"All love is unrequited. All of it." – J. Michael Straczynski, American producer and TV director
The boy sat on the station wagon ramp, wedged between suitcases. He stared listlessly out the tailgate window. Maine dwindled behind him and when they crossed into Massachusetts he knew it was hopeless. Jonathan cried the rest of the way to the Boston airport. Too exhausted to even care about the new DC-9, or the drool forming at the side of his mouth, he was asleep before the pilot could invite him for a tour of the cockpit. No thanks, Carolyn smiled politely. As the plane lumbered to 30,000 feet, she lowered her head to the seat tray in front of her and sobbed. The plane bobbed through real thunder squalls all the way to Philadelphia.
It was 10 a.m.
"Let her sleep, dear," Emily Williams chided Candy 10 hours later. "You can tell her all about David Cassidy later." Candy rolled her eyes and headed for her brother's room. What kind of an idiot did her grandmother think she was?
Jonathan was actually in the attic, which was bigger and harbored more antique junk and trunks than Gull Cottage's Wheelhouse. His grandmother's maid kept it spotless, like everything else in the big house on Chestnut Hill. Only Grandma never came up here. He was halfway into a trunk of his dad's college stuff when Candy found him.
Capt. Gregg didn't hear Martha knock. She set the tea tray on Mrs. Muir's desk. "Tea or whiskey, Captain?" He raised his head from the binnacle. Neither of them made any further attempt at conversation. Martha stared at the unmade bed. She blushed as the Captain followed her gaze to the twisted sheets and pummeled pillows. "I think I'll turn in now. I'll get that in the morning."
Privately, she wondered if rumors about ghosts were really true. Was he house bound, or could he just magically materialize in Philadelphia? It probably didn't matter.