{"id":1018,"date":"2019-03-27T03:29:48","date_gmt":"2019-03-27T03:29:48","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.sportsnewsforyou.com\/?p=1018"},"modified":"2019-03-27T03:29:48","modified_gmt":"2019-03-27T03:29:48","slug":"love-dies-slowly-by-eileen-tighe","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/googmn.com\/?p=1018","title":{"rendered":"\u201cLove Dies Slowly\u201d by Eileen Tighe"},"content":{"rendered":"

Summer is for steamy romance. Our new series of classic fiction from the 1940s and \u201850s features sexy intrigue from the archives for all of your beach reading needs.\u00a0In \u201cLove Dies Slowly,\u201d an illustrator will seek a tender affair with her son\u2019s headmaster if she can ever move past the recent death of her free-spirited journalist of an ex-husband. <\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It had been raining for 10 long days, a steady, relentless downpour that dampened the human spirit as well as the good brown earth. One dreary day followed another with monotonous regularity. The river looked black and threatening and the hedges along its banks were hardly visible through the heavy mist. Even the small ferryboat that crossed from shore to shore had disappeared from sight, but its foghorn tooted eerily all through the day and night. I was working in my studio, an upstairs room with a view of the river and its far shore, when I heard the front door open unceremoniously and close with a shattering bang.<\/p>\n

\u201cChip!\u201d I called. \u201cHaven\u2019t I asked you not to use the front door?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s raining, Maggie.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know, dear. That\u2019s why I want you to come in the back way.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRoger,\u201d said Chip. \u201cOver.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPlease don\u2019t track up the house. I\u2019ve just finished straightening it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRoger. Anything to eat?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSandwiches in the pantry. Milk and soda pop in the refrigerator.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMille grazie<\/em>,\u201d said Chip. \u201cYatcha lubia<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

I went back to my drawing board and the sketches I was doing for a new children\u2019s book. My son walked into the studio nibbling on a three-decker peanut-butter sandwich and drinking his pop from the bottle. His bright hair was wet with rain, but it was as rebellious as ever. He was growing so fast that nothing seemed to fit him. There was always a space around his ankles and his wrists that remained uncovered.<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you still working on that silly old book?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m working on 500 silly old dollars,\u201d I replied.<\/p>\n

His eyes clouded. They were very expressive eyes, full of joy or sadness or wonderment or laughter. He had the fair hair and skin and the chiseled features of his grandfather, but the great dark eyes were strictly his own. They had a disturbing way of looking straight through you and of always seeking the truth. He came over and put an ice-cold pop-bottle hand on my shoulder.<\/p>\n

\u201cI love you, Maggie,\u201d he said. \u201cI wish you didn\u2019t have to work so hard.\u201d<\/p>\n

He was so sincere and so very young and vulnerable that I longed to put my arms around him. But he was growing up and he didn\u2019t like to be babied.<\/p>\n

\u201cI love you, too, darling,\u201d I said, \u201cand I\u2019m a very fortunate woman. I have a wonderful son and work to do that I enjoy. By the way, did you see the lunch box in the pantry?\u201d<\/p>\n

He nodded.<\/p>\n

\u201cI thought you might like to take it down to your friend, Aristotle. It must be difficult to navigate a ferryboat in this fog.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s spooky,\u201d said Chip. \u201cAristotle says that fog is celestial, but I don\u2019t agree. It\u2019s unearthly all right, but it\u2019s not divine. It\u2019s cold and clammy, and it wraps itself around you and blots you out of sight. It\u2019s not like flying through a cloud. It\u2019s more like vanishing into a vacuum.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSounds like a good idea for a composition.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI wrote one on it last week and Mr. O \u2018Hara told me today that it may win a prize. He was in Japan, Maggie. When we were there.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIs that so?\u201d<\/p>\n

My son gave me a long, searching look. \u201cHe said he met you once in Lisbon and once in Singapore. He said you might not remember him, but he\u2019d like to come over and talk to you. He asks me about you all the time.\u201d<\/p>\n

I remembered Mike O\u2019Hara very well. He was a brilliant, charming, supercharged correspondent; a romantic type who got into trouble with a colonel\u2019s wife. I was surprised when I heard he was teaching at Bolton, because he was a really gifted journalist and his father owned a chain of New England newspapers.<\/p>\n

