Chapter 6

 

I laid my head back on the pillow and reviewed my day. The breakfast meeting with Martha had gone well, I thought. True, she might report to the troops I was just another manager, but at least we had established a tentative dialogue. I made certain she understood my door was open at any time for her and that I would listen. Maybe I would be powerless to do anything, but I would listen. 

The rest of the day had been quiet, other than a complaint or two about the mail being slow. Of course, the mail from Paraguay is always a little slow. When I heard the country’s name, it was all I could do to keep from smiling. To my credit, I maintained a serious face.

If there was a fly in the ointment, it was my appointment the next day with a local newspaper reporter. I hoped it would be somebody at least forty-five or so, because that usually meant less aggression than from say, a twenty-something bent on clawing their way up in the journalistic field. I could probably get by just giving out a few facts about myself. My worst fear was questions about Gloria’s death. 

Martha had been right; the High Bluff Bed and Breakfast had turned out to be a good choice. Cheaper than a motel and with a family atmosphere. The two-story house was light grey with a blue metal roof. There were five bedrooms and a large dining room with a table that could seat twelve. The house was perched a couple of hundred feet back from the edge of a bluff a thousand feet above the ocean. What was really good for me was that I was given a corner room on the second floor with an ocean view. And talk about luck, I was the only tenant!

A Mrs. Mordant ran it. A bright-eyed divorcee in her forties with short, graying hair, she was a wee bit on the plump side. She not only took care of the day-to-day activities, but also cared for her father, who actually owned the place. I gathered the old boy had recently had a stroke. Mrs. Mordant said he’d made some slight improvements, but would never walk again. His brain was okay, but he mumbled when he talked, and his hands shook so badly he couldn’t write. Life has a way of handing out real clinkers sometimes. I earnestly hoped I was not looking at myself, in say . . . fifteen years.

My thoughts drifted to Jeanette. I loved her, pure and simple. She was so self-reliant. No problem was too big for her. I had a feeling we’d make an unbeatable team here at Fire Bay. As it was, I felt I was operating on seven out of eight cylinders, traveling down the road okay as long as it was level, but having a few problems on the hills. 

When I’d told her about the upcoming visit from the reporter, she said, “Don’t worry, Husband, just be your likable self. If you can charm a grizzly on a crowded trail, you can charm a reporter. If the reporter is a woman, be careful how much you charm, okay?”

I had laughed and said I doubted there was much danger in that.

She had retorted in all seriousness, “Leo, life is where you find it. In addition, you have always walked close to the edge. Please be careful; there are people out there with their own agendas.” With that we said our “I love you’s” and hung up. 

I rolled over and stared at the other pillow. Jeanette should be lying there. I reached out and touched it, wishing her to be, staring back at me with those brown eyes. As I had on other nights, I whispered, “Jeanette, what am I doing here?” 

I could almost see her smiling back at me in that all-knowing way of hers. “Leo. You know. You’re here to see how close you can walk to that bluff without falling off. Go to sleep, my love. Go . . . to sleep. I’ll be here.”