Chapter 9 - The Room of Quiet Light
Upstairs in Suite 204, the lamps were turned down low.
The amber light from the bedside table threw long, soft shadows across the pale green silk walls. The sound of the wind outside had softened into a steady, rhythmic sigh against the heavy window glass.
Arthur Vance lay in his four-poster bed, propped up against three large goose-feather pillows. His white hair was brushed back; his black tuxedo had been replaced by a soft gray flannel nightshirt; and his hands lay quiet and still over the white wool blanket.
Elena sat in the wing chair beside him.
She had taken off her dark lace gown and put on a simple cotton dressing gown of pale cream. Her hair was unpinned, falling in dark, soft waves over her shoulders.
The scuffed blue leather briefcase sat open on the small table between them, beside the cream parchment envelope with its three red wax seals.
“Is he gone?” Arthur asked. His voice was very faint now—the deep, gravelly bell reduced to a whisper that sounded like dry paper sliding across wood.
“He is in the guest wing,” Elena said gently. “Thomas is down there with him.”
Arthur closed his eyes for a moment. A long, slow breath came through his nose and went out through his lips in a silent sigh.
“I am sorry,” Arthur whispered. “I am sorry I didn't do it three years ago.”
Elena reached out and laid her hand over his swollen knuckles. “You loved your son, Arthur. A father is allowed to hope that his son will grow up.”
Arthur opened his eyes. He turned his head slowly to look at her face.
“He will never grow up,” Arthur said softly. “Some men are born to build walls, Elena. And some men are born to sit on them until they fall off. Jaden was born to sit on the wall.”
He reached out his left thumb and touched the silver acorn brooch she had set on the table beside the briefcase.
“My mother gave me that when I bought my first gravel truck in 1948,” Arthur said. “She told me that an acorn doesn't look like much when it’s sitting in the dirt. But if the soil is honest, it will hold a roof over your head fifty years later.”
He looked at her dark eyes.
“You are honest soil, Elena.”
Elena swallowed down the lump in her throat. She pressed her cheek against his hand, feeling the cold, thin skin and the steady, quiet pulse beneath his wrist.
“I will take care of the company, Arthur,” she said. “I will make sure the shipping terminals stay open. I will make sure the workers keep their pensions. I will make sure the library gets its books.”
“I know,” Arthur said.
May you like
His eyelids fluttered shut again. His breathing became long, slow, and rhythmic—the deep, quiet sleep of a man who had finally finished a long day’s work and knew that the house was locked, the fires were put out, and the keys were in safe hands.
Elena sat beside him in the quiet room for a long time, listening to the clock on the wall and the distant sound of the tide turning out in the Sound.
