could do your room. We're still a little
short handed, and I'm trying to help keep things on schedule."
"Sure. Come on in. I'll be leaving in a
minute.” Maggie held the door for her, then walked to the phone.
She punched in Dyna's number and was glad to hear a lively
hello.
"Dyna, it's me. Feeling better? Want to meet
for breakfast?"
"Yeah, great. I was just going to call you.
How about the terrace in five minutes?"
"Sounds good."
"Any plans for later?" Dyna asked.
"Yes, I have to go somewhere, but I'll tell
you about it downstairs. See you.” Maggie hung up the phone and
turned to see Burnelle waiting patiently by the bed. Lori's book as
well as Maggie's purse were on it. "Oh," Maggie said, "let me get
these out of your way.” Maggie felt stupid for having left the book
in plain sight. She was starting to feel nervous about still having
it, and the fewer people that were aware of that the better.
"Take your time, dear," Burnelle said. "You
keep a diary?" she asked, nodding toward the black book. She began
pulling off the bed clothes.
"No," Maggie said, evading an explanation.
It was possible Holly could get in trouble for having given it to
her. "But I do jot things down now and then so I don't forget
them."
"Lots of people do that. Lots of famous
people kept diaries.” She shook a pillow out of its case. "John
Brown for one. You heard of him?"
Maggie nodded. She was checking her purse
for car keys and other essentials. She would go to the sheriff's
right after breakfast.
"I guess everyone's heard of him. A lot's
been written about him. A lot of mistaken things. But he kept his
own diary. It's there in the museum in my home town. It explains
what he was trying to do. I took my son to that museum many a time
when he was little."
Maggie turned. "Eric?"
"Yes.” Burnelle looked up, pleased. "You've
met my son?"
"Yes, I ran into him yesterday afternoon.
Near the tennis courts.” Maggie tried her best to smile as she said
it.
Burnelle beamed. "Working hard, I'm sure.
I'm so proud of him. He had his problems growing up, like most boys
do, but he's settled down so nicely now. He's anxious to do well
here. And he will. He's a very bright boy, and he tries hard. But I
sometimes worry that he might overdo it. I try to keep an eye on
him, watch out for him, without, you know, letting him know.” She
walked back to her cart in the hall and came back with an armful of
clean linen.
Maggie wondered at the degree of
self-delusion that maternal love could bring about. She had seen it
in certain parents at school. Johnny was going to be the next
president of the United States, despite the fact that he was
flunking nearly all his classes, and oh, yes, that little arrest
for drug use. But never mind all that. Burnelle seemed to be that
kind of mother, and Maggie could only feel sorry for her.
Maggie slid the strap of her purse onto her
shoulder, then tucked the journal under her arm. "Well, I'll be on
my way."
Burnelle nodded, and gazed at Maggie with a
faraway look, still thinking, perhaps, of her beloved son. "Enjoy
your breakfast," she said, then turned and flapped a clean white
sheet over the bed.
Maggie pushed through the glass doors of the
lobby and stepped onto the terrace. Warm, humid air hit her face,
forecasting another hot day, but the patio, facing west, was still
comfortably shaded. Umbrella-topped tables dotted the slate patio,
and the pleasant aroma of fresh coffee wafted through the air.
Maggie looked around, then saw Dyna sipping orange juice at an
isolated table next to tall green hedges.
Dyna saw her and waved, and Maggie walked
over, pulling out a chair to sit across from her. "Well, you look
like you slept well."
"Mmmm," Dyna nodded, "like a rock.
Everything's back in balance again."
"I'm glad. Did you order yet?"
"Just juice and coffee.” Dyna indicated the
two carafes on their table. Maggie reached for the coffee and
poured out a steaming cupful for herself. She knew by now that
short handed, and I'm trying to help keep things on schedule."
"Sure. Come on in. I'll be leaving in a
minute.” Maggie held the door for her, then walked to the phone.
She punched in Dyna's number and was glad to hear a lively
hello.
"Dyna, it's me. Feeling better? Want to meet
for breakfast?"
"Yeah, great. I was just going to call you.
How about the terrace in five minutes?"
"Sounds good."
"Any plans for later?" Dyna asked.
"Yes, I have to go somewhere, but I'll tell
you about it downstairs. See you.” Maggie hung up the phone and
turned to see Burnelle waiting patiently by the bed. Lori's book as
well as Maggie's purse were on it. "Oh," Maggie said, "let me get
these out of your way.” Maggie felt stupid for having left the book
in plain sight. She was starting to feel nervous about still having
it, and the fewer people that were aware of that the better.
"Take your time, dear," Burnelle said. "You
keep a diary?" she asked, nodding toward the black book. She began
pulling off the bed clothes.
"No," Maggie said, evading an explanation.
It was possible Holly could get in trouble for having given it to
her. "But I do jot things down now and then so I don't forget
them."
"Lots of people do that. Lots of famous
people kept diaries.” She shook a pillow out of its case. "John
Brown for one. You heard of him?"
Maggie nodded. She was checking her purse
for car keys and other essentials. She would go to the sheriff's
right after breakfast.
"I guess everyone's heard of him. A lot's
been written about him. A lot of mistaken things. But he kept his
own diary. It's there in the museum in my home town. It explains
what he was trying to do. I took my son to that museum many a time
when he was little."
Maggie turned. "Eric?"
"Yes.” Burnelle looked up, pleased. "You've
met my son?"
"Yes, I ran into him yesterday afternoon.
Near the tennis courts.” Maggie tried her best to smile as she said
it.
Burnelle beamed. "Working hard, I'm sure.
I'm so proud of him. He had his problems growing up, like most boys
do, but he's settled down so nicely now. He's anxious to do well
here. And he will. He's a very bright boy, and he tries hard. But I
sometimes worry that he might overdo it. I try to keep an eye on
him, watch out for him, without, you know, letting him know.” She
walked back to her cart in the hall and came back with an armful of
clean linen.
Maggie wondered at the degree of
self-delusion that maternal love could bring about. She had seen it
in certain parents at school. Johnny was going to be the next
president of the United States, despite the fact that he was
flunking nearly all his classes, and oh, yes, that little arrest
for drug use. But never mind all that. Burnelle seemed to be that
kind of mother, and Maggie could only feel sorry for her.
Maggie slid the strap of her purse onto her
shoulder, then tucked the journal under her arm. "Well, I'll be on
my way."
Burnelle nodded, and gazed at Maggie with a
faraway look, still thinking, perhaps, of her beloved son. "Enjoy
your breakfast," she said, then turned and flapped a clean white
sheet over the bed.
Maggie pushed through the glass doors of the
lobby and stepped onto the terrace. Warm, humid air hit her face,
forecasting another hot day, but the patio, facing west, was still
comfortably shaded. Umbrella-topped tables dotted the slate patio,
and the pleasant aroma of fresh coffee wafted through the air.
Maggie looked around, then saw Dyna sipping orange juice at an
isolated table next to tall green hedges.
Dyna saw her and waved, and Maggie walked
over, pulling out a chair to sit across from her. "Well, you look
like you slept well."
"Mmmm," Dyna nodded, "like a rock.
Everything's back in balance again."
"I'm glad. Did you order yet?"
"Just juice and coffee.” Dyna indicated the
two carafes on their table. Maggie reached for the coffee and
poured out a steaming cupful for herself. She knew by now that
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