Chapter 14 insert-A
(page 260)
DIVERSIONS
"Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way." - Anna Karenina
The spring of 1924 was full of change, and not only because of the new baby. The tension in our house was relieved, somewhat, by the diversion brought by visitors we entertained, in early May.
"An anniversary party?" My voice rose an octave, in consternation. I halted the motion of the porch swing.
"You won't have to make the arrangements."
"You can't be serious!"
Malcolm was aware that lavish parties caused me anxiety. Still, each year we gave one, at Christmas and at our anniversary, because, as he put it, May is a good time for a party, before everyone goes away for the summer. The guests consisted, mainly, of acquaintances, and his few droll friends. Occasionally I could relax enough to enjoy myself, but the thought of it, now, only infuriated me.
The seventh of May would mark the eighth year of our marriage, and they had been very long years. I had nothing to commemorate, and I did not want to contemplate the future.
"Precisely WHAT will we be celebrating, Malcolm?"
"Olivia, must you-"
"Why go through with such a pretense... such a farce?"
As was typical when I was distressed, I was unable to sit still. I left the swing, making my way around the edge of the portico, watering tin in hand, saturating the hanging plants and window boxes, glad to have something to occupy my hands-some movement to lessen tension.
"Is this some sort of concession meant to placate me, to compensate for the unspeakably disgusting things you have done, in the last year?" My acerbic tone made him wince.
"Must you constantly bring that up? Your unwillingness to forgive is growing tedious, Olivia. Why can't you let it go?"
I knew Malcolm was not above saying that for the sole purpose of getting under my skin, but I was outraged at such audacious disregard for my feelings.
"Let it go?" I angrily tossed the watering tin over the porch railing into the shrubbery below, and turned sharply to face him. "Now that you have what you wanted, you expect me to quietly accept, and forget what it cost me? I'm afraid I can't be so easily mollified. And you never asked me to forgive you, Malcolm. It is yet another instance in which you expect a great deal from a relationship you've shamefully neglected, and probably never cared about, to begin with."
"You're insane with your ideas! I suppose next you'll be telling me I've neglected my sons, as well. Go on. You haven't delivered that particular diatribe yet, this week."
He glared at me, suppressed anger in his voice and in his rigid posture. I didn't respond.
"I'm tired of being harassed and criticized, Olivia. Why is it you can only see the adverse in every situation, in everything I do and say?"
So, what I said did have an affect on him, after all. I was inwardly pleased to know this. But it didn't impel me to be careful of his sensitivities as I had once, for when had he ever cared about mine?
"Because you make it so easy for me to find fault with you, Malcolm, that I've given up on anything else."
A long silence ensued. Finally he stood up and went toward the front door.
"We can talk about this when you aren't being so contentious. But keep in mind as you are condemning me, that you are not above reproach, yourself."
"What do you mean by that?"
He ignored me and entered the house, shutting the door with such force that the windows rattled. Presently, perhaps remembering something he'd forgotten to add, he leaned through a window, still scowling.
"What did you mean by that? I've done nothing." I said.
"Exactly, Olivia. The neglect goes both ways."
"I don't care anymore, Malcolm. You haven't given me a reason to, only many reasons not to care."
I wondered if he had ever heard or comprehended anything I said, on this subject. I wondered why I had never said it, before now. The words that escaped me were true enough, but at that moment I felt indifferent, and I suppose Malcolm sensed that.
All the heat of anger vanished, and I knew it was pointless to pursue what should have been sorted out, long before this afternoon. Perhaps the distance between us couldn't be bridged with words, or maybe not at all, and perhaps Malcolm wanted it this way, despite anything he said to the contrary.
All was still for a few seconds before he spoke again, as if just remembering something.
"Oh, I should tell you that Mr. Treadley called me today about Mal. It seems that he's causing some sort of trouble, again. They're giving him an early dismissal. I'm driving down tomorrow morning, to pick him up from that school. Well? Don't you have anything to say?"
He waited, his irritation returning when I didn't reply.
"You accuse me of neglecting the boys, yet it is you who insist they attend a boarding school."
I strove to maintain an untroubled expression. We had been through this several times previously, and I doubted he had anything new to add.
"You're only opposed to the school because it was my idea, and because now you cannot oversee every aspect of Mal's education."
Malcolm shook his head, denying my pronouncement.
"This is best for him." I said.
