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"Goodbye, Paul."
The day's ride on an emotional roller coaster
exhausted me. After I put Pearl to sleep, I crawled
into bed myself. I lay there for a while with my eyes
open debating about calling Beau. I just dreaded the thought that Gisselle would find out I was calling, however, and I decided against it. I would wait for him to call me. I shut my eyes, but despite my fatigue, I tossed and turned, fretting in and out of nightmares, some of which had terrible things happening to Paul and some had terrible things happening to Beau. How fragile our lives were, I thought. In seconds, everything we had, everything we learned, everything we built, could become dust. It made me question what were really the most important things and what
were not.
I knew Paul must have driven fast despite his
promises, because he was at Cypress Woods very
early in the afternoon the next day. When I accused
him of it, he swore he had been able to end his
meetings earlier than anticipated. I was just finishing
my lunch and having coffee on the patio. Pearl was
beside me in her playpen, sitting comfortably and
coloring with her crayons. She couldn't stay within the
lines, but she was content smearing the colors over the
faces and figures, pretending she was doing what
Mommy did. Occasionally she would stop and raise
her eyes to see if I was watching and admiring her
work.
"Another artist in the family," Paul declared
when he sat down.
"She thinks she is. Did your meetings go well,
then?"
"I signed a new contract. I don't want to tell you
the numbers. You'll tell me they're obscene, just like
you did the last time."
"They are. I can't help feeling guilty about
making so much money when there are so many
people in need of the simple, basic things."
"True, but our industrious work and clever