\u201cI remember him, Chip.\u201d I said, \u201cbut I\u2019m not ready for people yet.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s almost a year, Maggie.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know, darling, but let\u2019s wait until summer. We\u2019ll invite all your new friends to come and see us and I promise to be very gay.\u201d<\/p>\n

Chip studied me in silence and then he washed down his thoughts with the bottle of pop. \u201cOK.,\u201d he said, \u201cbut I wish summer would hurry.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know what I wish? I wish you\u2019d stop drinking out of a bottle.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause it\u2019s so unaesthetic. Nice people don\u2019t drink out of bottles.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAround here they do. Everyone at school does, and so do the guys at the gas station. Why, even Eddie Fisher drinks out of a bottle on television.\u201d<\/p>\n

I couldn\u2019t argue the point because, presumably, these were nice people. \u201cHow about the great Mr. O\u2019Toole?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

Chip grinned. \u201cY\u2019got me there, Maggie,\u201d he said. \u201cYou really got me. I don\u2019t think Mr. O\u2019Toole drinks out of a bottle. He has a mother too.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo I\u2019ve discovered. His mother called me today.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid she invite you to tea?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n

Chip whistled shrilly through his front teeth. \u201cThat means I\u2019m in some kind of trouble,\u201d he said thoughtfully.<\/p>\n

\u201cI got that impression too. Have you any idea what kind of trouble?\u201d<\/p>\n

Chip\u2019s eyes widened anxiously. \u201cNo, Maggie, I haven\u2019t,\u201d he said. \u201cWhat did you say to her?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI thanked her, but I regretted. I asked her to have Mr. O\u2019Toole call me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd did he?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe called and I invited him to dinner.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, hallelujah!\u201d my son exclaimed. \u201cWill she let him come?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWho is she?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMacushla, his mother. They say she won\u2019t let him out after dark.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cChip,\u201d I said incredulously, \u201cdidn\u2019t you tell me that Mr. O\u2019Toole is over six feet tall, weighs almost 200 pounds, and won all kinds of medals for shooting down planes over Europe?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRoger. What\u2019s for food?\u201d<\/p>\n

I couldn\u2019t help smiling, although I knew this wasn\u2019t a celebration. There was, as my son said, some kind of trouble ahead. But Chip\u2019s eyes were so bright and his cowlicks so unruly that I put my arms around him and gave him a kiss of confidence.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour favorite menu, darling,\u201d I said, \u201cand I think you told me it was also a favorite of Mr. O\u2019Toole\u2019s. Steak and apple pie.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mr. O\u2019Toole is not only the current authority in our home on everything from Bach to Buchmanism, he is also the headmaster of Bolton, a small private school for boys. It is an old and venerable institution \u2014 my father is an alumnus \u2014 with a granite fa\u00e7ade and disciplinary ideas that are as rock-ribbed as the New England town whose name it bears. It is not a school I would have chosen for my son \u2014 mainly, I think, because father is one of the trustees \u2014 but when Jeff was killed, father took my affairs in hand, enrolled Chip in Bolton and, because I refused to be separated from him, installed us in this old house which was once the family\u2019s summer home.<\/p>\n

Mr. O\u2019Toole was, as my son had so accurately reported, very tall, unemaciated and well-mannered. I was sure he did not drink out of a bottle. He greeted me gravely, hung up his coat in the hall closet and followed me into the long, low-ceilinged living room that looked out through many windows to the river. There was a fire sputtering on the hearth and Mr. O\u2019Toole crossed the room and stood in front of it.<\/p>\n

He studied me silently for a second or two and then he said, \u201cI\u2019ve been waiting a long time for this moment.\u201d<\/p>\n

It was a provocative opening, but I chose to ignore it. \u201cChip talks about you constantly,\u201d I said. \u201cYou\u2019re one of his real heroes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBefore I knew who you were,\u201d Mr. O\u2019Toole continued, \u201cI noticed you driving around the village in an open car. When I inquired about you, I learned that you were an artist and that you were married.\u201d<\/p>\n

