, just because Richard liked darts and rode his bike in the city twice a week. She really needed a vacation. Thank goodness school and all the attendant parental duties were finally ending, bringing on the relative relaxation of summer.
“Mrs. Jetty?” The voice again, interrupting her.
Elisabeth, snapping out of it. Trying to backtrack to the last question, the one she was supposedly busy working out an answer for.
“I, uh—” groping for a response. Suddenly it didn’t seem like such a big problem anymore. Nothing she couldn’t handle. “Mrs. Caulfield, Michael will be all right. I’ll see to it that he studies for the new final you are so generously letting him retake on Monday. And he’ll do fine on the Regents. I’m confident he will.”
“I hope you’re right.” Mrs. Caulfield, barely concealing her doubt.
Cordial good-byes. Hanging up. Elisabeth, leaning back in her chair.
Inhaling, exhaling calmly. All tension regarding Richard dissolving. Regaining her footing—not as confident as she had led Mrs. Caulfield to believe, but confident enough. She would find the strength and persistence toword, but ther
THIRTEEN
THE NIGHT BEFORE Daisy’s trip toabies in strollersitDaisy Phillips New York, her fingers and toes, tingling with excitement. Two red suitcases lay open side by side on her bed. Daisy, sitting quietly next to them, her hands in her lap. Reviewing things again.
She had packed and repacked several times. Sometimes the baby blankets made the cut; sometimes they didn’t. Sometimes she thought it was stupid to take them; sometimes she thought it would be nice to have them. Sometimes she didn’t have the space for them; sometimes she did.
Checking her passport, tickets, flight information, U.S. currency. She had gone to the hairdresser. She had called her friends to say good-bye. She talked to her new boss at the library and explained that she would be gone for a month or more. The new boss smiled sweetly and suggested that Daisy needn’t call when she got back, thanking her for her past services. Daisy didn’t mind. Without Grace Parker she no longer had the same appetite for the job.
Going over all the travel plans in her head. The baby blankets—for the moment, anyway—omitted. Daisy, looking at the clock. Only seven. Wanting a good night’s sleep before traveling, but seven was ridiculous. And, besides, there was something else that needed doing.
Getting up, pouring herself a Cointreau, taking it into the bedroomwith her. Thinking about Paul, picturing him getting ready. She had seen it so many times that it was not hard to imagine. It calmed her to think of him—or maybe that was the Cointreau. Or maybe both.
Back on the bed, thoughts of Paul leading to thoughts of Michael. The reason for the trip. Finishing her drink, deciding not to put it off any longer. Picking up the shoe box from her bedside table that had been brought up earlier from the cellar, before the flood. The shoe box containing Michael’s letters—letters that she hadn’t seen in almost six decades.
Carrying the shoe box tightly against her body to the piano, the grand piano where Michael had played, thirsting for it as if it were life-providing water, so parched were his days on the military base.
Daisy, down at the piano, allowing herself to remember sitting beside him on the very same bench, watching the flight of his fingers over the keyboard, marveling at
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