Free Graves' Retreat by Ed Gorman Page B

ornamenting floral design, her brown eyes watching him.
        Sadly.
        And then it came back to him-her grief the night he’d told her that he did not want to see her anymore-how instead of tears a distance had come into her eyes, a distance he could not stand to watch, a distance far worse than words or anger could ever have been.
        He saw some of that distance in her gaze now.
        And he hurried out of there.
        

CHAPTER TEN
        
        “He was rude to you.”
        “It’s just his manner.”
        “You’re afraid of him.”
        “I’m just polite.”
        “He humiliates you and you let him.”
        “As I said, Susan, it’s just his manner.”
        In the center of the downtown was a square of summer green grass with park benches and tables where many of the merchants and their employees sat and ate their lunches watching pigeons trundling around and dogs chasing after them. The city groundskeeper showed some of his most beautiful snapdragons, petunias and roses in a small but famous garden here and the air was rich with its blessings.
        Susan sat across the table from Byron Fuller. She had brought them a picnic basket with chicken sandwiches and ice tea and two slices of chocolate cake for his noon hour. She liked festivities, so she also spread out a red and white checkered tablecloth that was brilliant in the daylight.
        For the first ten minutes she had stopped herself from mentioning last night-how her father had exploded at Byron over some innocently expressed political opinion (Byron was not a particular admirer of President Arthur’s) but Byron had not defended himself at all.
        But then he had never defended himself in all the years that Clinton Edmonds had been browbeating him-and Susan was beginning to lose respect for Byron. Which was why, of course, she’d turned briefly to Les Graves.
        “I need to say something to you, Byron.”
        “You know,” Byron said, in his best calm voice, “I read an article in Harper's Weekly a few issues ago which said-”
        “I don’t give a damn what it said.”
        Byron blushed and looked quickly around to see if any of the other people in Greene Square might have heard her use profanity.
        “My Lord, Susan,” he said.
        “I just want you to understand the gravity of this lunch today.”
        “I just don’t see what you’re so upset about.”
        “I’m upset because my whole future is at stake.”
        “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
        “If my father breaks you the way he broke my brothers-we’ll never have any peace as husband and wife. He’ll run our lives because you’ll let him.”
        “I most certainly will not let him run our lives.” For the first time Byron sat up straight and seemed touched by something resembling pride.
        “Then the next time he shouts at you or tries to humiliate you- stand up to him.”
        “But he’s-”
        “He’s what?”
        “He's your father.”
        “He also happens to be a tyrant.”
        “And he’s-”
        “What?”
        “He’s-my elder. You’re supposed to have respect for your elders.”
        “You heard me, Byron. He’s destroyed the lives of my mother and my brothers, but I’ll be damned before I let him destroy my life!” Byron leaned forward and stage-whispered, “Will you please quit using profanity! I'm a banker -what will people think?”
        “Right now I don’t care what people think.”
        His stage whisper continued. “Well, I do care. I have to care. I’m a banker."
        She smiled. “You look so cute right now, Byron. You’re so embarrassed and helpless-like a little boy.” She knew she loved him at moments like these. Without trying in the least, Byron was so winning, good, kind and gentle and patient, just as he’d been all the years