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"Okay," I said "I'll call you in a day or so and let you know where you can reach me."
"Wondrous," he said. "Wondrous."
"Miles, someone will be coming to the house from Bell's real estate agency early next week. Let them look around, and they will set up a schedule with you to show interested buyers the property," I told him, remembering arrangements I had begun right before I left for Palm Beach.
"They have already called. Willow. They will be here on Monday. Maybe that's why your father is working so hard and fast," he said, the excitement in his voice rising. "Of course. Now it makes sense. He wants to be sure his work is completed before the estate is sold out from under him."
I didn't know what to say to him over the phone.
"I'll call you" was all I could manage, and then I hung up. Regardless of my feelings toward Aunt Agnes. I couldn't deny having the same sort of anxieties about Miles now, I would have to get back there soon, I thought, His story about my father's computer actually put a chill in me. It was madness with meaning, for I knew my father had left a book unfinished, and I knew how he must have hated that and perhaps even had it as his last thought.
In the meantime. I decided it would be prudent for me to phone Mr. Bassinger, Luckily. he was in his office. I asked him if he could manage to stop by and check things out. I explained my concern without accusing Miles of drinking, but I did tell him what Miles had said about the computer.
"I understand." Mr. Bassinger said, reading between the lines. "I'll see to it."
"Thank you. When you want to reach me. I'll be at this number." I said. and read the number off Bunny's card.
"I'll call you as soon as I can," he promised.
As soon as I had my breakfast and dressed. I went down and checked out of the hotel. My luggage was loaded into my car. and I was off to Java del Mar. The shaky timbre of Miles's voice and his story lingered like the insistent aftermath of a particularly vivid nightmare. I couldn't help but imagine the ghost of my father seated in front of his computer. The image remained on the screen of my imagination all the way to my mother's family estate.
Jennings answered the call box in his dry, impatient tone of voice again, shutting me off abruptly and starting the gates the instant he heard my name.
However, he was there waiting for me when I drove up. "I'll take your bags to your room, miss." he told me. "Oh. thank you. Where is Mrs, Eaton?"
"She has not yet risen. but Mr. Eaton left me word concerning your arrangements." he said. "Would you like a cold drink on the rear loggia after you are settled in? Iced tea. perhaps?" he asked.
Even if he wasn't the most pleasant person I had met. he was at least efficient and professional. I thought.
"Yes. that would be nice."
"Very good, miss." he said. and I entered the
house and went up to what would be my room. I walked out onto the balcony and looked at the ocean. It was a truly magnificent day, the clouds pasted like puffs of smoke against the vibrantly blue sky. I could see a luxury cruise ship gliding along as if the ocean had turned to aqua ice. There were dozens of sailboats and yachts, turning it all into a zrand playground for the rich and fortunate.
What was exciting about having the ocean in your backyard was that the scene changed so often. There was always something new to look at, and nature itself was never uninteresting or monotonous. Someday, I thought. I would like to live near the sea.
Jennings put my luggage on luggage stands and then asked me if I would like him to unpack them.
"No, that's fine. I'll do it all later." I said.
"Very good. Your iced tea will be ready in a few minutes," he said, and left.
Now that I was alone in the room that had supposedly been my mother's, the room in which all the terrible things had happened to her. I felt a strange foreboding, as if I were truly trespassing on the forbidden past. Perhaps Daddy in his wisdom had good reason to keep all this from me. Perhaps I was defying fate or challenging it by coming here and trying to unravel the twisted and painful past that had bound my parents and left them locked up in a room filled with ill-fated love and unfulfilled promises. Every kiss, every touch was definitely a promise of sorts. Love, especially a great and all-consuming one, so enriched their lives that they were surely surprised by reality themselves. Even someone as intelligent and perceiving as my father had fallen victim to the longings of his own heart. Otherwise, he would never have begun this journey that led to nowhere except disappointment, defeat, and pain, not only for himself but for my mother, whom I am sure he never meant to harm.
"Go home, Willow," I whispered. "Don't let your head rest on this pillow tonight. Who knows what nightmares are stored within it, what images would haunt your sleep?
"Go home. Willow, go home. You have ghosts enough there to populate your dark world of dreams as it is. You don't have to add the ones who reside here."
Thinking so deeply, I left the room and didn't realize I was on the rear loggia until Jennings cleared his throat behind me and brought my iced tea on a silver tray.
"Thank you, Jennings. When does Mrs. Eaton rise?"
"It varies." he said almost solely out of the right corner of his mouth. "depending on the evening before, which often extends into the day after."
"I see."
"Yes," he said. "If you don't, you soon will." he added without emotion, "Do you require anything else, miss? Some crackers and cheese. perhaps?"
