Gossip by Beth Gutcheon

Author:Beth Gutcheon
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: David_James Mobilism.org
Publisher: HarperCollins US
Published: 2012-02-29T17:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

That was a terrible week, in spite of 2003 being one of the mildest and loveliest New York falls on record. The trees turned their leaves yellow and flipped them gently so they sparkled in the autumn sun, which delighted the eye and warmed the spirit. It stayed almost shirtsleeve weather, wonderful walking weather in a city of walkers, until deep into October. Central Park was in glory and I managed to have almost daily rambles there with Gil, in spite of the fact that Althea had not returned to Paris but instead had resumed residence in the Fifth Avenue apartment she had not shared with her husband since George left for boarding school. It was reckless of us to be so much together in public, virtually in Althea’s front yard, but I was busy in the shop during business hours, and Gil was out escorting his wife in the evenings, so combining our constitutionals seemed the only way to manage. We could always claim to have fallen in together by chance.

We were so accustomed to talk over everything, to debrief each other on the mundane events of our days, that neither of us felt we could think clearly or quite fill our lungs if we were deprived of it. The summer had been a desert in that regard, and it had changed something in Gil. He was no longer willing to be hostage to appearances. What were the consequences at home, and there surely were some, we didn’t discuss. Althea had the part of Gil she wanted, and I had the part I wanted. Not enough of it, but still. So many people have nothing.

There are few unmixed blessings in this wicked world, and the deep sorrow of that gorgeous fall, in addition to the ugly cloud of rumor shadowing Dinah, was that I finally understood that Belinda was beginning to die. We had grown close over the years, sharing talk about books and friends, Gil and Avis, and now Grace and Nicky. A mother is one thing, but a true friend of your parents’ generation is something else, rare and enriching. I admired her and enjoyed her and felt privileged more than anything else when she called on me as if I were family. But I knew it boded ill.

Though she never telephoned me at the shop except to make or change an appointment, she called one morning in October on a cell phone, an appliance she had always deplored. She must have borrowed one from a nurse. She said, “Oh, Lovie, I am so sorry to bother you at work.” She talked as if my being at work was the same as it was for the head of a Fortune 500 company. “I’m not interrupting? I know how busy you are.”

“Things are very quiet this morning. How are you?”

“Well, that’s the thing.” She paused, and in that gap I could hear how little she liked making this call. “I had a little procedure this morning, quite unexpectedly.

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