I couldn\u2019t think of any reply, so I didn\u2019t try to make one. If he had discovered that I was married, he must know that Jeff was a journalist and that we were out of the country most of the time. We never settled down, we never had a home, but we always came back to Bolton. We both liked the old town and the old house, and that was why father thought I would be happier here than anywhere else.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen your husband was killed,\u201d said Mr. O\u2019Toole, almost inaudibly, \u201cI wanted to write to you, but I was afraid you might think it intrusive. Grief is a very personal thing.\u201d<\/p>\n

It was well-spoken and hard to say, and I tried to smile my thanks. \u201cIt\u2019s an emotion that can\u2019t be shared,\u201d I said. \u201cI guess that\u2019s why I haven\u2019t been able to face people. You\u2019re the first guest since the accident.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m honored.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd I\u2019m grateful,\u201d I said, \u201cfor all you\u2019ve done to help my son.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYour son,\u201d said Mr. O\u2019Toole, with a rather shy smile, \u201cis a very unusual 10-year-old. I\u2019ve learned a great deal from him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s led an unusual life.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s been a rewarding one for him in many ways. He\u2019s impressionable and he has a remarkable memory. But you can understand that his background has made it rather difficult for him to adjust to a normal life with boys of more routine interests.\u201d<\/p>\n

I knew this was educational double talk, and while I had no doubt that it was sound, I had little patience with it. If I have a blind spot, it is for my son. I think he\u2019s exceptional. I know that he\u2019s honest, kind and courageous. If the boys of Bolton School found it difficult to get along with him, the fault must be theirs. But I didn\u2019t want any trouble. It would bring my father to town on the run, and father is a man of action. He is also fanatically proud of Chip, who so closely resembles him that even strangers remark upon it.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know what the problem is,\u201d I said, \u201cbut I was thinking today that if Jeff were alive he would say the net result of normal living, in Chip\u2019s case, is that he\u2019s learned to drink out of a bottle.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mr. O\u2019Toole smiled. \u201cI\u2019ll have to confess that it\u2019s normal,\u201d he said, \u201cbut it\u2019s only a phase. There is a serious problem that I must talk over with you, and I thought we might set up a meeting with the faculty on Saturday, if that day is convenient for you. We can get together in my office and discuss things informally.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA serious problem? Has Chip done something dreadful?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot at all,\u201d said Mr. O\u2019Toole. His voice had a soothing quality that was very reassuring. \u201cIt\u2019s an educational hurdle that we can\u2019t seem to solve. It has nothing to do with discipline. Believe me, Mrs. Hillyer, I\u2019m very fond of your son. By the way, where is he?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIn the pantry. Reading a book on how to mix drinks.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHas he ever mixed one?\u201d<\/p>\n

I shook my head. \u201cNever, but he feels that it\u2019s one of his duties, now that he\u2019s the man of the house.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you think he\u2019d mind if I gave him a hand?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know. He\u2019s rather touchy about his new responsibilities. I\u2019m sure he\u2019s anxious to impress you, but I\u2019m afraid the result may be lethal.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhatever he concocts we\u2019ll have to drink.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s what worries me,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019ll leave it up to you, Mr. O\u2019Toole. You\u2019re his best friend.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf you\u2019ll excuse me,\u201d he replied, \u201cI\u2019ll see what I can do. And please call me John. I\u2019m your friend, too, Mrs. Hillyer.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

On the following Saturday, a day distinguished by brilliant sunshine, I drove across the hills to Bolton School. The week had been an eventful one for me. I was beginning to live again. I had done a lot of thinking and I had found a friend in John O\u2019Toole. It was good to have someone to talk to and I was rediscovering the joys of companionship. I had been too long alone and I had forgotten how exciting it was to be alive.<\/p>\n

When I turned in at the gates I was struck with the beauty of the place. The grounds were handsomely planted and there was an air of serenity in the tall trees, the sweeping lawns and the ivy-covered buildings. Seclusion, protection, security \u2014 they were all here. These were the things that Chip had never known and I wondered how much they might mean to him, now that he had been given a chance to sample them. He had grown up in many lands; he never had a real home, no close friends, no formal schooling. He learned as he grew by asking questions, and he got his answers from the experts. He went with his father to political meetings, to military headquarters, to palaces and parliaments, to interviews with people of all kinds. And he went with me to market places and museums, to concerts, luncheons and receptions. He talked to anyone and everyone who would talk to him and he learned to speak many languages.<\/p>\n

