Chapter One
The Seed of an Idea
“I don’t know what to do.”
The words were spoken with such wistfulness that Judith Wright’s head came up and she stared across the table at her longtime friend. They were at the Koffee Kup, their usual Saturday morning meeting place, and Judith had just finished fingering up the crumbs of her prune Danish. With one finger aloft, still damp from her last lick, she stared at Cynthia Longley, waiting for some explanation of the problem. When there was no further comment, simply a deep sigh, Judith lowered her finger and leaned forward, concern further deepening her chocolate brown eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
Cynthia glanced up from the coffee cup she absentmindedly twisted round and round.
“Oh, nothing’s wrong,” she was quick to state.
Judith slumped in relief. “You gave me a start.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” The words trailed off.
It wasn’t like Cynthia to look so melancholy. She was back to fingering the cup again.
“Something is wrong, isn’t it?”
“Not … not really wrong. It’s just that Daddy …”
“I thought you and your father were … well, close,” Judith prompted when Cynthia didn’t continue.
“Oh, we are.” Cynthia seemed to stir herself from her reverie, shifting slightly on the bright yellow chair. “We are,” she repeated more firmly.
Judith stirred, too, not convinced that all was well. She had every intention of finding out exactly what was going on.
“I don’t understand,” she began, a frown creasing her otherwise smooth forehead. “What’s bothering you? C’mon, spill it.” She looked intently into the pretty oval face, framed with soft, honey-blond hair.
“I’m not… not bothered. I’m just—”
“You’re bothered. It’s written all over you. Hey, Cynthie. This is me you’re talking to. I know when you’re bothered.”
Cynthia sighed again, then shrugged. They both knew she did not easily hide her thoughts, her emotions, from anyone—particularly Judith. They had known each other too long. Had shared too many secrets. Too much intimacy. Judith in her own probing way could always pry the information from her.
“I feel guilty even sharing this,” Cynthia acknowledged, “and I wouldn’t … to anyone else. I know that everyone thinks, well, that Daddy and I are … that I’m so very—what—? Blessed? To have Daddy. And they’re right,” she hurried on before Judith could make any comment. “I know that. I don’t know what I would have done, how we ever would have managed, or made it without him since … since Roger died, but lately …”
She let the words drop and lowered her gaze.
Judith, more than anyone else, knew how difficult the last three years since Roger’s sudden death had been for Cynthia. She had hoped that the worst was over. That the painful loss of her husband was behind her in more than just time, that Cynthia was now ready to go on with her life.
Cynthia determinedly pushed the coffee cup away but began to toy with the spoon. It made little clinking sounds on the hard surface of the table, and Judith wanted to reach out and silence its intrusion in the conversation. At last she could stand it no longer and leaned forward, one hand pressing Cynthia’s fingers and the annoying clatter of the spoon firmly against the table.
Cynthia’s eyes lifted and she stirred restlessly. Her face flushed slightly. “I feel like a real… jerk, even thinking like this,” she berated herself, “but sometimes … sometimes I just feel smothered. ”
“Smothered?”
“He’s always there. Every evening … every Saturday. On Sunday. I know the boys have needed him. I’ve needed him. But now … I just feel like I’d like a little more breathing space.” She stopped and lifted troubled eyes. “I wish he’d let go. Do you know what I’m trying to say?”
Judith was beginning to get the picture. She loved her own father dearly, but she was glad she
The Seed of an Idea
“I don’t know what to do.”
The words were spoken with such wistfulness that Judith Wright’s head came up and she stared across the table at her longtime friend. They were at the Koffee Kup, their usual Saturday morning meeting place, and Judith had just finished fingering up the crumbs of her prune Danish. With one finger aloft, still damp from her last lick, she stared at Cynthia Longley, waiting for some explanation of the problem. When there was no further comment, simply a deep sigh, Judith lowered her finger and leaned forward, concern further deepening her chocolate brown eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
Cynthia glanced up from the coffee cup she absentmindedly twisted round and round.
“Oh, nothing’s wrong,” she was quick to state.
Judith slumped in relief. “You gave me a start.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” The words trailed off.
It wasn’t like Cynthia to look so melancholy. She was back to fingering the cup again.
“Something is wrong, isn’t it?”
“Not … not really wrong. It’s just that Daddy …”
“I thought you and your father were … well, close,” Judith prompted when Cynthia didn’t continue.
“Oh, we are.” Cynthia seemed to stir herself from her reverie, shifting slightly on the bright yellow chair. “We are,” she repeated more firmly.
Judith stirred, too, not convinced that all was well. She had every intention of finding out exactly what was going on.
“I don’t understand,” she began, a frown creasing her otherwise smooth forehead. “What’s bothering you? C’mon, spill it.” She looked intently into the pretty oval face, framed with soft, honey-blond hair.
“I’m not… not bothered. I’m just—”
“You’re bothered. It’s written all over you. Hey, Cynthie. This is me you’re talking to. I know when you’re bothered.”
Cynthia sighed again, then shrugged. They both knew she did not easily hide her thoughts, her emotions, from anyone—particularly Judith. They had known each other too long. Had shared too many secrets. Too much intimacy. Judith in her own probing way could always pry the information from her.
“I feel guilty even sharing this,” Cynthia acknowledged, “and I wouldn’t … to anyone else. I know that everyone thinks, well, that Daddy and I are … that I’m so very—what—? Blessed? To have Daddy. And they’re right,” she hurried on before Judith could make any comment. “I know that. I don’t know what I would have done, how we ever would have managed, or made it without him since … since Roger died, but lately …”
She let the words drop and lowered her gaze.
Judith, more than anyone else, knew how difficult the last three years since Roger’s sudden death had been for Cynthia. She had hoped that the worst was over. That the painful loss of her husband was behind her in more than just time, that Cynthia was now ready to go on with her life.
Cynthia determinedly pushed the coffee cup away but began to toy with the spoon. It made little clinking sounds on the hard surface of the table, and Judith wanted to reach out and silence its intrusion in the conversation. At last she could stand it no longer and leaned forward, one hand pressing Cynthia’s fingers and the annoying clatter of the spoon firmly against the table.
Cynthia’s eyes lifted and she stirred restlessly. Her face flushed slightly. “I feel like a real… jerk, even thinking like this,” she berated herself, “but sometimes … sometimes I just feel smothered. ”
“Smothered?”
“He’s always there. Every evening … every Saturday. On Sunday. I know the boys have needed him. I’ve needed him. But now … I just feel like I’d like a little more breathing space.” She stopped and lifted troubled eyes. “I wish he’d let go. Do you know what I’m trying to say?”
Judith was beginning to get the picture. She loved her own father dearly, but she was glad she
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