Widow's Row
Page 30
“I’ve already told you. I’ve made several people very wealthy. You don’t think I would give good old Ms. Libby advice that I wouldn’t take myself?”
I felt the room spin. Or maybe it was just my heart. “Oh my God. My God. And what about the animals? The bulls? The chinchillas?” Maybe I wasn’t so selfish. I really wasn’t just thinking about myself.
“Rudy is getting himself a little raise. He’s going to be in charge of adopting out those little chinchilla critters as pets—get them out of those damn cages, but that means they aren’t going to be there forever for you to dote on.”
Part of me cried. Most of me knew to rejoice.
“Just as soon as Ari moves out and I fumigate,” Jonathan winked, “I’m moving into the main quarters. Rudy and Rosa have been living in a run-down trailer all this time. They’ll be residing in my old garden level apartment.”
The caterers returned with hazelnut coffees, cognac, and a generous slice of Tiramisu for us to share.
Earth to Breecie. I suddenly re-engaged with logic. “Hmmm. That seems to leave open a certain lease situation that’s vulnerable, with a certain tenant way up on the third floor,” I said.
“Negotiable.”
“Negotiations with a lawyer? That’s just asking for trouble.”
Jonathan took his sweet time pouring the cognac and forming his whispery words. “Negotiable as to how long it will take my future tenant to decide to move her belongings into the main quarters with me, where she belongs.”
Maybe it was just the darn dimples, but I didn’t think it would take any time at all. Of course, I couldn’t let him know that. “I’d have to demand a couple of answers before I could even enter into any such negotiations.”
“Go on.”
I lifted my neck as if in deep concentration, putting on my best lawyer look. “First. I have never been sailing. There’s a decent sized lake around here somewhere, and I want you to take me sailing on it.”
Jonathan shifted in his chair. He knew exactly what I was asking him to do. Face his fear. Challenge the last chain of guilt that had held him hostage for so long.
His voice was affirmative. “And second?”
For the last time, I promise, I remembered Mrs. French. Her opera singer and damn big band. Jonathan’s own guitar chords and Claire de Lune. Her dreadful fall flowers.
“Do you like daffodils?”
About the author :
Lala Corriere lives in the Sonoran Desert with her husband of over twenty years, Chuck Corriere.
She has three grown children and three muse cats—Bibelot, Sidney & Charlotte.
Contact the author lala@lalacorriee.com
www.lalacorriere.com
Read her blog at http://lalacorriere.blogspot.com
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COMING SOON!
CoverBoy
He prays for prey.
His prayers
have just been answered.
Lala Corriere. All rights reserved. 2010