It was not a life my father approved of for a growing boy, but it was the way Jeff wanted it and the only way he would take ii. For Jeff there was no tomorrow; there was only today. If I tried to talk about the future, about a home, about settling down and giving Chip a chance to grow up normally, to have roots and security, I found that I was talking to myself. My loyalties were divided, but I couldn\u2019t find any way out. A boy needs a father even more than a home. So we followed him. We followed to the end.<\/p>\n

My marriage, which had ended so abruptly in an airplane crash, was one that father had opposed bitterly, but when his grandson was born he became reconciled to its existence. Now that he was in the driving seat, financially and paternally, he would be hard to handle. He expected a lot of Chip. And he expected even more of the school. Since he was a trustee, it would be like him even to demand a certain amount of special consideration for his grandson.<\/p>\n

I parked the car and walked across the pebbled path to the front entrance. I had dressed carefully, with what I hoped was proper solemnity for the occasion, but I felt depressed and inadequate, and wondered if I could rise to whatever the situation demanded. I would never forgive myself if I let my son down with tears or emotional protestations or anything that indicated a soft upper lip.<\/p>\n

The door was opened by the headmaster himself, who welcomed me with a friendly smile. \u201cI\u2019ve been on the lookout for you, Maggie,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cThank heaven you\u2019re here,\u201d I replied. \u201cI\u2019m beginning to panic.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt won\u2019t be that bad. Let me have your coat.\u201d<\/p>\n

He led me into a book-lined room with a long table in the center of it. There was a large stone fireplace on one wall and on the other a great bank of windows looked out over the lawns to the river far below. The masters, who were assembled around the long center table, were young or youngish men, conservatively clothed in more subdued fashion than the ubiquitous gray-flannel suit or the journalist\u2019s unpressed tweeds. There was one exception. Mike O\u2019Hara looked as dashing and as handsome as he had several years ago in Tokyo and Singapore and Lisbon. He came over and took my arm and guided me toward the fireplace.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve got to see you, Maggie,\u201d he said. \u201cPlease tell me when I can come.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll phone you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSoon,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

The headmaster was waiting to call the meeting, and when I turned he was standing directly behind me. I was presented to the sea of strange, floating faces, and then John led me to one end of the table and motioned to the faces to be seated.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe have looked forward to this meeting, Mrs. Hillyer,\u201d he said, in his soothing voice, \u201cin order to acquaint you with the special problems attendant upon the education of your son. We will hear first from Mr. Forbes, whose subject is world history.\u201d<\/p>\n

The story was the same in every case \u2014 in social studies, political science, art, languages and economics. The masters were being challenged by a student who questioned the accuracy of their information on the basis that it was dated or prejudiced or factually incorrect.<\/p>\n

The masters were unanimous, and very kindly so, on one point: the boy was not trying to show off; he was not impertinent or discourteous; he was simply and honestly skeptical. When asked to substantiate a protest, he launched unhesitatingly into a detailed, firsthand, eyewitnessed account of some event, place, painting, political treaty or commercial project. In his language classes he demurred on meanings or inflections or pronunciations. It was only in English and in mathematics that he was a quiet scholar, and in both of these subjects he was making excellent grades.<\/p>\n

Now came the question of what was to be done. It was obvious that the other boys in the class were entitled to an education according to the curriculum. Examinations would be based on textbooks and not on eyewitnessed accounts. This matter of examinations affected Chip also. If he disagreed with the textbooks, how could he make official grades now, or later when the time came for his college boards? In the opinion of the faculty of the Bolton School, it was an insoluble situation, and the recommendation was that another school be sought.<\/p>\n

We all rose at a signal from the headmaster and, after I had expressed my thanks, the masters filed out noiselessly and I was alone with John Francis O\u2019Toole. \u201cI don\u2019t think we made much of a case for education today,\u201d he remarked ruefully.<\/p>\n