"Best!" he exploded. "Olivia, you are being unreasonable. You always went to local private schools; you have no idea what it is like to be sent away from home. It is obvious that Mal wants to be here. This was a mistake, I tell you, a mistake!"
"Mal will adjust."
"You're impossible to reason with!"
"You already said that, Malcolm." I replied, calmly.
His scowl deepened, but he dropped the subject.
"There will be someone at the party I'd like you to meet, a cousin of mine. He and his family will be staying here for several days, so have the servants prepare rooms." he said in a more level tone, as if the past ten minutes of our conversation hadn't happened.
"I haven't agreed to a party." I said dully.
I hated the way he did not ask, only informed me after the decision had been made, that we would be having houseguests. This cousin must be someone important, because Malcolm disliked having people stay at Foxworth Hall, yet he was making an exception, this time.
"All right," I sighed. assenting. "I'll see to it."
He nodded and started to turn away.
"If you're going past the kitchen, tell Mrs. McGarity that I would like dinner served an hour early, tonight." I said, knowing how Malcolm hated to be sent on paltry errands.
He closed the window before I could say another word, and walked away, preoccupied with plans and preparations.
Soon after, I made the acquaintance of Everett Hudson. He was the son of Garland's younger sister, Adelaide, who lived in Richmond. I had met some of the members of that branch of the family when they came to Charlottesville for Garland's funeral, the previous year.
Everett and Malcolm had lost touch in recent years, but as children, they had been sent to the same boarding schools. In his boyhood, Malcolm had spent significant time with the Hudson family, at their homes in Virginia and in England. Malcolm spoke of his cousin Everett, and about his uncle, with the most familial warmth and respect I'd ever heard him express. Malcolm claimed this uncle had been more of a father to him than Garland had been.
Malcolm often mentioned Everett's name to me over the years, and I'd wondered why he never invited him to Foxworth Hall. But after I met the man, I understood.
In appearance, Everett couldn't have been more different, but in temperament, he and Malcolm were very much alike-so much alike that they should have been twins. When it came to business endeavors and building his fortune, Everett was just as single-minded and dedicated as Malcolm, in running his own businesses, so Everett probably had not made the time to visit us.
It came up in conversation, quite by chance, that Malcolm had, in fact, invited the Hudsons to our wedding, and that they had been unable to travel at the time, due to Adelaide's illness. Discovering this, I felt chagrined, for I'd supposed that Malcolm hadn't cared enough to invite his family. But I had been wrong, and if I had misjudged that, what else had my insecurities made me perceive, incorrectly? It unsettled me, but I was also slightly relieved, as well. If Malcolm had been truthful about that, then it followed he had been honest about other things-the few truly happy moments I could call my own.
Everett and his wife, Frances, and their children, Victoria and Megan-who were nearly the same ages as Mal and Joel-came to visit for a week, that first spring, after Corinne's birth. Foxworth Hall was at its best then, the weather mild, its beauty on display, the rosebud trees in glorious bloom.
Had it not been for Alicia, we would have invited the Hudsons to the Hall the previous summer. Even though her mark was indelibly left on our family, her departure from it was a great relief. My home and my family were my own once more, and no longer would I, or anyone else, compare me, with my "Yankee" ways and voice-about which Garland used to tease me-with Alicia's soft-spoken, mild-mannered presence. The Hudsons had not known her, and the lack of comment about Alicia made it easier to try and leave that unfortunate time behind.
The children adjusted to each other rather well, I thought. Mal teased and tormented Victoria and Joel ceaselessly, but it was soon apparent that Victoria could defend herself, and was a worthy opponent in many of Mal's games. She was my favorite of the Hudsons' girls. Victoria was a serious child, possessing common sense and intelligence. Yet she seldom smiled, and it disturbed me that a child so young should be so solemn. For some reason I couldn't fathom, she took Joel under her wing, and they rapidly took to each other.
Megan tagged after Mal, who took less notice of her with each subsequent visit the Hudsons made to Foxworth Hall. I could tell already that Megan was the kind of little girl Corinne would be-one who demanded and expected to be noticed and spoiled. She was the center of her father's attention, just as Corinne was, in our family.
Frances, however, seemed more taken with my boys, perhaps because she had no sons. Aside from the initial obligatory comment on Corinne's looks, she paid scant attention to the baby, and this, more than anything else, was why I warmed to her so quickly.
