CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Seeing Annette Reed and Jean-Paul Gerard again after so many years combined with his poorly paced walk back to West Cedar Street had left Thomas panting and perspiring. He put on a kettle and waited impatiently for the water to boil. Nerves and exhaustion. How unbecoming, he thought. He would hate to come to the day he’d have to take a taxi to get around the city and hire someone to tend his garden for him. The expense would be aggravating enough, but the indignity—the feeling of utter uselessness—he wouldn’t tolerate. He’d just stay at home and watch his garden rot if it came to that.
“You’re not in a terribly fine mood, my fellow,” he muttered to himself, filling his ironstone teapot with an extra spoon of loose-leaf tea and adding boiling water. The simple chore helped settle him. He brought the teapot and a cup and saucer out into the garden and set them on the dripping-wet table.
The wind and rain had done a job on his impatiens.
“Can’t even keep a few flowers alive,” Thomas grumbled. If he set them out, they’d have a better chance on their own. Ignoring his fatigue, he fetched his claw and hand shovel from the cellar landing and got to work.
He heard Rebecca and Jared come into the kitchen, fussing at each other. Doors slammed, feet stomped. She called him a two-timing son of a bitch who didn’t deserve to be told a damned thing, and he called her a sanctimonious tight-lipped Blackburn who bowed out when the going got tough. Thomas assumed they’d finally started talking to each other. For years he’d hoped they’d accidentally meet at the Grand Canyon or somewhere and have it out. Either one would toss the other over the side, or they’d realize how very much they were meant for each other.
Well, at least that wasn’t his problem.
Rebecca flounced into the garden and dropped into a chair, water and all. Glancing up from his gardening, Thomas could see why. She was a dripping mess herself. He climbed stiffly to his feet with his claw in one hand, dirt clinging to its sharp steel points.
With one finger on Rebecca’s chin, he turned her head so he could examine her cut and bruise. “I told you he could be dangerous.”
She made a face at him. “Who?”
“Our Monsieur Gerard. He clobbered you good, didn’t he?”
“Don’t jump to conclusions, Grandfather,” she said, in no cheerful mood herself. She opened the lid on his teapot and peered at the steeping tea. He’d quite forgotten about it and in a few minutes it’d be strong enough he could take it out and repave West Cedar. Rebecca dropped the lid back on. “I slipped on the library stairs.”
Thomas set his claw down on the able. “Lying doesn’t become a Blackburn.”
She fastened her sparkling eyes on him, and there was something about her—a certain reluctant grace, an inner strength—that reminded him of Emily. If only she’d lived. Thomas had often wondered how he’d gone on without that lovely, spirited, intelligent woman he’d fallen in love with well over a half century ago. In a way he supposed he hadn’t gone on, at least not very well.
“Lying doesn’t become anyone,” Rebecca said, “but it’s no worse a transgression than withholding the truth. To me it’s a case of splitting hairs.”
“Rebecca…” He broke off, too tired and confused himself to attempt a halfhearted explanation—a rationalization—of the silences he’d kept. And in too ill a temper himself. “Tell me, Rebecca, do you think it your prerogative to know everything I know? To be privy to everything I’ve ever done in my life?”
She didn’t even hesitate. “Only to what concerns me.”
“And where do I draw the line? One could make the case that everything that goes on in the world concerns each one of us. There’s an interconnectedness to—”
“Spare me the lecture, Grandfather.”
“Yes, I believe I will,” he said airily, miffed. “Help yourself to tea.”
He brushed the wet dirt off his hands and knees and started back into the kitchen. Rebecca swung around in her chair. “Where are you going?”
“Up to my room.” He glanced back at her. “Do I require your permission?”
She sighed. “Of course not.”
“Good.”
“Grandfather—”
“There’s ice in the freezer,” he said, and left her fuming alone in the garden.
Jared was in the kitchen already slamming chunks of ice into a plastic bag, sure to annoy Rebecca. He started to say something, but Thomas put up a hand. Jared took the hint and let him go on without interruption.