I was worried about something else. \u201cJohn,\u201d I said, \u201cthis is going to cause trouble for you. Father will fight you \u2014 and he won\u2019t fight fair.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI can\u2019t help it, Maggie. I don\u2019t care about myself, but I\u2019m very much concerned about Chip. I\u2019ve tried every way I can to lick this situation. I\u2019m not very proud of any of us, but I do have to consider the school.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou have to live with yourself too,\u201d said a clear, sharp voice from the doorway. \u201cFourteen grown men against one small boy. You all ought to be ashamed.\u201d<\/p>\n

We turned our heads quickly, like automatons, and faced a woman with an impressive figure who wore her years lightly but with great authority. Her hair was startlingly white, combed high on her head like a crown, and her eyes were very blue.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy mother,\u201d said John O\u2019Toole. Autocrat of the dinner table, terror of the faculty, champion of the underdog, and grandmother by adoption to your son.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPatience is an outmoded virtue,\u201d said Mrs. O\u2019Toole. \u201cI couldn\u2019t wait any longer to become a grandmother.\u201d She put her arms around me and gave me a warm hug. \u201cMaggie, Maggie,\u201d she said, \u201clet me look at you. I\u2019ve wanted so much to meet you. I love that boy of yours; I find him better company than anyone<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sure that includes me,\u201d said John.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m afraid it does,\u201d his mother replied. \u201cNow, how about lunch? I haven\u2019t fussed, so don\u2019t protest. I wish Chip could join us.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cImpossible, mother,\u201d said John firmly, \u201cand you know it. He\u2019s due in the dining hall at 1 o\u2019clock, the same as every other boy in this school. Let\u2019s not have any more trouble. We have enough to worry about as it is.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, all right,\u201d said Mrs. O\u2019Toole. \u201cRules, rules, rules. And bells. I\u2019m so tired of bells. . . . You come along with me, Maggie. I have someone I want you to meet. She\u2019s a friend of Chip\u2019s. Her name is Muffin.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

That evening, after my son had kissed me good night and gone off to bed, I sat down in the study and tried to figure a way out of our problem. From Mrs. O\u2019Toole I had learned a great deal about Chip and his life in Bolton. She and Chip had the sort of unique relationship that sometimes exists between the young and the old. They respected each other. When Mrs. O\u2019Toole walked into the shoemaker\u2019s shop late one afternoon a month after we came back to Bolton and found Chip finishing off lifts on the big power machine at the back of the shop, she showed no surprise. Chip introduced her to Mr. Cantonelli, the shoemaker, and his small daughter, Muffin, who was wrapping up the repaired shoes. She noticed that Chip and the Cantonellis spoke Italian to one another and the whole episode enchanted her. A few days later she asked Chip to bring Muffin to tea, and now she was taking Italian lessons from them.<\/p>\n

Muffin was only one of Chip\u2019s many new friends who were welcome at the home of the headmaster\u2019s mother. There was Aristotle Perez, who captained the two-car ferryboat that chugged back and forth across the river. Captain Perez was from Portugal and he liked to have a boy aboard his boat who knew his native land and spoke his native tongue. Mrs. O\u2019Toole was getting her afternoon rides free now, including one in the fog, which, for sheer horror, she said, had no equal in her experience.<\/p>\n

There were other friends too. There was the Polish farm family whose land adjoined the school grounds. And there was Mrs. Skourian, who owned the Greek beanery where Chip liked to help out behind the counter. These were my son\u2019s best friends, according to Mrs. O\u2019Toole, because they were sharing his experiences in a strange new land. He knew their countries better than his own and he felt at home with them.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m running a sort of international salon,\u201d Mrs. O\u2019Toole said to me in parting, \u201cand I\u2019m having the time of my life.\u201d<\/p>\n

I came to the conclusion, after my visit with Mrs. O\u2019Toole, that my son must have been a very lonely and bewildered boy during those first months at Bolton. How deeply Jeff\u2019s accident had affected Chip I didn\u2019t know. The shock had paralyzed me to such an extent that nothing seemed to matter. But from now on, my son would be my first consideration. Never again would I forget that he had problems, too, and he needed at least one parent to help solve them.<\/p>\n

I heard the clock strike 10, and then I must have dozed because I was startled by the ringing of the doorbell. I remembered that John had asked me if I would be at home.<\/p>\n

