The Summer of Sunshine and Margot - Susan Mallery Page 0,67
work for him. I’m his nanny. That would be tacky and certainly a violation of my personal code of ethics and just no. What if things went bad? I’d lose him and Connor and my job. Then I’d have nothing and I’d have to start over again. It would be a disaster.”
Instead of looking chagrined, Margot simply smiled. “Uh-huh. You never said you weren’t interested.”
Sunshine felt herself flush. “And I’m not interested.”
“Too late.”
Sunshine honest to God had no idea what to say. She wasn’t interested in Declan that way. She couldn’t be. The whole idea had disaster written all over it.
“I will show my love for you by changing the subject,” Margot said cheerfully. “Guess who’s trying to find me.”
“No! What is wrong with that man? I’m sorry. What are you going to do?”
“He got in touch with Kiska and she thinks I should give him another chance.”
“Did you tell her he’s already had twenty?”
“Pretty much, but here’s the good part.” Margot leaned toward her. “I don’t care that he wants to see me. I don’t care that I haven’t heard from him. I’m not relieved, I’m not upset, I’m not worried, I’m not anything.”
“Wow. You’re over him.”
“So over him.”
Margot raised her glass of iced tea. Sunshine did the same. They clinked glasses and smiled at each other.
“Baxter sisters rule,” Sunshine said firmly.
“You know it, sister. You know it.”
* * *
Alec was constantly struck by the similarities between life six thousand years ago and life today. Families, regardless of era, worried about children and the future. Wars threatened, illness and injury took beloved souls without warning and the seasons of humans kept time with the seasons of the earth.
He’d been working a translation that was in dispute. He had a copy of the original text, along with two different translations. Rather than compare them to each other, he first translated the text himself. Later he would compare the three and decide which translation was the best.
The work, a poem from 2232 BC, was simple yet emotional. A man at the end of his years reminiscing about his life, both his mistakes and his victories. He’d been a warrior until an injury had taken that career from him, so he’d started farming. Given his battle experience, he’d looked at crops differently than those raised on the soil, as he’d put it in his poem. He’d been the first in his village to suggest what farmers today would call crop rotation. He’d also invented clever ways to keep away the birds, rabbits and other creatures that ate too much and offered little in return.
Life had been simpler then, but it hadn’t been that different. Boys still dreamed of becoming strong men and doing brave things. They still sought to win the heart of the fair maiden, however that definition might change over time.
Alec made several notations in the margin of his work, then leaned back in his chair and stretched. When he finished his analysis, he would run the poem through a computer program that would offer a slightly more prosaic translation, giving him a fourth point of reference. While the program often missed the nuances in the ancient works, it sometimes provided a noteworthy word choice that could be a jumping-off point for further study.
He’d just picked up his pen when Bianca breezed into his office, a large vase filled with flowers in her hands.
“Hello, darling,” she said, smiling at him. “Remember when you were a little boy and you used to pick me flowers all the time? I was thinking about that today for some reason. Remember that old lady who lived next to us? Mrs. Pearce? You were forever in her gardens and she would phone me, shrieking about how you’d stolen her flowers. You were maybe five or six and she got so upset.”
Bianca set the vase on the credenza, then slipped into one of the chairs opposite his desk. Her smile was conspiratorial.
“I told you that she loved you picking flowers and that you should pick some for her as a thank-you.”
“I don’t remember any of this.” Not that he doubted it had happened. His mother was exactly the type to send him back to the scene of the crime to commit it again.
“The old bag was delighted,” she said with a laugh. “So touched by your sweet gesture. After that, we couldn’t get rid of her. I began to worry she would sneak in at night and kidnap you for herself.”