P.s. Love You Madly. Bethany Campbell

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СКАЧАТЬ in contrast, was independent to a fault. She was talented, she was successful—but she seemed not to care a bit for money. She waved away fat contracts and sweetheart deals, determined to follow her own, often peculiar, interests.

      Darcy was self-sufficient in other, more disturbing ways, as well. Men were interested in her, but she was seldom interested in return, at least not deeply or for long. She claimed she would never encumber herself with a husband. Lately Olivia had been beset by a nagging wish for grandchildren, but she was beginning to fear she would never have them. Perhaps both her daughters were too unconventional for marriage.

      The phone rang, and she knew who it would be. Not John, who would be at work at this time of day. No. It would be her offspring, demanding to know if she’d lost her marbles.

      The phone rang again, and Olivia squared her shoulders. She did not like confrontation, but after twenty years with Gus, she certainly didn’t fear it. She sighed, ran her hand over the perfect smoothness of her hair, and picked up the receiver.

      “Mother, it’s me,” said Darcy.

      Olivia was relieved to hear Darcy’s voice. Darcy certainly had her eccentricities, but she was a rock of stability compared to Emerald.

      “Darling,” Olivia said with admirable calm, “I’ve been expecting to hear from you.”

      “You have?” Darcy’s tone was cautious.

      “Yes,” said Olivia. She looked out the window and watched the gray sea froth against the dark shore. “Did Emerald ask you to call?”

      “Well, yes, actually, she did.” Darcy paused. “Do you know what this is about?”

      Olivia drew in a calming breath. “I accidentally sent her a copy of a letter meant for someone else. The blasted keyboard has too many keys. I keep hitting things I don’t mean to hit. I suppose she went and read it.”

      “Yes,” said Darcy. “She did.”

      “And I suppose she came running with it to you.”

      “Yes. She did.”

      “And I suppose you read it.”

      “Yes. I did.”

      Olivia believed the best defense was a good offense. “In my day,” she said loftily, “we wouldn’t dream of reading another person’s letters. It would be considered the vilest form of snooping. The mail was sacred. Privacy was respected.”

      “E-mail isn’t real mail, Mother. No law protects it. It’s about as private as a billboard. You shouldn’t say anything in it you wouldn’t want the world to know. I could take that letter and copy it a hundred times and tape it to every telephone pole in town.”

      Olivia frowned. “That’s shocking violation of rights,” she said. “I will write my congressman.”

      “You do that,” Darcy said. “It won’t change a thing. In the meantime, Emerald’s concerned over your involvement with this—this BanditKing person. I’m a bit concerned myself.”

      “Do I intrude on your love life?” Olivia challenged. “No, I do not. Not since you were fourteen and came home with that dreadful hoodlum with the green hair and the nose ring.”

      “He grew up to be an accountant,” Darcy said. “He belongs to the Conservative Voters League and the Rotary Club.”

      “Obviously not your type, either way,” said Olivia. “Not that I’m a meddler. And I’ll thank you not to meddle, either.”

      Ha—take that, Olivia thought. Darcy loved her freedom too much to be comfortable interfering with someone else’s.

      “I don’t want to meddle,” Darcy said, and to her credit, she sounded as if she meant it. “But Emerald’s worried. She says you have to be extremely careful about getting involved with someone on the Internet. She knows her way around it better than you and me put together.”

      “Emerald sat in her room talking to boys who pretended they were wizards and Vikings. She only knows about the fantastic, not the real.”

      “Isn’t this romance moving awfully fast?”

      “Fiddle-dee-dee,” Olivia said with blitheness she did not really feel. “I am an adult and, if I do say so myself, a woman of some sophistication and experience. I can handle my own business, thank you very much.”

      Olivia bit her lower lip and waited for Darcy’s reply. In truth, she was herself amazed by how quickly she had fallen in love with John English. She felt she knew him better and more deeply than she had ever known another human being. And, miraculously, he felt the same about her.

      Olivia had spent her adult life hiding her emotions behind an aloofly flippant attitude. But somehow John English saw through the facade to the vulnerability she had never let another person glimpse.

      “Mother,” Darcy said carefully, “this is so unlike you.”

      “No, it’s just unlike my marriages. No man’s ever treated me this way before,” Olivia said, and it was the truth. “He’s kind and affectionate and understanding. I can talk to him about anything, and he’s always interested. I truly did not know the male of the species could be so sensitive and caring. It’s a new experience.”

      “But you haven’t really—” Darcy sounded uncomfortable “—you don’t really know each other that well.”

      Olivia smiled and thought, You’ve got no idea, darling.

      The letters between Olivia and John had opened into intimacy with amazing swiftness. It was as if, cut loose from earthly bonds, the letters let them explore each other’s mind and soul in supernatural detail. Such mingling of thoughts and emotion quickly led them to question if sex could have the same, almost perfect, intensity. It did.

      “Mother,” Darcy said in the same uneasy tone, “this isn’t easy to ask. But this man—”

      “John,” corrected Olivia. “He’s not ‘this man.’ John English. Of Key West, Florida.”

      “Fine. Whatever. John English,” said Darcy. “Do you have any idea how his family feels about this?”

      This question came as an unpleasant surprise to Olivia. She realized that although her closeness to John seemed absolute, he had been hesitant about discussing the exact nature of his recent trouble with his family.

      “His kin have been good enough to spare me their opinions,” Olivia said.

      “Unfortunately, they haven’t spared me,” Darcy said. “John English’s son came here to talk.”

      Olivia was stunned, horrified. “He came there?”

      “Yes,” said Darcy. “To the guest house. Emerald was here—she’d just gotten your letter. Then he showed up. Sloan English.”

      Olivia felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. “Oh,” she said. “Yes. Well. Sloan. We’ve never met. But—I’m surprised. He just got back to the States. I thought he’d been sick.”

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