It was not so with her husband. Everett was a stoic man; his manner was brusque, and I disliked him. He reminded me of Malcolm in many ways, from his open adoration of his prettier daughter, Megan, to his apparent good business acumen, (which Malcolm raved about) to his aloof, casual treatment of his wife.
In Frances, I recognized a kindred spirit and friend, immediately. While having proper, genteel southern social graces and manners, she possessed a will of iron and a dry sense of humor to rival mine, which came as a surprise. Her life was very much like my own, and so, at times, I was able to confide to Frances matters I could never-in spite of my fondness and respect-share with Millicent, for Millicent remained unmarried, and was contented with such a life.
Frances and I corresponded regularly, but the best times were when we visited their home, or they visited us. These visits usually had to coincide with some business that needed tending by Malcolm or Everett.
Malcolm enjoyed these visits; the rigid lines of strain in his face relaxed a bit, during the weeks our families spent together, and he had the company of a like mind. The men would sit for hours on the east patio, or in the trophy room conversing about their work and their respective hunting expeditions, with Everett drinking copious amounts of whiskey, depleting our supply, for even that could be obtained in these times of Prohibition, for the right price.
Another benefit for me of these associations was that Malcolm's attitude toward my involvement with Corinne's care relaxed. If I sent the nurse away for an afternoon, he didn't object, often because he didn't notice.
Their visits had a subtle effect on the relationship between Malcolm and myself, and provided opportunities for us to see each other in different ways than we had before. For me, it was always through the eyes of others that I learned new things about Malcolm-the occasional good that I was too hardened by disillusionment to appreciate, any other time.
"I don't see why the disorganized, bungling lot of them don't have the-"
"But what else would you expect from a party that can't choose only one candidate to represent it?" Everett was saying, as I re-entered the dining room one evening.
"Mal, stop playing and eat your zucchini." I admonished, quietly. He made a sour face, which elicited a stern look from Malcolm.
"I don't like it." complained Mal.
"Your mother didn't ask whether you liked it, or not." said Malcolm.
"The food at my school was better than this." mumbled Mal, who didn't seem to like anything prepared by our new cook. Further complaints were silenced by the severe, warning look Malcolm had perfected, and Mal continued to eat slowly, glaring resentfully at his father whenever he thought Malcolm wouldn't notice.
"What are they talking about?" I asked Frances, as I took my place at the table.
"The democrats, whom you defend so vehemently, of course." answered Malcolm, with a sneer. "I was just telling Everett that I read today that they're going to broadcast the national convention on the radio."
"Oh?"
My interest was piqued. We didn't yet own a radio set, but one heard about the potential of the new technological wonder so often now that credence had to be given to the idea that its influence would alter life as we knew it, and that seemed to be happening, rapidly. Radio, then, would not merely be a source of entertainment. It wasn't just a modern trend that would eventually fade into obscurity.
"A preposterous notion, if you ask me. It will prove to be a waste of funds and time, mark my words." put in Everett.
"I should think radio could be an asset to the campaign." I said. "Why, just think, you won't have to spend election day outside the telegraph office, waiting for the results."
"That has always been one of the highlights of an election year. I've met and made many useful contacts, that way."
"Oh, it's not as though you'll be able to hear it! We don't get any clear signals, here. Why talk about something that doesn't matter? Everett won't talk about anything but politics and his work." complained Frances.
Malcolm and I exchanged a look of amazement.
I was shocked by Frances's flippancy, and openly displayed disrespect. After a pause, I finished my meal, thoughtfully, and the conversation grew more convivial, though I remained quiet throughout. Frances kept up a lively, though meandering dialogue.
Later I took her aside, intent on speaking my mind, though I conceded that it was none of my business.
"Frances, how can you so blatantly disregard Everett's business interests? How can you talk of his career as if it is nothing more than an optional pastime?"
Surely, she ought to feel some reverence, and respect the effort which allowed her to live comfortably, and without care.
"That sounds so much like something my mother says." she laughed. "Oh, Olivia, I don't care about that."
"Everett might care." I hinted.
She sighed, a wistful expression coming into her eyes. For an instant, her manner and parlance reminded me of Alicia.
"I'm not sure." she said, but I wasn't convinced. "As long as I remember I'm a Hudson, I am permitted to do as I wish. Whatever he thinks I need or want, he buys, but beyond that, he doesn't consider my feelings."
A brief look of complete understanding passed between us.
"All I want from him is his attention, or rather, I did. Now, I've grown used to his absences, even his absences when he is home with me."
