NEWPORT, Aug. 21—A priceless Revolutionary-era hutch, inlaid with gold and ivory, as well as some china bowls and plates, on loan to the Rhode Island Historical Preservation Society (RIHPS) from the Hamblen family, were damaged beyond repair last week when a forklift, involved in the repair of the foundation of the historical Botwick House in Newport, Rhode Island, collided with an exterior wall.
An assistant curator, Professor Myron Tidwell, 38, said that in the course of repairing the foundation, the forklift gears jammed and the front loader hit the wall, damaging the contents inside. “We are assessing the incident now,” Professor Tidwell said. “If we find the driver was at fault, we will take appropriate action, but at the moment, it looks like a tragic accident and a loss to America of precious pre–Revolutionary War artifacts.
“The loss value of the hutch and china could very well be in the thousands. The damage to the structure could likewise be costly. We are quantifying the claim,” Tidwell said. The RIHPS insures its structures and their contents.
Chapter One
New York City
They were seated in two overstuffed chairs that put their heads below that of the marriage therapist across from them, who, with his legs comfortably crossed, drummed idly on the armrest as he peered down at his notes.
Aaron Lear thought this guy probably liked this setup, lording himself over all the poor slobs who couldn’t make their relationships with even their underwear work. His name was Daniel (he preferred the use of first names), and he was wearing a custom-made suit and square matchbox glasses. He had a dozen or more certificates framed and hung on the wall behind him, and boxes of tissue on every conceivable surface.
Frankly, Aaron hated him and his psycho-crap and how he looked down his nose and asked them to describe their feelings. Honestly, Aaron couldn’t say which was worse—enduring the pain and sickness and overwhelming disappointment of having to undergo chemo and radiation again for a cancer that had come back with a vengeance? Or that he had to share his feelings? Either way, it all led to the same, mortal conclusion, and he preferred not to sit around pondering the inevitability of his life coming to an end.
He was a year away from being only sixty years old and he still had too much to do.
Granted, in the last two years he had seen his oldest two daughters find love and contentment, which was his most pressing pre-death desire. But he still had another daughter who needed him, the most hapless of his girls, his baby, Rachel. She hadn’t found her way in life. How could he go before he had seen her through to . . . something?
And of course there was Bonnie, the love of his life, the mother of his children, the woman he had treated like shit for more than thirty years, which, incidentally, was why they were sitting here waiting for Daniel the Overpriced Therapist to review some notes.
Actually, Aaron still thought it pretty remarkable that he and Bonnie had reconciled. The day he had strapped on a pair of balls and gone to Los Angeles to beg her to give him one more chance he didn’t deserve, he’d seen her face and knew at once he’d do anything. He’d seen the beautiful blue eyes that still glistened after all these years, the shiny dark hair with just a hint of gray . . . and the unforgiving set of her jaw.
That was the moment he’d known she’d not allow him back into her life, would not sully one more day with him. