Reunion by Therese Fowler

Author:Therese Fowler [Fowler, Therese]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-345-51253-6
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2011-04-26T04:00:00+00:00

loud cover filtered the morning sunlight, softening the lines of the shops and houses of Whitehead Street. The flora—she would have to check that guidebook, learn some plant names—seemed saturated with color. If she picked a leaf from a shrub and squeezed it, surely green would ooze through her fingers and drip onto the cool pavement.

From the sidewalk in front of the Hemingway Home’s entrance, she saw Julian standing in the open side yard, his back to her, adjusting a tripod. Balanced atop it was a small video camera—smaller by far than what her crew used. She couldn’t see Mitch yet, nor any of her crew, though the presence of light towers and a pair of screens suggested they were nearby.

“Good morning,” she called as she reached the porch.

Julian turned, glanced at her, looked away. “Good morning.”

“Did somebody drop the ball? My crew was supposed to set you up with our camera equipment.”

“This was all I wanted,” he said.

“Oh. All right. Where’s your dad?”

A shadow of displeasure crossed his face, so quickly she wasn’t certain it was displeasure—not certain it was a shadow, for that matter. “Inside,” he said, nodding toward the house. A colorful rooster strutted by them in the grass.

“Everything ready to go?”

“Yep.”

“Great,” she said, wanting to end the exchange. Yet she continued to stand there, searching for something more to say. Just to be friendly (she wanted to believe this explained the urge) after the favor he’d done her last night, the pleasant hour they’d shared. “Did you manage to get some sleep?”

“Some,” he said. His hand rested, still, on one of the tripod’s knobs.

She had the feeling he would like her to move along, if not leave altogether. Fine. That was fine with her. “Well, good,” she said. “I’ll just, um, go in and say hello.”

“Okay.”

A quick look behind her as she opened the door confirmed her feeling that he not only wasn’t watching her, he was engrossed in getting the camera set—not that such a simple camera could take that much effort.

Inside the foyer was Mitch, one of her crewmen, and two museum volunteers, all four of them with Styrofoam cups in hand. Mitch’s face lit up when he saw her, provoking her to smile, too.

He said, “Good morning!”

“Hi,” she said, nodding to the other three. “I see you’ve all fortified yourselves.”

The mustached volunteer, who she knew from yesterday was a regular porch-sitting Hemingway look-alike, held his cup aloft and said, “Cuban coffee—don’t tell me you’re not hooked.”

“I’m supposed to avoid all caffeine,” she said, though the rich scent was making her want to revert to old habits.

“Good God, that’s inhumane.”

This morning she could not agree more. “So, what’s the schedule? Looks like Julian’s just about ready, out there.”

Mitch said, “He was out the door before I even got up this morning. Did everything go all right last night?”

She looked past Mitch, to the tall screened doors of the living room, and Julian outside. “Yes. Fine.”

“Glad to hear it. He seemed a little antisocial, and—”

“No, really, he was pleasant.

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