That was a sentiment to which I could relate, though it seemed apparent to me-much to my surprise-that Malcolm and I had more in common to talk about than had she and Everett. Their evenings must be very silent, indeed!
"But I've found other ways to fill the emptiness." she continued.
"What do you mean?" I asked, truly not knowing what she was getting at.
She gazed about to be sure no one was near enough to hear, and lowered her voice.
"Another man." she confided.
My face went scarlet with embarrassment and shock. That was something I did not understand. I was unaccustomed as yet to such open, direct talk as this.
"Everett is none the wiser. He wouldn't even consider it as possible, that is how little he thinks of me, Olivia." her bitterness was unmistakable. She leaned forward to peer at me more closely as I shifted uncomfortably in my iron garden chair.
"And you're happy with this arrangement? Are you proud of this?"
"No, I'm not happy!" she insisted. Tears shimmered in her eyes, brought on by the disapproving reaction she hadn't expected from me. "I'm not proud either,
but it helps me to cope. I've made mistakes, serious ones. It may not matter soon, anyway. We've been talking about living apart, and," she dropped her voice, "divorce. So you see, I am not happy, but we all find solace in our own way, don't we?"
I wanted to reach out, to offer some form of comfort, but her lack of shame, her indifference to Everett's feelings troubled me, caused something unsympathetic in my nature to surface.
"Perhaps you should try it, Olivia-finding another man, I mean. Oh, I don't mean to pry, but I can see that Malcolm... well, he's very much like Everett, I think, and that means he can be so... cold, so indifferent."
"That's absolutely absurd, unconscionable! I wouldn't dream of it!" I exclaimed, outraged at the presumptuous suggestion.
"I didn't mean to offend you. But Olivia, if your needs aren't being met-"
"Needs? What has another man to do with my marriage, and my needs relating to that marriage? Another man would not solve the problems, Frances. And at any rate, my needs are not the only ones to be considered, just as yours are not, in your case. If it is only... only sexual relations you're talking about, I can live with what I have, even if it's... not perfect."
"But why should you? If you can have nothing else, then why not-"
"Besides, Frances, you don't understand," I looked down at my embroidery frame, pausing to focus on my work for a few seconds, unsure if I wanted to say more. "Malcolm's mother-her name was Corinne-left her husband and child for another man, presumably. It was a selfish action, and it caused tremendous pain and had long-lasting affects on... on everyone. If she hadn't done it-"
I stopped, suddenly flustered, a catch in my voice. After a moment I shrugged, dismissing what I'd been about to say.
Frances probably wondered what I'd meant, since I hadn't known my mother-in-law. It must have seemed like an overly dramatic statement to make. I knew that when I said Corinne's name, my eyes had gone icy. All warmth had evaporated, in an instant.
I thought about the woman who was the source for much of the unhappiness in this family. I had always wondered about her. What would I have said to Malcolm's mother, if we had ever met? Oh, how I despised her! Her disappearance had had such a far-reaching impact, on us. Had she ever considered what the repercussions might be? Had she cared at all?
I'd always thought of Corinne as very selfish. Nothing could make me leave my children; how could a mother do such a thing? But it occurred to me now that perhaps she had been very unhappy here, so unhappy that she could no longer keep up the facade of her life at Foxworth. Perhaps she hadn't left so much for the one she'd supposedly run away with, as for herself. Perhaps the story everyone believed about Corinne wasn't even close to the truth.
I had only Malcolm's version of events, and what, after all, could a five-year-old child really have understood about his mother's disappearance? Very little, I believed, now that I had my own young children, and knew their limited comprehension of adult matters.
Yet I wondered about Corinne's side of the story. Perhaps it was only that she had the courage to do what I had not done: leave the clutches of Foxworth Hall and find the happiness it could never bring to those who remained-the happiness she thought she deserved.
"Olivia?" Frances asked softly, placing a tentative hand on my sleeve.
For an instant I was close to telling her everything, but just then one of the children ran up to us with a question, distracting us from the conversation for a few moments. When we returned to it, the fragile moment had been lost, and I felt relieved, frightened and disappointed. Nonetheless, I pursued the point I'd been making.
"I suppose it's becoming more commonplace to consider...divorce,"-I was uneasy with the term, for I'd never known anyone who'd chosen that unfortunate state-"but I would never leave my husband. That would be admitting failure."
"But there must be certain circumstances-" she began.
