Read Online The Affairs of Others: A Novel by Amy Grace Loyd - Free Book Online Page A

was so powerful—”
    “How could you get that wrong? I mean how could someone get that wrong? All these years, you told us that story, since we were little. Gardenias, gardenias and that seductive fragrance everywhere, just everywhere . That’s what you told us. They were there—”
    “Danny, it’s okay. It was the right thought,” Leo put in. “It was Danny’s idea.” He became still, his head cocked with one ear higher than the other as if he were trying to make out more inviting sounds at some distance.
    “I love gardenias, darling. I’m so grateful. Drink your tea before it gets cold. It’s your favorite.”
    “No, this is Dad’ s favorite.” Danielle used both hands to smooth back her hair, once, twice, three times.
    “This tea? No, I don’t think so.”
    “Yes, Mother. It is. You couldn’t have forgotten already. He’d order this and a—”
    “Leave her alone, Danny.” Leo strained not to move, to keep his voice level.
    “I just mean she should know these things. I do. You do. Daddy does.”
    “Stop,” Leo almost whispered. “It’s not her fault.”
    “I know that.” The girl’s eyes filled. “Of course. It’s that all the details are important. It’s how we know … what matters.” The blood took over her face entirely. Her mouth went into a tight, straight line—it was not her mother’s mouth; it had none of her fullness. It was prettily formed but thin and in its austerity reminded me of many of the faces of the Connecticut town I’d grown up in. She’d have to earn personality, find some generosity, for a mouth like that, her father’s perhaps. She was the only one who’d introduced herself using her last name, his last name.
    “Danielle speaks a beautiful French. Eat something, darling. I bet you haven’t eaten today. She’s been studying a lot for her finals and it’s never easy to leave college behind.”
    Danielle bit into an almond scone. It appeared to disgust her.
    “What sort of work do you do, Leo?” I asked.
    “I frame pictures.”
    “He just started that recently. He’s very good with his hands. He even designs the frames. He works with artists, galleries.”
    “My PR agent.” He nodded at Hope.
    “He was in banking,” Danielle reported, sullen, chewing still.
    “I worked with my dad, but I quit a few months ago.”
    “He always wanted to try this, right, darling?”
    “Right.”
    “Blake—remember Blake? Who runs the gallery? From George’s party? He relies on Leo.” Hope aimed high, for buoyancy. “And my father painted, and he built his own frames. Leo comes by it naturally.”
    “That’s great.” I slid a grape in my mouth.
    “Right,” Leo said again.
    “I have champagne if anyone wants some,” Hope offered. “And shall we have some music? George has all these great compilations.” She attended to the stereo, then turned to us. “Everyone try the quiche. I put Gruyère in it. Even if that’s sacrilege, to whom? Who can tell me?”
    “Julia Child,” Danielle recited obediently, trying to recover her mood, though her voice was weary. She nodded at me. “Traditional quiche Lorraine requires no cheese.”
    “That’s right. So I’m transgressing, and I love it, love it, love it. Leo, cut everyone a piece for me, will you?” To me she said, “It’s a wonder you know the scent of gardenias so well.”
    “It was a family favorite.”
    “You’ve got to see it.” Hope retrieved the potted plant. As she did, a man’s voice sang “Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen” to an up tempo. She held it out in front of her. “Doesn’t it take you away, just looking at it?”
    The dark shine of its full, dark green leaves, its cream-colored blossoms wide open and pouting extravagantly did belong to another climate where growing and dying happened all at once, in a tumble, where they didn’t wait for anything or anyone, let alone for seasons to change or for mourning. Its smell came at us from everywhere, seizing on every