March, 11th
Edith:
Last Sunday I received an e-mail from my cousin; she asks me how my pregnancy is going and says she's looking forward the nuchal translucency photos and video.
I can't believe how strong Margaret is, how she manages to deal with the death of my aunt. In spite of the joviality of the message I imagine she's sad, and I take it upon myself to distract her so I reply with a detailed message of the things we're planning for the baby's room.
What I don't tell her, although I would if her situation was different, is that lately Henry seems a little wistful. He went out with a girl very shortly but things didn't work out, and, well, he's the same smart aleck of always but I think he misses Margaret.
I believe he wrote her a message of condolences but haven't heard anything from any of them. To be honest I still have hopes of them getting together again, but whenever I mention it Ian just rolls his eyes at me.
Richard:
Adam is staying with us until next Monday and I seize the opportunity to introduce him to Mr. Thornton. They get along very well, and Adam takes over Margaret to bring the tray with the tea and pastries we always have at the end of the lesson.
As a former dean in a small Oxford college who attempted to attract adult students, Adam is quite interested in talking to John. Soon they engage in a discussion that reminds me the ones Margaret used to have with him, although less heated; Adam is an expert where debate is involved and it's almost impossible to force him into a faux pas, and John is no fool either.
They are discussing acting over unconfirmed assumptions. How they got there, I have no idea, but I listen with great attention. Adam, the elderly scholar, states that it's always best to allow the benefit of the doubt to avoid regrets while John, the young pragmatic businessman, veers towards making decisions from available evidence and avoid hesitation or inaction. They seem to agree that burning the bridges doesn't sound like a good strategy in the long run, but I seem to perceive they're talking about something else I'm not aware of.
After my student leaves my friend congratulates me on this new acquaintance of mine and calls Margaret, who's been upstairs most of the afternoon, to arrange dinner.
Frederick:
I wonder how my sister and father are doing in their mourning. I think I'm dealing very well with it; she was my mother, of course, but I hadn't lived with her for many years and there's the fact that I'm going to be a father. It's not that the pain is less, that the loss is devoid of substance, but I don't have to adjust to new routines, to her absence. It seems to be mostly intellectual and not physical, unlike, I assume, my father and Margaret.
Sometimes I wish my sister could put into words exactly how she's feeling, how she's processing the death of our mother and dealing with our father, but then again, I wouldn't know what to do or say if she did. I am selfishly grateful of her lightheartedness, actually, and I promise myself I'll pay her back one day.
I know that Mr. Thornton still goes for his classes and this interaction seems to be quite important to my father, who speaks often and highly of him. Margaret told me Mr. West is currently visiting, so I suppose they relieve my sister of the weight of my father's sorrow. I'm happy to know my father is in good company and I do wonder how much of it extends to my sister.
Dolores keeps an active correspondence with Margaret and hopes they'll come to Spain when our daughter is born, in about three months from now. I think it's a wonderful plan but Cádiz is quite hot from June to September, and I'm not sure my father will dare.
When I share my misgivings with her, my wife simply puts her hands over her beachball sized belly and smiles.
-"Ya lo veremos", she says. "We'll see"