November 25--Henri Fantin-Latour, Summer Flowers. A petal fell onto the polished tabletop. One thumbprint of rosy pink lay there cupped and trembling in the breeze from the open French doors. Gail let her book lay in her lap. She heard the metallic snick of the yard man's clippers as he shaped the boxwood. Far back in the kitchen, a world away from where Gail sat, Cook clattered pans and laughed with Jake the houseman. David had been gone for three days and she had exhausted all her planned entertainments. She had written letters, played tennis, taken walks and volunteered in the charity kitchen at the Catholic church. She was tempted to drive into the city for lunch with Skyler but she was afraid that Matty would be there and that would only lead to more trouble. She should have gone with David. Days spent bored in a conference hotel would have been safer than a week here alone. It was too easy to get into mischief alone.
Time to go gather canning jars and count lids.