said.
Lawrence shook his head. He didn’t want to think about Jamie right now, about the fresh clean smell of the sun-streaked brown hair that tumbled past her shoulders. “If you keep washing it every day, it’ll start to fall out,” he would tease her. Even when she was in college she loved to curl up on the couch next to him to watch the evening news when she came home for a weekend.
As the car made its slow journey across Manhattan to the West Side Highway, Lawrence tried to concentrate on the gift he was giving Veronica for their anniversary. He was endowing a $2 million chair in sociology at Barnard in Jamie’s name. He knew that that would please Veronica. She missed Jamie so terribly. We both do, he thought.
When they turned north on the West Side Highway, he glancedat the Hudson River. On this gloomy day it seemed to be a shifting shade of dirty gray. Lawrence quickly looked away from it. No matter whether he drove past the Hudson River or the East River, he could envision Jamie’s body bobbing in it, her long hair tangled with muck.
Shaking his head to dispel the horrifying image, he leaned forward and turned on the radio.
It was five thirty when Lou pushed the button that opened the gates to their property. Lawrence was already unbuckling his seat belt before they were halfway down the long driveway. His sons and daughters-in-law were expected at six, and he wanted a chance to change into something more comfortable.
When he got out of the car, Lou already had the front door of the luxurious brick mansion open for him. Lawrence was about to hurry up the curving stairs in the imposing foyer when he glanced into the living room. Veronica was sitting there in a fireside chair, already dressed for the evening in a colorful silk blouse and long black skirt.
If Lawrence was considered distinguished, Veronica was described by the media as the “lovely and elegant Veronica Gordon,” but that was usually accompanied by a list of the charities with which she had been tirelessly involved. In the last year, the articles would include the Foundation for the Homeless, which she and Lawrence had also established in Jamie’s memory.
She always tried to keep up a brave front, but on so many nights he woke up to hear her trying to stifle sobs in her pillow. There was nothing he could do except wrap his arms around her and say, “It’s okay to let it out, Ronnie. It’s worse if you try to hold it in.”
But now, as he entered the living room, she hurried over to meet him. He could see that her eyes were bright. “Lawrence, you won’t believe this. You won’t believe it.”
Before he could ask her a question, she rushed on: “I knowyou’ll think it’s crazy but I heard about a psychic who is absolutely amazing.”
“Ronnie, you didn’t go to see her!” Lawrence exclaimed incredulously.
“I knew you’d think I was crazy. That’s why I didn’t tell you that I had made an appointment with her. She was seeing people at Lee’s house this afternoon. Lawrence, do you know what she told me?”
Lawrence waited. Whatever it was, if it gave Veronica comfort it was all right with him.
“Lawrence, she told me that I had suffered a tragedy, a terrible tragedy, that I had lost a daughter named Jamie. She said that Jamie is in heaven, that she was not supposed to live a long life, and that all the good that we are doing in her memory makes her very happy. But she is distressed when she sees how grief-stricken we are and tells us to please try to be happy for her sake.”
Lee probably put this psychic up to this, bless her, Lawrence thought.
“And she said that the new baby will be a girl and Jamie is so happy that they’re going to name it after her.”
Their youngest son, Rob, and his wife were expecting their third child around Christmas. They already had two little boys and had decided not to find out what this one would be. If it was a girl they were planning to call her Jamie.
Lee knew that, too,
Lawrence shook his head. He didn’t want to think about Jamie right now, about the fresh clean smell of the sun-streaked brown hair that tumbled past her shoulders. “If you keep washing it every day, it’ll start to fall out,” he would tease her. Even when she was in college she loved to curl up on the couch next to him to watch the evening news when she came home for a weekend.
As the car made its slow journey across Manhattan to the West Side Highway, Lawrence tried to concentrate on the gift he was giving Veronica for their anniversary. He was endowing a $2 million chair in sociology at Barnard in Jamie’s name. He knew that that would please Veronica. She missed Jamie so terribly. We both do, he thought.
When they turned north on the West Side Highway, he glancedat the Hudson River. On this gloomy day it seemed to be a shifting shade of dirty gray. Lawrence quickly looked away from it. No matter whether he drove past the Hudson River or the East River, he could envision Jamie’s body bobbing in it, her long hair tangled with muck.
Shaking his head to dispel the horrifying image, he leaned forward and turned on the radio.
It was five thirty when Lou pushed the button that opened the gates to their property. Lawrence was already unbuckling his seat belt before they were halfway down the long driveway. His sons and daughters-in-law were expected at six, and he wanted a chance to change into something more comfortable.
When he got out of the car, Lou already had the front door of the luxurious brick mansion open for him. Lawrence was about to hurry up the curving stairs in the imposing foyer when he glanced into the living room. Veronica was sitting there in a fireside chair, already dressed for the evening in a colorful silk blouse and long black skirt.
If Lawrence was considered distinguished, Veronica was described by the media as the “lovely and elegant Veronica Gordon,” but that was usually accompanied by a list of the charities with which she had been tirelessly involved. In the last year, the articles would include the Foundation for the Homeless, which she and Lawrence had also established in Jamie’s memory.
She always tried to keep up a brave front, but on so many nights he woke up to hear her trying to stifle sobs in her pillow. There was nothing he could do except wrap his arms around her and say, “It’s okay to let it out, Ronnie. It’s worse if you try to hold it in.”
But now, as he entered the living room, she hurried over to meet him. He could see that her eyes were bright. “Lawrence, you won’t believe this. You won’t believe it.”
Before he could ask her a question, she rushed on: “I knowyou’ll think it’s crazy but I heard about a psychic who is absolutely amazing.”
“Ronnie, you didn’t go to see her!” Lawrence exclaimed incredulously.
“I knew you’d think I was crazy. That’s why I didn’t tell you that I had made an appointment with her. She was seeing people at Lee’s house this afternoon. Lawrence, do you know what she told me?”
Lawrence waited. Whatever it was, if it gave Veronica comfort it was all right with him.
“Lawrence, she told me that I had suffered a tragedy, a terrible tragedy, that I had lost a daughter named Jamie. She said that Jamie is in heaven, that she was not supposed to live a long life, and that all the good that we are doing in her memory makes her very happy. But she is distressed when she sees how grief-stricken we are and tells us to please try to be happy for her sake.”
Lee probably put this psychic up to this, bless her, Lawrence thought.
“And she said that the new baby will be a girl and Jamie is so happy that they’re going to name it after her.”
Their youngest son, Rob, and his wife were expecting their third child around Christmas. They already had two little boys and had decided not to find out what this one would be. If it was a girl they were planning to call her Jamie.
Lee knew that, too,
Similar Books