I hurried through the darkened living room and opened the front door. Mike O\u2019Hara was standing hesitantly on the steps. He had a large bouquet of flowers in one hand and a big square box in the other.<\/p>\n

\u201cI saw your light,\u201d he said, \u201cand I thought you might be mulling things over alone.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI am.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWould you like someone to mull with?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cVery much,\u201d I said. \u201cWon\u2019t you come in?\u201d<\/p>\n

He followed me into the study and lowered himself wearily into a chair. The packages made it difficult for him to relax, so he handed them to me. \u201cFlowers,\u201d he said, \u201cand candy. Pretty routine, I\u2019m afraid, but I\u2019m out of practice.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s hard to believe,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

He came out into the pantry while I fixed the flowers, and then he got out some ice cubes and mixed himself a drink. \u201cI\u2019ve been thinking about you all evening,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019ve been driving around for hours trying to get up enough courage to ring your bell.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy should it take courage? We\u2019re old friends.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know, Maggie,\u201d he said. \u201cI guess it\u2019s because I\u2019ve always had a thing about you. I watched you take a beating for so long. I hate to say this to you, but I\u2019ve got to \u2014 you\u2019re grieving over a guy who died 10 years ago, not in a plane accident last May.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou frightened me once before by talking like this.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd you ran away. I tried to tell you then to cut your losses, to pull out and make a life for yourself and your boy.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThere were reasons \u2014 I was half a world away from home, and there was the money problem too.\u201d<\/p>\n

He came over and sat down beside me. \u201cMaggie,\u201d he said earnestly, \u201cI want you to believe this. I was trying to shock you into action. Jeff Hillyer was one of my oldest friends. I knew you couldn\u2019t save him, but I wanted you to save yourself. I saw what he was doing to you and it scared me. How much longer could you have stood the humiliation and neglect and utter disregard for your welfare or future?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou can stand a lot when you have a child.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mike looked at me impatiently. \u201cYou were beginning to crack up in Lisbon,\u201d he said harshly. \u201cWhat good would that have done your child? And what good did it do him to watch you being treated without consideration or respect? He could see things straight, even if you couldn\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow do you know?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI have a composition of his called \u201cWhy I Don\u2019t Want to be a Foreign Correspondent.\u201d Any time you want to read it, you can have it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re deliberately trying to upset me, Mike. Why?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause I want you to give up the ghost \u2014 for Chip\u2019s sake as well as your own. He can\u2019t live in that shadow. He has no respect for it. If you cling to it much longer, you may lose your son as suddenly as you lost your husband.\u201d<\/p>\n

This was shock treatment all right and I was so numb and cold from it that I reached out for a cardigan that was thrown across the arm of the chair. I had refused to face the failure of my marriage. I had sacrificed everything to it. I was still refusing to face it. Dreams always died hard with me. I had avoided Mike because he knew the truth. I remembered how many times he had phoned after we came back to Bolton. I saw that he was watching me and I tried to hold back the tears, but I could feel them running down my face. I turned my head away because I knew he hated tears<\/p>\n

\u201cHere,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

It was a large pocket handkerchief, and I disappeared gratefully behind it.<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you. I didn\u2019t mean to cry.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s OK. I told you I\u2019ve grown up. I hope I wasn\u2019t too rough on you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou were disturbing,\u201d I said, \u201cbut profound. Someday, when I\u2019ve worked my way out of this mess. I\u2019ll try to thank you.\u201d<\/p>\n

He leaned over and kissed me. \u201cI hope that someday isn\u2019t too far off. What are you going to do now?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI guess I\u2019ll have to tell father. I\u2019m afraid he\u2019ll be very difficult.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s something of an understatement. He\u2019ll probably have the school charter revoked and all of the faculty blacklisted.\u201d<\/p>\n

The clock was winding up for the long midnight chime and Mike looked at his watch. \u201cI\u2019ll have to leave you, Cinderella,\u201d he said. \u201cIn a small town staying anywhere after midnight is synonymous with spending the night.\u201d<\/p>\n

