Whiskey Beach(33)
None of those were his anymore. And as he stood there, studying the hearty green of daffodils waiting to erupt, he realized he didn’t regret it. Or not as keenly as he once had.
So he’d find a new place to get not really a haircut, and buy tulips for his grandmother. And before he went back to Whiskey Beach, he’d pack up the rest of his clothes, his workout gear. He’d get serious about reclaiming the parts of his life that were still there to be taken, and start really letting go of the rest.
By the time he parked in front of the beautiful old redbrick home on Beacon Hill clouds had rolled in over the sun. He thought the oversize bouquet of purple tulips might offset that. He balanced them in one arm while he maneuvered the big bowl of forced hyacinths—one of his mother’s favorites—out of the car.
He could admit the drive, the meeting, the walking, had left him more tired physically than he liked. But he wasn’t going to let his family see it. Maybe the day had gone gloomy, but he clung to that hope he’d pulled to him in the Commons.
Even as he crossed to the door, it opened.
“Mr. Eli! Welcome home, Mr. Eli.”
“Carmel.” He would have hugged their longtime housekeeper if his arms had been free. Instead he bent down to her five feet of sturdy joy to kiss her cheek.
“You’re too skinny.”
“I know.”
“I’m going to have Alice fix you a sandwich. You’re going to eat it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Look at those pretty flowers!”
Eli managed to pull a tulip from the bunch. “For you.”
“You’re my sweetheart. Come in, come in. Your mother will be home very soon, and your father promised to be home by five-thirty so he wouldn’t miss you if you don’t stay. But you’re going to stay, have dinner. Alice is making Yankee pot roast, and vanilla bean crème brûlée for dessert.”
“I’d better save her a tulip.”
Carmel’s wide face warmed with a smile, an instant before her eyes filled.
“Don’t.” Here was the pain, the distress he’d seen on the faces of people he loved every day since Lindsay’s murder. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
“It will. Of course it will. Here, let me take that bowl.”
“They’re for Mom.”
“You’re a good boy. You’ve always been a good boy, even when you weren’t. Your sister’s coming to dinner, too.”
“I should’ve bought more flowers.”
“Hah.” She’d blinked away the tears and now gave the air a brush with her hand to send him on his way. “You take those to your grandmother. She’s up in her sitting room, probably on that computer. You can’t keep her off it, all hours of the day and night. I’ll bring you the sandwich, and a vase for those tulips.”
“Thanks.” He started toward the wide and graceful staircase. “How is she?”
“Better every day. Upset still she can’t remember what happened, but better. She’ll be happy to see you.”
Eli walked up, turned at the top of the steps to the east wing.
As Carmel predicted, his grandmother sat at the desk, tapping away at her laptop.
Back and shoulders ruler-straight, he noted, under her tidy green cardigan. Her silver-streaked dark hair stylishly coiffed.
No walker, he noted with a shake of his head, but her cane with its silver tip in the shape of a lion leaned against the desk.
“Rabble-rousing again?”
He came up behind her, pressed his lips to the top of her head. She just reached up, took his hand. “I’ve been rousing the rabble all my life. Why stop now? Let me look at you.”
She nudged him back while she swiveled in the chair. Those nut-brown eyes studied him without mercy. Then her lips curved, just a little.
“Whiskey Beach is good for you. Still too thin, but not so pale, not so sad. You brought me some springtime.”
“Abra gets the credit. She told me to get them.”
“You were smart enough to listen to her.”
“She’s the type who rarely if ever takes no for an answer. I figure that’s why you like her.”
“Among other reasons.” Her hand reached out, gripped his for a moment. “You are better.”
“Today.”
“Today’s what we’ve got. Sit down. You’re so damn tall you’re giving me a crick in my neck. Sit, and tell me what you’ve been up to.”
“Working, brooding, feeling sorry for myself, and decided the only thing in that mix that makes me feel like me is working. So I’m going to try to do something to eliminate the need for brooding and self-pity.”