The Last of the Stanfields(35)
As the doors closed and we readied for takeoff, I fastened my seat belt and finally had a closer look at the mysterious pouch in my pocket. I found an old envelope inside, yellowed with age, along with a little note Michel had scribbled out for me.
Elby,
This pouch belonged to Mum. It originally contained a necklace, which I removed and replaced with this old letter. The letter was originally kept in a wooden box, which also belonged to Mum. As you might imagine, the dimensions of the box were so large, it would never have fit inside the pocket of your jacket. Mum gave me the wooden box to make sure Dad didn’t find it while they were repainting their flat. There are many other letters inside the wooden box. This one was at the top of the stack. I promised Mum I’d never read them. I never have. You did not make any such promise, so you may do what you wish. When you come back, if you haven’t yet found what you’re looking for, I will give you the other letters. Be careful. I will miss you. Actually, I’d like to tell you something that for reasons I cannot quite grasp I am unable to tell you face-to-face, that in fact, I miss you all the time.
Signed,
Your brother
I put away Michel’s note and had a closer look at the old envelope, confirming a hunch. The letter had been postmarked in Montreal.
15
MAY
September 1980, Baltimore
May had spent the entire evening poring over résumés and cover letters. The project had to be kept under wraps as long as possible, so all outreach had to be through unconventional means. They had to pique the interest of journalists, copy editors, librarians, and designers, all without drawing any unwanted attention.
By the time midnight rolled around, there was still no sign of Sally-Anne, and May began to feel antsy. At three in the morning, when she saw Keith drop her off down on the sidewalk below, she was positively livid. To think those two were out living it up while May slaved away late into the night.
She heard Sally-Anne come into the room, slide into bed beside her, and ask how she was doing. May rolled over and turned her back to her, pretending she was asleep.
The silent treatment carried over into the next morning. May tore open job applications, blatantly ignoring Sally-Anne, even after she had gone to the trouble of fixing them both breakfast.
“Will you stop it already, May? I’m supposed to be the trust-fund baby, and you’re the one pouting like a spoilt child. You know I love you more than anybody. I just . . . also enjoy men. Does that make me a bad person? Keith is gorgeous, he’s strong—all with that surprisingly soft touch—and we’re both hooked on him. So what? What’s wrong with just sharing him? Men do it all the time. Why can’t we? I highly doubt that Keith is bothered by the arrangement. Who the hell is still bothering with monogamy at all these days anyway?”
“I am!”
“Really. Are you now?”
May avoided her eyes, aware of her own hypocrisy.
“And if you try to tell me you’re actually in love with him, I’ll laugh in your face,” Sally-Anne continued. “Honestly, I’d prefer hearing about the ways he makes you come.”
“Enough already. I don’t need lectures from you on morality, Sally-Anne. I may not be a saint, and I’m certainly not blind to our society’s mores, I just choose not to live by them. So, as much as you might not want to hear it, I’m actually more progressive than you because I still choose to believe in true love.”
“Please don’t tell me you’re talking about Keith! I mean, don’t get me wrong. It’s not every day you find a man that attentive, that’s for sure. The fact is, you threw yourself at him because he’s great in bed, full stop, to borrow your catchphrase. Now, can we please just stop fighting? Let me buy you lunch. I’ve got the perfect spot. There’s this brand-new oyster bar that just opened on the waterfront called Sailor’s Hideaway. They get oysters in fresh from Maine every morning, and they are to die for.”
“Is that where you two went for dinner last night?”
“Damn! I totally forgot,” Sally-Anne said with a groan, her face falling. “I have to have lunch with my brother. Listen, if you still love me at all, even a little? Come with me. No one gets under my skin like he does.”
“Then why are you having lunch with him?”
“He asked to see me. I don’t have a choice.”
“I’ll hitch a ride with you into the city, but as for your sibling date, you’re on your own.”
They didn’t even make it out the door until past one o’clock. May had put some makeup on, having agreed to at least meet the brother, and Sally-Anne teased her incessantly for it. Then they roared away on the Triumph, not slowing even once before coming to a screeching halt in front of the Baltimore Country Club.
The valet raised his eyebrows, admiring both the bike and its riders. The doorman bowed extra low for Sally-Anne, and May watched with surprise at the respect she was shown at every turn, totally in awe of the opulent surroundings. An elegant ma?tre d’ popped up to accompany the two women, and they continued down lavishly decorated corridors beneath portraits of high-society men in ornate gilded frames, until they at last entered the dining room. The ma?tre d’ led them to the Stanfield table—reserved year-round exclusively for the family—where Sally-Anne’s brother, Edward, sat waiting. He sighed as his sister approached, not even bothering to look up from his newspaper.