I was walking through the living room with him when a sleepy voice called from upstairs, \u201cAre you still up, Maggie?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, dear,\u201d I said. \u201cAnything the matter?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d said Chip. \u201cIt\u2019s just about today. I was thinking how hard it will be for you to tell grandfather.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll manage somehow. Don\u2019t worry about it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut suppose grandfather blows his top at Mr. O\u2019Toole?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve thought about that, Chip. I even spoke to Mr. O\u2019Toole about it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019d he say?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe said he didn\u2019t care about himself; he was concerned only about you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGolly,\u201d said Chip.<\/p>\n

\u201cMr. O\u2019Hara is here, but he\u2019s about to leave. Do you want to come down?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d said Chip. \u201cG\u2019night, Maggie…. G\u2019night Mr. O\u2019Hara.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

On the following evening I was sitting alone again in the study trying to finish a letter to my father. I had started it earlier in the day, but it was a hard letter to write. I had to tell him the story of my marriage and the mistakes I had made and everything that led up to the present problem of Chip\u2019s future at Bolton. Somehow I had to convince him that I was the one person responsible. No one else was at fault; not Chip nor the headmaster nor the faculty. If I had stayed home after Chip was born \u2014 as everyone, including father, had urged \u2014 I might have an untarnished memory of Jeff, the brilliant journalist who wanted only to be free. And if Jeff had been allowed to roam the world alone, he might have come back from time to time and Chip would have a memory of his father that he could cherish.<\/p>\n

Now, for both of us, there was only the memory of a past without peace or possessions, without roots or responsibilities. There was the memory of dimly lit airports and dark railway stations with no one to meet us; of the weary search for a place to stay because no provision had been made for our arrival. There were some good memories, too, when we were all together and happy and, for a few months at least, there was hope for the future. But something always happened. Sooner or later we were alone again.<\/p>\n

All of this I told father, and it was not easy to tell, but I needed his understanding. It would confirm his worst suspicions about my marriage, but it couldn\u2019t hurt Jeff now and it might save the faculty of Bolton School and its headmaster. I begged father not to interfere in any way, and I told him what a debt I owed to John O\u2019Toole and his mother for their kindness to Chip. I assured him that I would keep him informed and that I would make no plans for the future without first consulting him.<\/p>\n

I was folding the letter when I heard a step on the porch and then the bell rang. I opened the door, half expecting to see Mike O\u2019Hara standing there, but the figure was taller and straighter and when he stepped into the light I saw that it was John O\u2019Toole.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s rather late,\u201d he said, \u2018\u2018but I\u2019d like to talk to you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCome in.\u201d<\/p>\n

He followed me into the study, but he didn\u2019t sit down. He walked around restlessly and studied the titles of the books. I left him for a moment to go into the pantry for some ice cubes, and when I returned the telephone was ringing.<\/p>\n

\u201cHelp yourself to a drink,\u201d I said. \u201cI don\u2019t know who can be calling at this hour, but I\u2019d better answer before it wakes Chip.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHello,\u201d I said softly.<\/p>\n

\u201cMaggie?\u201d inquired a clear, sharp voice. \u201cIs my son there?\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked over at John, who gave me no clue. \u201cYes, Mrs. O\u2019Toole,\u201d I said. \u201cAs a matter of fact, he arrived only a moment ago.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe left here three hours ago. What\u2019s he been doing?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d I said quietly.<\/p>\n

\u201cHonestly,\u201d she continued, in a voice that carried across the room, \u201cI wonder if he knows what he\u2019s doing. He forgot the flowers and candy \u2014 and last night he didn\u2019t even ring your bell.\u201d<\/p>\n

I again looked over at John, who still gave me no clue. \u201cThat\u2019s funny,\u201d I said. \u201cWhy not? I was here all evening.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mrs. O\u2019Toole harrumphed. \u201cHe\u2019s not competitive,\u201d she said. \u201cHe saw Mike O\u2019Hara\u2019s car, so he wouldn\u2019t go in. Has he told you he\u2019s not competitive?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, it\u2019s supposed to explain everything. I admit it\u2019s beyond me, but I thought it might mean something to you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll think about it,\u201d I said. \u201cDo you want to speak to him?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d she said. \u201cI just wanted to be sure he got there. He\u2019s in love with you, Maggie, but he\u2019s not competitive. You\u2019d better send him home around midnight. I don\u2019t think he knows what time it is anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n

