Chapter 32: All About TimingJuly 28. Close to August. Closer to the end of summer than not, and to the pool boy’s final days at the estate.
We didn’t discuss my kiss to his neck. The topic never came up. Some things were better left unsaid. Perhaps he had chalked it up as both of us being drunk and sloppy, having too much white wine to drink. Silence was golden, as the old cliché went. I didn’t object to such an action. Not at all. Amen to that.
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July 29.
Rare, hardback Steinbecks sat in my private library and I pulled four of them off one of the mahogany shelves. Nothing went better together than an expensive vodka and The Red Pony, Of Mice and Men, Cannery Row, or The Pearl. I kept clean tumblers behind rare, leather copies of Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls and one of my
