wouldnât change anything. She looked around. It was a beautiful day; she was in the middle of Boston. On Newbury Street, in fact. Maybe it was time to stop and smell the roses that were arranged on the sidewalk in front of a floristâs shop. Or check out the goodies displayed in the store windows.
The shops were dazzling: art galleries, jewelers, furniture stores, and exclusive European designer boutiques like Armani, Longchamps, and Rodier. Lucy strolled along, taking in the shop windows and the displays that oftentimes spilled right out onto the sidewalk, and admiring the other pedestrians, some of whom were elegantly dressed in designer clothes. Others were seated at outdoor café tables, engaged in lively conversations or simply sitting and watching the passing parade.
As she passed one café Lucy got a whiff of something delicious and she suddenly realized how hungry she was. She decided to try the very next restaurant and soon found herself in a Vietnamese place, where she was quickly seated at a tiny table, next to some people who had huge bowls of noodle soup.
âIâll have what theyâre having,â she told the waiter. He brought her chicken soup along with fresh mint leaves and other herbs to mix in. The scent of the mint was released when she tore the leaves and dropped them in the broth, and she inhaled deeply, feeling her tense muscles relax when she exhaled. She wasnât used to handling the large, squarish Chinese-style spoon or the chopsticks, and it took all her concentration to catch the slippery noodles and to eat her soup without slurping.
When she finished she noticed some people being served coffee in glass cups, with a layer of milk at the bottom. She asked for one when the waiter came to remove her bowl, and sat back against the wall, enjoying the sense of well-being that followed a satisfying meal. The coffee came and she stirred it, discovering the creamy layer on the bottom was thick condensed milk. The coffee was delicious; sheâd never had anything like it before. When she paid her bill, she realized sheâd had an adventure as well as a meal.
Back on the sidewalk, she checked her watch and discovered she had just enough time to get back to the hotel for the afternoon workshop: âWhy Donât They Teach Grammar Anymore? Copyeditors to the Rescue!â Newbury Street beckoned, but the call of duty was stronger. Lucy began walking back to the hotel, pausing at the Armani boutique for one last look at the window.
She was admiring a beautifully cut jacket when she recognized Inez Read leaving the store with several shopping bags dangling from her arms. Maybe she needed something to wear to the funeral, thought Lucy, watching as a uniformed chauffeur hurried to assist her. In moments the packages were stowed in the trunk and Inez was seated in the back and whisked away.
Must be nice, thought Lucy. Imagine never having to wrestle bags and bags of groceries into the car, never having to worry about prices and whether you could afford something or not. And never having to fill up the gas tank yourself. Just leave the driving to the chauffeur. Wow. Kind of like being the queen of England or something.
Lucyâs steps grew slower. The queen of England was reportedly the richest woman in the world. That kind of lifestyle took a lot of money. Even if Inez didnât have to maintain Buckingham Palace, her expenses had to be enormous. Just how much money were the Reads pulling out of Pioneer Press Group? And how could they do it when all the other newspapers were struggling to survive?
Lucy stopped and dug in her purse for the little map of Boston the hotel had provided. Just as she thought, she wasnât far from the Boston Public Library. The choice was clear: grammar lessons from nitpicky copyeditors or the opportunity to practice her Internet skills at the library researching Pioneer Press. The copyeditors never had a chance.
Â
The Boston Public
The shops were dazzling: art galleries, jewelers, furniture stores, and exclusive European designer boutiques like Armani, Longchamps, and Rodier. Lucy strolled along, taking in the shop windows and the displays that oftentimes spilled right out onto the sidewalk, and admiring the other pedestrians, some of whom were elegantly dressed in designer clothes. Others were seated at outdoor café tables, engaged in lively conversations or simply sitting and watching the passing parade.
As she passed one café Lucy got a whiff of something delicious and she suddenly realized how hungry she was. She decided to try the very next restaurant and soon found herself in a Vietnamese place, where she was quickly seated at a tiny table, next to some people who had huge bowls of noodle soup.
âIâll have what theyâre having,â she told the waiter. He brought her chicken soup along with fresh mint leaves and other herbs to mix in. The scent of the mint was released when she tore the leaves and dropped them in the broth, and she inhaled deeply, feeling her tense muscles relax when she exhaled. She wasnât used to handling the large, squarish Chinese-style spoon or the chopsticks, and it took all her concentration to catch the slippery noodles and to eat her soup without slurping.
When she finished she noticed some people being served coffee in glass cups, with a layer of milk at the bottom. She asked for one when the waiter came to remove her bowl, and sat back against the wall, enjoying the sense of well-being that followed a satisfying meal. The coffee came and she stirred it, discovering the creamy layer on the bottom was thick condensed milk. The coffee was delicious; sheâd never had anything like it before. When she paid her bill, she realized sheâd had an adventure as well as a meal.
Back on the sidewalk, she checked her watch and discovered she had just enough time to get back to the hotel for the afternoon workshop: âWhy Donât They Teach Grammar Anymore? Copyeditors to the Rescue!â Newbury Street beckoned, but the call of duty was stronger. Lucy began walking back to the hotel, pausing at the Armani boutique for one last look at the window.
She was admiring a beautifully cut jacket when she recognized Inez Read leaving the store with several shopping bags dangling from her arms. Maybe she needed something to wear to the funeral, thought Lucy, watching as a uniformed chauffeur hurried to assist her. In moments the packages were stowed in the trunk and Inez was seated in the back and whisked away.
Must be nice, thought Lucy. Imagine never having to wrestle bags and bags of groceries into the car, never having to worry about prices and whether you could afford something or not. And never having to fill up the gas tank yourself. Just leave the driving to the chauffeur. Wow. Kind of like being the queen of England or something.
Lucyâs steps grew slower. The queen of England was reportedly the richest woman in the world. That kind of lifestyle took a lot of money. Even if Inez didnât have to maintain Buckingham Palace, her expenses had to be enormous. Just how much money were the Reads pulling out of Pioneer Press Group? And how could they do it when all the other newspapers were struggling to survive?
Lucy stopped and dug in her purse for the little map of Boston the hotel had provided. Just as she thought, she wasnât far from the Boston Public Library. The choice was clear: grammar lessons from nitpicky copyeditors or the opportunity to practice her Internet skills at the library researching Pioneer Press. The copyeditors never had a chance.
Â
The Boston Public
Similar Books
