Neighbor Ch. 08

Before we fell asleep in each other's arms Gee whispered, "Jim. I'm home. Really home this time. Forever. No more painting. No more art. Maybe I'll write. Novels. Short stories." Her voice petered out as sleep overtook her.

The next morning over breakfast I was shocked to discover that Gee had not heard of either the studio fire or about my Audi.

When she learned of Patrick's, and two unknown (probably the "silly" girls according to Gee) deaths and his son's disfigurement all she said was, "Sad, yes. Tragic, yes. Sorry for the families, very. But also good. For me, us. Closes that book. I warned them several times about the use of dozens of candles around volatile flammable fluids in the studio. They did not even have a fire extinguisher. Stupid, stupid people."

I was shocked at her callous response to the news.

Almost immediately afterwards, almost as if I'd not even mentioned the news I had just given her, she asked me if I'd drive her to the garden center.

It looks as though Gee and I can truly move on to the next chapter of our lives together. I hope. Maybe.

Kelsey, enjoy your life on the west coast. Call in, if you return this way.

Jim