The Diary by Eileen Goudge Read Free Book Online

one to save her from a possible drowning. Another man might have taken credit for it nonetheless, but not Bob. He was too honest.
    So it was AJ who set aside his pride and said, “Maybe so, but we’d have both been in for it if it hadn’t been for Bob here.” He clapped the bigger man on the shoulder. “Good work, man.”
    Bob’s furrowed brow smoothed, and he broke into a grin. “You were pretty quick on your feet yourself. I’ll tell you what, if we both end up in uniform, I’ll want you watching my back over there.”
    â€œYou think I’d risk my neck to save your leather hide?” ribbed AJ.
    Elizabeth flashed AJ a grateful look, and he knew she wasn’t thanking him just for rescuing her. “As for me, I promise not to go chasing after any more stray watermelons,” she said as she shook out her wet hair. “Speaking of which, I guess we know now where they got their name.”
    They all laughed, AJ most heartily of all.
    â€œNow, what do you say we head back and get into some dry clothes?” she suggested. “Mama will have a fit if she sees me like this.”
    To AJ, she’d never looked more beautiful. Her damp hair curled in inky tangles about her face and neck, and the warm sun had brought color back into her cheeks. Through the wet blouse pasted to her skin he could see the outline of her brassiere and her breasts swelling like ripe fruit over the top. It was an effort to tear his gaze away. To tear his mind, too, from the image of Bob touching those breasts, his large, square hands laying claim to her on their wedding night.
    â€œSounds like a fine idea,” said Bob, slipping an arm around her waist as they started back up the path.
    â€œIn fact, I want you both to be my guests at the barbecue tonight. It’s the least I can do after you saved me from practically drowning.” She tossed a glance over her shoulder to make sure AJ knew he was included in the invitation.
    But he’d already slipped away.

CHAPTER THREE
    â€œSo that story she used to tell us about Dad being the one to rescue her was all a lie?” Emily frowned down at the diary, from which Sarah had been reading aloud, as if it had offended her.
    The two sisters were snuggling on the sofa by the fire they’d built, sipping what was left of the chardonnay from jelly jars they’d unearthed from one of the cartons. Everything else was packed and ready for the moving van that was scheduled to arrive first thing Monday morning.
    â€œI wouldn’t call it a lie, exactly,” Sarah said, lowering the diary to her lap. “She just left out certain parts. She wanted Dad to be the hero.” She turned toward Emily. “Was that so wrong of her? So what if it didn’t happen exactly the way she chose to remember it?”
    Emily smiled a little, no doubt thinking the same thing Sarah was: that their dad had been a hero regardless. “Remember that time he stood up in front of the town council and told them it was a stupid waste of money to build a community bomb shelter? That if the Russians dropped the bomb on us, the radiation would kill us even if the blast didn’t?”
    â€œWho could forget?” Sarah had been old enough at the time to feel mortified at hearing her father speak out in front of all those people, especially in an era when his was such an unpopular stance. “Mr. Oxandale accused him of being a communist. Imagine that—Dad a communist!” Sarah chuckled, taking another sip of her wine. Eventually their father had been vindicated and the shelter had sat dormant, gathering mold and scorpions, until finally, years later, it had been bulldozed under. There had even been an article about it in the Bugle , calling it one of the biggest boondoggles in the town’s history. Now there was a playground where it had stood.
    The sisters fell silent, gazing at the fire crackling in the hearth as they mulled over