Immediate Family by Eileen Goudge Read Free Book Online Page A

emerging artist. “Hmmm…yes. I like your bold use of color. Very original. I think this bear would be pleased with how you’ve drawn him.” He spoke with a British-inflected accent that carried lilting overtones of his native land.
    “I could make you one, too.” Ainsley was staring up at him, enraptured.
    “I’d like that very much.” Reggie spoke gravely, as if it were a great honor she was bestowing on him.
    Ainsley darted over to the cabinet Emerson kept stocked with art supplies for when they visited. “You’re good with children,” observed Emerson, smiling as she watched her daughter dig out a drawing pad and colored markers. She turned to him. “Do you have any of your own?”
    “Just nieces and nephews. They keep me from sleeping as much as I’d like,” he added with a laugh, explaining that he was living with his aunt and uncle for the time being, until he finished college. He had another year to go before he could apply to medical school. In the meantime, he was making ends meet working nights.
    “That doesn’t leave you much free time.” Emerson recalled her brutal schedule at Princeton, how she’d had to knock herself out just to pull Bs.
    He treated her to another of his dazzling smiles. “Free time is a Western ideal.” He’d been brought up to believe that any time spent on furthering oneself was well spent he said.
    “I suppose that’s one way of looking at it. Still, it can’t be easy.”
    “Your mother’s been most helpful. Every night she quizzes me on what I’ve learned that day.”
    Emerson could hardly contain her astonishment. “Helpful” wasn’t a word she normally associated with Marjorie. “You must be having a good effect on her then. She’s usually not feeling up to much these days.” She’d have liked nothing more than to continue the conversation, learn more about Reggie, but filial duty tugged at her like an insistent child at her hem. “Speaking of our patient, I should look in on her. Is she awake?” she inquired, half hoping it wasn’t the case, which would buy her a few more minutes.
    “Yes. In fact, she has a visitor.” Reggie gestured down the hallway toward Marjorie’s bedroom. “I was just making tea. Would you like some?”
    “What? Oh, no thanks.” Emerson was momentarily distracted, contemplating the surprising fact that Marjorie had company. She didn’t get many visitors these days.
    Leaving Ainsley to her scribbling, Emerson headed down the hall. Marjorie was sitting up in bed when she walked in, propped against a bank of pillows, the room to which she was mostly confined these days spread out around her like a tattered gown from a ball long over, its tufted velvet headboard showing signs of wear, its mirrored vanity cluttered with ancient perfume vials. She’d freshened her face, her wig—stiff blond wings sprouting from either side of her head—framing it like some improbable costume piece. You could see only a glimmer of the beauty she’d once been.
    “Darling!” her mother trilled, as if she hadn’t seen her in ages. “You remember Mr. Stancliffe?” She indicated her male visitor, seated in the worn plush chair by the bed.
    Recognizing him, Emerson felt the stitch in her stomach tighten. How could she not? Her mother had been pushing him on her ever since he moved in upstairs, insisting he’d be perfect for her. How often did a suitable man come along? she’d reasoned. Would it kill Emerson to have a drink with him? She wasn’t getting any younger, after all. And she had Ainsley to think of. Emerson had demurred, claiming she was much too busy. Besides, Briggs had been “perfect” for her, too, and look how that had turned out. But her mother had persisted, and finally Emerson had caved in and agreed to meet him for coffee. A perfectly dull date with a perfectly dull man who’d been pestering her ever since with repeated invitations to dinner, a concert, a show.
    “Ed.” She forced a smile as he rose to greet her.