self-restraint.
She arrived at the Ames’ home with a few minutes to spare, the trip south to Lido Beach having taken more than an hour in the last of the evening rush. The houses on the block were large and clearly expensive but built so closely together that it was hard to discern any beauty in the jumble of different architectural styles. Since land there was a commodity in short supply, if you wanted to be on the water you had to make sacrifices.
Richard’s two-story contemporary overlooked the calm waters of Reynold’s Channel, while a quarter-mile directly south of it, the waves of the Atlantic Ocean pounded the shore. Since it was only late April, the summer crowds were still months away, which meant parking was not a problem. When Rory emerged from her car, it was fully dark, even though they were already on daylight saving time. A sharp wind was whipping off the ocean, heavy with salt and the pungent smell of low tide. She tugged the sides of her leather jacket together. She’d forgotten how much cooler the temperature on the south shore could be, a benefit only in the heat of summer. She climbed the bullnose-marble steps to the Ames’ front door and rang the bell.
To her relief, Richard answered the door in a matter of seconds. “Come in, come in,” he said. “I have hot water up for tea. It’s that sort of night, isn’t it?” He chattered on about the weather as he led her past a formal living room and dining room and down a wide center hallway to a gourmet kitchen that flowed into a spacious family room. Rory couldn’t help thinking that it was a lot of house for a widower whose only daughter was away at college—information Helene had eagerly imparted when Rory called her on the way to the interview.
“You have a beautiful home,” she said, accepting a seat in an armchair that faced a broad bank of windows. She was sure the view in front of her had to be spectacular during the day, but at night, with only a few, dull lights in the distance, it was like having a ringside seat at the edge of the abyss. When Zeke gently tapped her on the shoulder a moment later, she literally jumped several inches off her seat. For once, she couldn’t put the blame on him.
Luckily, Richard was in the kitchen with his back to her, busy making their tea and providing a lively little tutorial about the proper preparation of tea and the great American sin of using bags rather than leaves.
“Milk or lemon?” he inquired, turning to her.
“Just sugar, thank you.” She was surprised her voice wasn’t quivering like her insides.
Richard placed a cup on the table beside her. With his own cup in hand, he sat on the couch, with his back to the daunting view. Rory thought about asking if they could switch seats, but she didn’t know if he would be offended. In all likelihood he’d offered her what he considered the best seat in the house. So she picked up her cup instead and dutifully sipped the tea, proclaiming it superior to any she’d tasted before, although in reality she couldn’t detect much of a difference.
Richard beamed, the thin skin around his eyes crinkling like finely shattered glass. “Precisely my point. You’d be amazed by how many people can’t tell the difference.”
Rory shook her head, thinking she wouldn’t be amazed at all.
After several minutes of sipping tea and polite but inane conversation, she felt another tap on her shoulder. It took all of her willpower not to snap at Zeke out loud. She wanted to get on with the interview as much as he did. But if he didn’t work on his patience, he wouldn’t be accompanying her in the future. Courtesy might not count for much in his world, but in the world of the living, it was still held in fairly high esteem.
Rory waited for a natural break in the conversation, at which point she said politely, “We can get started—if that’s okay with you?”
“By all means.” Richard leaned back against the cushions as if he was settling in for
She arrived at the Ames’ home with a few minutes to spare, the trip south to Lido Beach having taken more than an hour in the last of the evening rush. The houses on the block were large and clearly expensive but built so closely together that it was hard to discern any beauty in the jumble of different architectural styles. Since land there was a commodity in short supply, if you wanted to be on the water you had to make sacrifices.
Richard’s two-story contemporary overlooked the calm waters of Reynold’s Channel, while a quarter-mile directly south of it, the waves of the Atlantic Ocean pounded the shore. Since it was only late April, the summer crowds were still months away, which meant parking was not a problem. When Rory emerged from her car, it was fully dark, even though they were already on daylight saving time. A sharp wind was whipping off the ocean, heavy with salt and the pungent smell of low tide. She tugged the sides of her leather jacket together. She’d forgotten how much cooler the temperature on the south shore could be, a benefit only in the heat of summer. She climbed the bullnose-marble steps to the Ames’ front door and rang the bell.
To her relief, Richard answered the door in a matter of seconds. “Come in, come in,” he said. “I have hot water up for tea. It’s that sort of night, isn’t it?” He chattered on about the weather as he led her past a formal living room and dining room and down a wide center hallway to a gourmet kitchen that flowed into a spacious family room. Rory couldn’t help thinking that it was a lot of house for a widower whose only daughter was away at college—information Helene had eagerly imparted when Rory called her on the way to the interview.
“You have a beautiful home,” she said, accepting a seat in an armchair that faced a broad bank of windows. She was sure the view in front of her had to be spectacular during the day, but at night, with only a few, dull lights in the distance, it was like having a ringside seat at the edge of the abyss. When Zeke gently tapped her on the shoulder a moment later, she literally jumped several inches off her seat. For once, she couldn’t put the blame on him.
Luckily, Richard was in the kitchen with his back to her, busy making their tea and providing a lively little tutorial about the proper preparation of tea and the great American sin of using bags rather than leaves.
“Milk or lemon?” he inquired, turning to her.
“Just sugar, thank you.” She was surprised her voice wasn’t quivering like her insides.
Richard placed a cup on the table beside her. With his own cup in hand, he sat on the couch, with his back to the daunting view. Rory thought about asking if they could switch seats, but she didn’t know if he would be offended. In all likelihood he’d offered her what he considered the best seat in the house. So she picked up her cup instead and dutifully sipped the tea, proclaiming it superior to any she’d tasted before, although in reality she couldn’t detect much of a difference.
Richard beamed, the thin skin around his eyes crinkling like finely shattered glass. “Precisely my point. You’d be amazed by how many people can’t tell the difference.”
Rory shook her head, thinking she wouldn’t be amazed at all.
After several minutes of sipping tea and polite but inane conversation, she felt another tap on her shoulder. It took all of her willpower not to snap at Zeke out loud. She wanted to get on with the interview as much as he did. But if he didn’t work on his patience, he wouldn’t be accompanying her in the future. Courtesy might not count for much in his world, but in the world of the living, it was still held in fairly high esteem.
Rory waited for a natural break in the conversation, at which point she said politely, “We can get started—if that’s okay with you?”
“By all means.” Richard leaned back against the cushions as if he was settling in for
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