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"Don't you worry about that," he soothed. "You're no trouble. I'm sure Rye wouldn't mind cooking around the clock for you."
"No, I know he won't mind."
"You sound irritable."
I didn't respond for a few moments, and then I turned to him abruptly.
"Tony, I know Mrs. Broadfield is a professional and I'm lucky to have a nurse who has experience with my problems and who is a therapist as well, but she can be very trying."
"I'll speak to her," he said. His eyes were soft and sympathetic, and I trusted he knew just what I meant. "My main concern is that you be happy, Annie. Everything else comes second. You know that, don't you?"
"Yes, Tony. I do appreciate what you have been doing." I felt myself calm down. Then I remembered the letter in my lap.
"Tony, I have written another letter to Luke. Would you please see that it is delivered to him . . . special delivery, so he gets it immediately."
"Of course."
He took it from me and put it into his suit jacket quickly.
"Let me go down and look into your food. Can't have you going hungry long in my house."
"It's all right now. I can wait."
"I'll just look into it anyway. AndIll speak to Mrs. Broadfield."
"I don't mean to make extra trouble."
"Nonsense. I told you. You come first. It's the way I want it," he assured me, and pivoted on his heel. "Oh, Tony . ."
"Yes?" He turned back at the door.
"Is there someone else here? A woman?"
"A woman? You mean besides Mrs.
Broadfield?" His blue eyes narrowed.
"Yes. I wheeled myself out before and wandered into another suite, just like this one, and---"
"Oh." He took a few steps back. "You mean you went to Jillian's suite."
"Jillian's?" But Jillian had been dead so long, I thought. That suite looked like it was being used today.
"Yes. I must have left the door open. I usually don't like anyone going in there," he said, his tone harder and sterner than it had ever been.
"I'm sorry. I--"
"That's all right," he said quickly, "no harm done. I've kept the room just the way it was the day she died. It's always been hard facing the fact that she's gone."
"Why are all the mirrors gone?"
"That was part of her madness toward the end. Anyway, there's no one else here," he said quickly. Then he forced a laugh. "Don't tell me you, too, are seeing Rye's ghosts." He shook his head and strutted off.
Another room kept like a museum? Did Tony move from one moment in the past to another, keeping his memories vivid by keeping up the illusion of Jillian still being here? I could understand why a lonely man might hold onto mementoes, pictures, letters, things that had a special and loving meaning for him, but to keep her room the way it had been the very day she died . . that was eerie. A chill passed through me and for the first time I wondered if it wasn't time for me to demand I be returned to Winnerrow.
Shortly afterward, Mrs. Broadfield returned with a new tray of food. This time she had brought me some of Rye's famous fried chicken, his special whipped potatoes, and steamed vegetables that smelled fresh and delicious. I was so hungry and everything looked so good, I gobbled my food.
Mrs. Broadfield stood back, her face