"No." I said flatly, quickly, unwilling even to consider the idea. "I doubt many would agree with me."
"You sound as if you aren't concerned about that."
"I'm not, particularly. Why should I be? I've made a lot of decisions in my life that most people wouldn't approve, and I'll probably make more before it's all over, I daresay."
"All right. But you must have opinions about my situation," she persisted.
"Opinions? Yes, I have opinions, but you won't like them, I'm sure. I like you, Frances, but I do not respect what you are doing. I have good reasons to despise divorce. You and Everett should find a way to live together. It may be a sacrifice, but find a way." I laughed, and the smile finally reached my eyes. "Forgive me. I'm not laughing at you. If you knew what you were asking... Frances, I'm the last person you should seek advice from, about such matters. I think what you're after is a piece of wisdom. I don't have much of that either. I've been married a long time-at least it feels that way-longer than you have been, and all I can say about it is that if either Malcolm or I had been less strong-willed and less of a challenge for one another, we would have gotten bored. At least I can say that we never bore each other."
"What an odd, sad way to describe a marriage." she mused.
"There are lots of ways of being miserable, but there's only one way of being comfortable, and that is to stop running round after happiness." I said. "I read that in a book, and it's true."
"How do you live like that?"
I just stared at her, at a loss for words.
"I know I'm doing what's right." I finally affirmed. "What you are engaging in can only come to disaster, no matter how you justify it to yourself."
"Everett will never find out."
"Good for you, then. But Malcolm would know. He has an uncanny way of knowing things, and he would notice changes, even subtle changes. He would know. And I can't do that; he trusts me not to, don't you see? Because of what his mother did. All of his problems-our problems-are a consequence of that."
I could tell she thought I was exaggerating, but she didn't comment.
"I'll think about what you said, Olivia. But may I give you some advice, as well?"
"I suppose so." I said warily.
"If you won't find someone else for yourself, then make Malcolm give you what you need. Insist that he be the kind of husband you want."
"You don't know Malcolm very well, then, if you can make such a suggestion. He cannot be forced into doing anything he doesn't already want. He only hears what he wishes to hear. Believe me, I've tried."
In some ways, the conversation was reminiscent of those I'd had with Alicia, when she'd thought Malcolm could be persuaded by me to change his mind. But Frances was wise in her own way, and was more insightful than Alicia. Despite our disagreements, I was grateful to have her companionship, even for a short while.
"Try, Olivia. Do something that will surprise him, and cause him to notice you. Do something he won't be expecting. Show him what he doesn't already know about you."
Just then, I noticed Malcolm watching us, from across the yard. He stood, talking to Everett, as they absent-mindedly pushed Joel and Megan on the swings.
Color rose to my cheeks, as if Malcolm could hear, even from that distance, the topic of our conversation, though I knew he could not. He beckoned to me. I glanced at my watch, and saw the lateness of the hour.
"I haven't the vaguest idea what you're talking about. And what's more, I don't believe you do, either." I said.
"You are very stubborn, Olivia." Frances sighed, in mild exasperation.
"Yes, that's what everyone tells me."
"But you'd see I'm right if you would open your mind a bit. Believe me, a man won't pass it up if it's offered to him."
"I guess you'd know more about that than I would."
I regretted the unkind retort almost immediately. She looked hurt.
"Frances, I'm sure what you're saying makes sense, but it doesn't help me. Malcolm doesn't want... he doesn't want me to like it much, despite what he says, because then... I might look elsewhere, just as you are suggesting."
"But Olivia-"
I couldn't tolerate another second of the conversation! I was beginning to feel very upset; I'd revealed too much and betrayed myself.
"It's growing late. I'd better see about getting the boys to bed." I said dismissively, and calling Joel, went toward the house.
Later that night, I was abruptly awakened when I heard Malcolm's voice; he spoke softly, from my doorway.
"I saw your light. Are you awake?"
The woods nearby buzzed with the sound of cicadas. From below could be heard the silvery chimes of the clock in the parlor, but the house was quiet, everyone lost in their dreaming all but Malcolm and myself.
"Not really. I fell asleep reading, I suppose. I don't want you to wake the children, so come in, if you wish to talk."
He entered the room, shutting the door behind him, and took a place on the bed next to me, leaning against two pillows.
"You're up late." I observed.
"Everett and I have been talking, in the trophy room." he offered by way of explanation.
