Eliza turned the pages of the blue leather–bound scrapbook, reading the letters that had been neatly mounted on each thick page. In spite of his grief Samuel Morton had taken the time to organize all the letters that Eliza had penned his daughter, and had written sensitively about what he remembered of Sarah’s response to receiving each one.
What that man must be going through!
“Paige,” Eliza called through the intercom, “will you see if you can get Samuel Morton on the phone for me, please?”
As she waited for the buzzer to ring, Eliza stroked the cover of the scrapbook, looking at the picture of the smiling young girl with braces on her teeth, wearing a yellow soccer uniform.
“Mr. Morton is on line three, Eliza.”
She took a deep breath and pressed the button on the telephone console.
“Mr. Morton? This is Eliza Blake. I wanted to apologize for not being here when you came in earlier this week. And I want to thank you so much for this wonderful remembrance of Sarah. That was so thoughtful of you.”
“I’m so glad if you like it. It was a therapeutic thing for me to work on and, please, don’t worry about having to cancel our meeting, Ms. Blake. I know how busy you must be.”
She liked the sound of his deep voice.
“How are you doing, Mr. Morton?”
“Please, call me Samuel.”
“Fine, if you’ll call me Eliza.”
“Done,” he agreed. She could sense a slight smile on the other end of the telephone line. “Actually, I’m doing a bit better now that I’m here in New York. I needed to get away from home for a while.”
“I can certainly understand that. Do you know people here?”
“Yes, actually, I do. I used to live up here, so I’m looking up some old friends.”
“That’s good. Sometimes it helps to just go through the motions of getting out with people and socializing a little bit, even though you really don’t feel like it. If you sit in by yourself and think too much, it doesn’t get you anywhere.”
“That’s certainly the truth,” Samuel agreed. “But you know, even the best of friends are busy and have lives of their own. Plus they only have so much patience for a man who may break out in tears at any moment.”
Eliza remembered well the dinners with friends after John died and the embarrassing knowledge that they—no matter how loving and well-meaning—were somehow uncomfortable being with her. She wished there was something she could do to help this man.
“I don’t suppose you’d like to go out to dinner with me, Eliza. It would be a great pleasure.”
She thought for a moment about making a lame excuse, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She rubbed the leather scrapbook. What would it hurt to take a couple of hours and spend it with a man who could sorely use a little company?
“Sure, that would be lovely. I have to ask that we keep it an early evening, though.”
“Wonderful.” She heard the enthusiasm in his voice. “You just name the time and place.”
“How about tomorrow night, right after the broadcast? I could meet you somewhere at seven-thirtyish?”
“Fine. And the place?”
“Why don’t I leave that to you, Samuel? Just call my assistant tomorrow and let Paige know.”
Eliza hung up the receiver and thought about Mack. She hadn’t been out to dinner alone with a man since Mack had left for London. While she didn’t think dinner with Samuel qualified as a date, Eliza wished Mack knew that she would be dining with someone else.