and taking out a kayak and making it all the way down to Cambridge and back before lunch.”
He returned her smile but knew that the answer he gave wasn’t the one she was hoping to hear, but he couldn’t have answered any other way. Someone to love? The woman he’d once loved was dead. Something to do? At the moment, he had no idea what he wanted to do with the rest of his life—and seriously, what did he have to look forward to now?
It was sobering to think that his mother, who was well into her seventies, had a life that was much more fulfilling and complete than his.
And what, he wondered, did that say about him?
Diary ~
Happy me! I’ve been waiting forever, it seems, to have all three of my children under the same roof. What a joy to see my wandering boy’s face again!
Now truth be told, my boy’s face is thinner than it should be—actually, all of him is too thin. And there are things inside him—dark things—that I cannot read. I’d thought the fog I’d sensed would lift once he was home, but it hasn’t. He’s here physically, but sometimes it’s as if he’s somewhere else. I know that something is hurting him deeply but I can’t read him the way I did when he was a child
.
Which is probably a good thing, now that I think about it—after all, he is a grown man, for all I think of him as my boy
.
But on to other things—the welcome-home party should have been a happy night for Ford, but he seemed so on edge that it saddened my heart. I could feel his unease from across the room. He did, however, remember his good manners and was cordial if not pleasant to everyone
.
I just don’t know what to make of it. Dan says it’s just that Ford’s been away so long that he has to acclimate himself to being home, but somehow, that seems too simple an answer. There is a restlessness in Ford that worries me—it’sas if he might take off at any moment and disappear again. And of course, now that he’s home, I want him to stay—though I doubt the company of his mother and his siblings alone would be enough to keep him in St. Dennis
.
My secret dream, of course, is that he’ll want to stay and take over the Gazette for me. I know! I know! A snowball’s chance and all that. We actually chatted about the paper and he gave me no indication that he had any interest in it at all
.
But there is nothing I wouldn’t do to make that happen
.
Oh, sure, I suppose I could resort to a spell but I hate to interfere in that manner. I mean, what if his fate really lies elsewhere?
So I guess there is something I wouldn’t do after all. But don’t think it hasn’t occurred to me!
In other news, I met with Ellie and her friend Carly Summit—the New York art dealer and gallery owner—on Saturday at Curtis’s place to discuss the proposed art gallery. I must say, Carly has some wonderful ideas for the old carriage house. I’ve already decided to do a series of interviews with her as part of a feature about the gallery. I figure if the town council starts dragging their feet, perhaps public pressure will move them along. I think the whole ideaof turning the Enright mansion into a cultural center is a wonderful idea, one that will only further St. Dennis’s reputation as a bright spot on the Eastern Shore. I cannot imagine anyone not seeing this as a good thing, but you never know when you’re dealing with the public. Here’s where I confess that my motives aren’t exactly pure. I’d invited Carly to the party hoping Ford would meet her and take a fancy to her, but he claims not to have met her. There is something about that girl … I sense she will be important in our lives in some way
.
Yes, of course I’ve asked, but the spirits haven’t been speaking to me this past week. As a matter of fact, the silence has been deafening. I do hate to whine, but what good are spirit guides if they aren’t there when you need them?
Even Alice—who used to be so reliable at times such as this—seems to have
He returned her smile but knew that the answer he gave wasn’t the one she was hoping to hear, but he couldn’t have answered any other way. Someone to love? The woman he’d once loved was dead. Something to do? At the moment, he had no idea what he wanted to do with the rest of his life—and seriously, what did he have to look forward to now?
It was sobering to think that his mother, who was well into her seventies, had a life that was much more fulfilling and complete than his.
And what, he wondered, did that say about him?
Diary ~
Happy me! I’ve been waiting forever, it seems, to have all three of my children under the same roof. What a joy to see my wandering boy’s face again!
Now truth be told, my boy’s face is thinner than it should be—actually, all of him is too thin. And there are things inside him—dark things—that I cannot read. I’d thought the fog I’d sensed would lift once he was home, but it hasn’t. He’s here physically, but sometimes it’s as if he’s somewhere else. I know that something is hurting him deeply but I can’t read him the way I did when he was a child
.
Which is probably a good thing, now that I think about it—after all, he is a grown man, for all I think of him as my boy
.
But on to other things—the welcome-home party should have been a happy night for Ford, but he seemed so on edge that it saddened my heart. I could feel his unease from across the room. He did, however, remember his good manners and was cordial if not pleasant to everyone
.
I just don’t know what to make of it. Dan says it’s just that Ford’s been away so long that he has to acclimate himself to being home, but somehow, that seems too simple an answer. There is a restlessness in Ford that worries me—it’sas if he might take off at any moment and disappear again. And of course, now that he’s home, I want him to stay—though I doubt the company of his mother and his siblings alone would be enough to keep him in St. Dennis
.
My secret dream, of course, is that he’ll want to stay and take over the Gazette for me. I know! I know! A snowball’s chance and all that. We actually chatted about the paper and he gave me no indication that he had any interest in it at all
.
But there is nothing I wouldn’t do to make that happen
.
Oh, sure, I suppose I could resort to a spell but I hate to interfere in that manner. I mean, what if his fate really lies elsewhere?
So I guess there is something I wouldn’t do after all. But don’t think it hasn’t occurred to me!
In other news, I met with Ellie and her friend Carly Summit—the New York art dealer and gallery owner—on Saturday at Curtis’s place to discuss the proposed art gallery. I must say, Carly has some wonderful ideas for the old carriage house. I’ve already decided to do a series of interviews with her as part of a feature about the gallery. I figure if the town council starts dragging their feet, perhaps public pressure will move them along. I think the whole ideaof turning the Enright mansion into a cultural center is a wonderful idea, one that will only further St. Dennis’s reputation as a bright spot on the Eastern Shore. I cannot imagine anyone not seeing this as a good thing, but you never know when you’re dealing with the public. Here’s where I confess that my motives aren’t exactly pure. I’d invited Carly to the party hoping Ford would meet her and take a fancy to her, but he claims not to have met her. There is something about that girl … I sense she will be important in our lives in some way
.
Yes, of course I’ve asked, but the spirits haven’t been speaking to me this past week. As a matter of fact, the silence has been deafening. I do hate to whine, but what good are spirit guides if they aren’t there when you need them?
Even Alice—who used to be so reliable at times such as this—seems to have
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