"And smoking, too." I said derisively. The sweet scent of the pipe's smoke was still on his clothes.
"It looked as though you and Frances were having an intense conversation in the garden. What were you talking about?"
"Matters which do not concern you. I won't break a confidence, Malcolm." I said, though I was tempted to reveal what I'd learned about the Hudsons' marriage.
"Well, Everett is impressed with you, Olivia. Says you are more sensible than his wife. It seems he's had some trouble with Frances."
"Oh? Did he ever consider that he might be the cause of the trouble?" I asked, a note of irritation creeping into my voice.
"I don't know anything about that." he said, shrugging.
"Did he tell you what sort of trouble?"
"It would hardly be fair of me to tell you what we talked about when you're not willing to do the same, now would it?"
I shook my head, disappointed.
"Mal's been studying the dictionary again." I said, just to change the subject.
I referred to Mal's most recent preoccupation, his favorite way of tormenting everyone, or sending us into helpless laughter, depending on one's frame of mind, and inclination to humor the child.
"I saw him with you at the swings. What gem did he come up with this time?" I asked, smiling.
"Nothing but insults directed toward me, as usual."
His brow furrowed as he tried to recall the strings of words, all of which began with the same letter.
"Well, that one's not very nice." I commented. "What did you do to provoke him, this time?"
"He wanted me to take him into town, and he has been bargaining with me, for days, to give him a loan."
"A loan?"
"He's spent all of his allowance, and wants to buy some overpriced toy he saw in the window of a shop we passed downtown, last week. I suppose this is some alphabetical form of revenge or rebellion."
"I'm telling you, Malcolm, he'll grow up to be a great writer."
"Don't encourage him in that direction. He will certainly not be a writer!" Malcolm snapped. "He's equally quick with numbers. I've been teaching him to read the stock tables."
"Still, I'm continuously surprised by the words he understands and can pronounce correctly. My favorite was last night's from dinner-something about opulence. Some sort of seven-year-old's commentary on our life. He's got one prepared for his return to school."
"His teachers are going to love that." said Malcolm, dryly.
"Well, at least now he's interested in school. Last week he threatened to run away, if we make him return, in September." I said, immediately regretting my words, as I anticipated another unpleasant argument about my choice of schools for the boys.
"I'm sure it helps that Joel will be going this year, as well."
"Malcolm, you ought to go into town tomorrow and get whatever it is he wants so badly."
"What? Reward his insolence? I might expect you to say that. No, Olivia. Besides, he has to learn some responsibility, with regard to money."
"I'm sure there's plenty of time for that."
"Speaking of money," he said, changing the subject, crossing the room to peer at the papers on my small writing desk, "I see one of your investments has done well."
He rarely acknowledged any wise decision I made, and I was pleased by the unexpected compliment.
"Since you bring it up, there's something I'd like to ask you about." I said, and went across to the desk. He pulled out the narrow ladder-back chair.
"Sit down, and I'll explain how this works."
The explanation was thorough, and more than I needed, as he leaned over my shoulder, speech intent, reminding me of one of my college professors, as he jotted figures and calculations on the pages. It occurred to me that instances such as this were some of the few times he wasn't impatient with those whose minds might not be as quick as his.
"Now, this is what I was beginning to explain to Mal last week," and on he spoke, quite absorbed by the inventiveness of his own instruction.
"I understand." I insisted. "Malcolm, this sort of thing should be one of your business ventures. I'm sure there are a number of people who could benefit from what you know, and from your advice. Matthew Allen and Everett already consult you on a regular basis, and I know they aren't the only ones to ask frequently for your input in such matters."
"I've been thinking very nearly the same thing." he said thoughtfully. "But I doubt I have the extra time."
"Nonsense. You've been looking for something else to try, talking about one new venture or another, for over a year. I could help, as well." I said, although I hadn't known until I said it that I would, or that I even wanted to. "With Joel going away to school next year too, I'll have more free time. Perhaps-just in the beginning-I might help you get organized."
I went back to my bed as I continued outlining the plan, as it took shape in my mind. He nodded slowly, speculatively.
"I'll consider it. It's not a bad idea. We'll talk it over. I'll give it some thought, over the next few weeks."
As Malcolm left, and I drifted toward sleep once more, my mind replayed the conversation with Frances. Her suggestion was ludicrous! It seemed it had been a long time since Malcolm's attentions toward me had been amorous. The possibility of change seemed remote.