Unfinished Symphony (Logan 3)

and I have no children. I was never fond of the idea of

being pregnant and Philip really can't tolerate little

people very well anyway. But we both enjoy doing

things for young people now and then. When they're

deserving, as you are, of course." She smiled. "Have a

good night's rest."

"Thank you," I said again, too tired to argue

anyway, and went upstairs, taking the steps as if I

were already walking in my sleep.

Despite my exhaustion, before I turned out the

lights and crawled under the cover, I lifted the phone receiver and dialed Gina Simon's number. It rang and rang until the answering machine came on again, and again, I listened closely to her voice, feeling more and more confident that it sounded like Mommy's voice.

Or was I just wishing it did?

And why wasn't she picking up? Had she gone

away? Maybe it would be days, weeks, before I stood

face to face with her.

I lay my head back on the pillow and closed my

eyes, grateful I was too tired to continue thinking, but

still apprehensive as to what tomorrow would bring.

5

A Bitter Pill

.

Once again it was a gentle knock on my door

that woke me, but this time a pleasant-looking woman with strands of gray running through her dark brown hair entered. The breakfast tray she carried was laden with a silver coffee pot, cup and saucer, a plate, silverware, eggs in a dish, a croissant, jelly and butter and a tall glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. Alongside everything was a small vase with a single fresh red rose.

"Good morning," the woman said. She had a pretty smile brightened with the warmest blue eyes I had ever seen. She was about five feet two with a small bosom and hips definitely too wide for Dorothy's taste. Her forearms were strong, but she had small hands. "I'm Christina, Mrs. Livingston's maid. She asked me to bring up your breakfast this morning."

"Oh, you didn't have to do that," I said, sitting up and struggling to get my eyelids to stay open. "What time is it?" I gazed at the clock in the belly of a light blue ceramic, seagull. "I've never slept this late."

"It's all right, dear. Mrs. Livingston insisted," Christina said, placing the tray on a bed table she'd retrieved from the closet.

"You have two, two-minute soft-boiled eggs," she said, lifting the cover to show me. "Did you want anything else? Hot cereal, different juice? I have freshly squeezed grapefruit or prune."

"No, this is fine, but I could have come downstairs," I said, uncomfortable with all her fussing.

"Only Mr. Livingston comes down for breakfast as a rule," Christina replied with a smile. "He reads the morning papers and doesn't mind eating alone. Mrs. Livingston always takes her breakfast in bed. Do you have everything you need?" she asked, walking into the bathroom. "More towels, anything?"

"I'm fine at the moment," I said, drinking my juice. "Thank you."