When I hung up the receiver I looked over at John to see what effect the call had on him. As far as I could tell, it had none. He was staring at me a little vaguely, as though his eyes were not focusing.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou forgot the flowers,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey didn\u2019t seem important,\u201d he replied.<\/p>\n

I sat down on the sofa and motioned to him to join me. \u201cI\u2019ve written a letter to my father,\u201d I said. \u201cIt\u2019s a very personal letter, but I\u2019d like you to read it. There are a great many things you should know \u2014 about Chip and me.\u201d<\/p>\n

When I had him settled, letter in hand, I mixed a drink and put it on the table in front of him. Then I went upstairs and looked into Chip\u2019s room. He was not asleep. He was kneeling in front of the window, looking out at the stars.<\/p>\n

\u201cChip,\u201d I said, \u201cwhy aren\u2019t you in bed?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI heard a car in the driveway. It\u2019s Mr. O\u2019Toole\u2019s car, isn\u2019t it, Maggie?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, dear.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid he bring you flowers too?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, dear. He forgot them.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMay I come down and speak to him \u2014 just for a minute?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course. But put on a warm bathrobe. It\u2019s cold downstairs.\u201d<\/p>\n

John rose quickly when we came into the study. He had my letter clenched tightly in his hand and he was staring at it with an expression of great indignation. There was something in his eyes that I had not seen before. \u201cChip wants to speak to you,\u201d I explained.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, Chip?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIs it confidential?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d said Chip. \u201cI want you to hear it, too, Maggie. It\u2019s about all the trouble I\u2019ve caused at school, for which I\u2019m very sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n

John\u2019s face relaxed into a sympathetic smile. \u201cNo apologies are necessary, Chip,\u201d he said. \u201cYou acted honestly and courageously.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut, Mr. O\u2019Toole,\u201d said Chip, earnestly, \u201cI don\u2019t want to leave Bolton. I don\u2019t want to leave you and Macushla and Muffin and Aristotle and all my other friends. I never had friends before \u2014 not real ones who lived in the same place every day. And I don\u2019t want Maggie to have to leave here, either. I want her to be happy and not have to worry about something all the time.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s what I want for her, too, Chip,\u201d said John.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve figured it all out, Mr. O\u2019Toole. All I have to do is learn what\u2019s in the books and not argue about it. I don\u2019t have to believe it \u2014 I just have to keep my mouth shut. Then I\u2019ll pass the exams and everybody\u2019ll be happy.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMaggie?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAny decision Chip wishes to make is all right with me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDoes that mean I may destroy this letter?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cVery well. Chip,\u201d said John. \u201cI\u2019ll get the matter straightened out with the faculty tomorrow.\u201d He looked at me for a long moment before he tore the letter into small pieces. Then he gave Chip a loving slap on the back. I don\u2019t know whether or not you\u2019ve made the right decision, young man,\u201d he said, \u201cbut it\u2019s a brave one. I\u2019ll be around any time you need help.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTo bed now,\u201d I said. \u201cAnd to sleep, please.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRoger,\u201d said Chip. He came over and put his arms around me and tightened them into a hug that left me breathless. Then he went over and threw his arms around his favorite real-life hero. \u201cG \u2018night, John,\u201d he said. \u201cG \u2018night, Maggie.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGood night, son,\u201d we replied simultaneously.<\/p>\n

We listened as he ran whistling up the stairs, and then we heard his door slam with a loud, triumphant bang. A moment later the clock in the living room wound itself up for another long chime. We both listened attentively as it struck.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s midnight,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo it is,\u201d said John. \u201cTake that receiver off the hook, will you, Maggie? I have a lot to say to you and I don\u2019t want to be interrupted.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Summer is for steamy romance. Our new series of classic fiction from the 1940s and \u201850s features sexy intrigue from the archives for all of your beach reading needs.\u00a0In \u201cLove Dies Slowly,\u201d an illustrator will seek a tender affair with her son\u2019s headmaster if she can ever move past the recent death of her free-spirited…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1018","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-news"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/googmn.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1018","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/googmn.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/googmn.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/googmn.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/googmn.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=1018"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/googmn.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1018\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/googmn.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1018"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/googmn.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=1018"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/googmn.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=1018"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}