Chapter 6: Two Initials

Perry carried the Book down the long table and set it open in front of Dolores, on top of her newspaper.

"Somebody cut a page out of your Book."

She looked at the gap for a moment.

"Old books lose pages, Mr. Mulvaney."

"With a razor?"

"Paper is fragile."

"And this line?" He put his finger on the black ink. "This one's fragile too? It's the only black line on the whole page."

She closed the Book on his finger.

Not hard. Just enough.

"You've had a long drive," she said. "You'll have tea."

"I don't want tea."

"You're pale and you're pregnant. You'll have tea."

She rang a little silver bell.

The housekeeper brought a tray with a teapot, two cups and a plate of lemon cookies, set it down without a word and left fast.

Dolores poured.

Perry ate four cookies before he noticed he was doing it.

"Sit up," she said. "You're carrying the Lakeshore heir, not a sack of laundry."

He sat up.

Then he looked at her.

"Your shoulders are up by your ears," he said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Your shoulders. You've been holding them up there since I walked in. Drop them."

"I'm seventy-four years old. I'll hold my shoulders where I like."

"Mrs. Burkhart, I've taught sixty-year-old women to tap in three weeks. Drop them."

She stared at him across the teapot.

Then, slowly, her shoulders came down about an inch.

She drank her tea.

"Your posture," she said, "is still terrible."

"I'm a dancer. My posture is beautiful."

"You slouch when you're frightened."

Perry didn't have an answer for that.

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