Homecoming by Belva Plain Read Free Book Online Page B

part in the affair, how he did ask his brother to speak with Sprague, and how his brother refused.
    Thank heaven the business had finally come to an end.
    Not, he thought now, that it ever really will. Shall I ever stop seeing the terrible face of that girl with the bloody, mangled shoulder and missing arm? Was she dying, dead, or in shock when I picked her up? I don’t know enough about the human body to tell. And I still hear that old man going mad, screaming a woman’s name: “Julia! Julia!”
    “What on earth are you mumbling about?” asked Daisy. “I was just falling asleep when I heard you. Come to bed, it’s almost twelve.”
    “I was thinking of things. Of my rotten brother, for one.”
    “Honey, you’ve got to stop. He’s not worth your thoughts.”
    “All right, I made a bad mistake. But he has no understanding, no mercy. Testifies against me. Accuses me of having no social conscience. Can you imagine? Me, a dollar-a-year man? While he’s still raking in consulting fees?”
    “Lewis, please. You get yourself so worked up.”
    She was pressed warmly against his back, withher arms around him, her lips moving on his neck. After all these years she could still give him everything he wanted. Yet tonight he was too filled with his distress to respond.
    Feeling this, she withdrew, saying gently, “The last few years have been too tough. We’re due now for some good years. I’m sure we are.”
    “Social conscience,” he repeated as though she had not spoken. “That snob. He and his wife, Susan, the
Mayflower
descendant. Neither one of them ever got over that, did they? And look at the way he treated Ellen when she fell in love with Mark. Believe me, I’d choose Mark any day over our son-in-law, with all his fine family background. Even if Mark is Jewish. The things Ellen’s told Cynthia about what they had to go through because of Gene! Good lord, Arthur Roth’s Jewish and he’s been my accountant for thirty years, and my father’s before me, and he’s the salt of the earth.”
    “Come, come, for heaven’s sake, you’re out of breath. This isn’t doing you any good, or me either.”
    “I didn’t tell you I saw Gene the last time we were in New York to visit Cynthia. I guess Ididn’t want to upset you. I saw him approaching me at the end of the block. It’s a good thing I’m farsighted. It gave me time enough to cross the street and look into a shop window. I tell you, Daisy, the sight of him makes me boil.”
    “Then it’s good that you don’t have to see him. Let’s try to do something about our Cynthia instead. We’re going to have a good visit at your mother’s. I always feel as if I’ve stepped back into an easier, slower age when we’re there at your old home. The mahogany is cared for, there are flowers on the table, the dogs are brushed, old George still does the gardening, Jenny’s still in the kitchen, and your mother’s always cheerful.”
    At this Lewis did finally have to smile. “Yes, there’s something about her that draws people. Jenny told me last time that she and George plan to stay as long as Mother lives.” Then, frowning again, he exclaimed, “Poor Mother. She shouldn’t have these family troubles at her age. I wonder—do you think maybe she’s asked us to come because there’s something wrong with her? She’s the last person to complain, but if there is anything wrong with her health, I’m glad it’s methat she wants to see. God knows she wouldn’t get the same help from Gene.”
    “Darling, I’m sure there’s nothing the matter. She simply wants to give Cynthia a little change. It’s going to be lovely for the three of us. Come on to bed.”

C hapter 4
    T he first thing Gene Byrne noticed when he came home from his office was the topmost envelope in the pile of mail on his desk. Anna, his day worker, had known he would be interested first in his mother’s letter.
    Sitting down at once to read it, he had to smile. An invitation to spend the