“I’ll put it away, then, and you can open it and the others afterward.”
“That would be the intelligent dung to do,” Susan said. “And I’ve always been such a thoughtful, intelligent human being.”
“So you have,” Mary said, dumping the present in her lap. “Are you going to open it or am I?”
Susan tore the wrappings away, exposing a beautiful old leather box tied with thongs. She opened it, staring down into the contents in consternation.
“Well, what is it?” her mother demanded. “Some bizarre form of birth control? Camel jerky? I wouldn’t put anything past Louisa.”
Slowly Susan lifted the various items from the box and set them on the glass-topped table in front of her. An ancient passport, dated in the nineteen fifties, the photo torn away, the name barely readable except for the “Louisa,” every page of it stamped and visa’d with destinations and locales from every continent There were photographs of various women from long ago, including one Susan recognized as Amelia Earhart and another she suspected was the famous Victorian traveler, Lady Hester Stanhope.
Hie final item was an antique travel diary, bound in embossed leather. Empty, waiting to be filled.
“How very interesting,” Mary said mildly from over her shoulder.
Susan set the items back in the leather box with care. “Obviously my godmother doesn’t know much about me,” she said in a light voice. “I’m a homebody, not a world traveler. I’ve never even been out of the country.”
“You used to have travel posters all over your walls when you were a teenager,” Mary reminded her. “I remember you telling me that your life’s dream was to see Venice.”
“People change.”
“So you don’t want to see Venice?”
“I will sooner or later,” she said, strangely uncertain of any such thing. “In the meantime, I need to put a stop to these presents.” She rose, pushing the box away from her.
“I told you, I can simply put them away....”
“I don’t have the willpower. Jake will simply have to hold on to the rest, assuming there are still more to come, until after I’m married. I can deal with this.”
“And how are you going to find him?”
“I think I know where he’s staying,” Susan said.
“I don’t know if that’s a wise idea. You seem to react very strongly to Jake Wyczynski. I’ve never seen you get so upset It’s quite unlike you. Maybe I should deal with it.”
“No!” Susan said sharply. “I’m not a complete coward. It’s my problem and I’ll deal with it. The man just gets on my nerves.”
“I never said you were a coward, Susan. I just worry about you.”
She kissed her mother briskly on one cheek. “Don’t worry. I have everything under control. I always do.”
“Yes,” said Mary, sounding less than happy with the notion. “You always do.”
Jake slept late, dragging himself out of his sleeping bag sometime in the early afternoon. He figured he might as well try to stay on African time rather than try to adjust for one short week. Besides, most of the things he was supposed to attend were at night, anyway, when he’d just be waking up.
He was on his second cup of coffee when he heard someone outside the old garage. He froze, definitely not in the mood for visitors, or anyone he’d have to justify his presence to. He had every right and permission to be camping there, but he preferred not sharing that information with the world.
Whoever was outside knew exactly where they were going. He heard measured footsteps on the rickety stairs, and he sighed, wondering whether he was going to be facing an irate groundskeeper or the local police.
He would have preferred either of those two unpleasant possibilities to Susan Abbott, her tall, slim body silhouetted in the doorway in the afternoon light.
“I thought I’d find you here,” she said with a trace of smugness.
He didn’t move. He was only wearing an old pair of cutoff jeans, no shirt or shoes, but he was damned if he was going to cover himself up. After all, he hadn’t invited her—she was just going to have to put up with his lack of attire.
“I wasn’t trying to be mysterious,” he said mildly.
She walked into the room, looking around curiously. She was dressed casually, in a pair of faded jeans and a T-shirt, and he noticed dismally that he liked her breasts. It came as no surprise, but in her formal clothes he’d been able to keep his mind off them. He seldom found elegantly dressed women attractive. Put them in T-shirts or flannel and his hormones were far more likely to surge.
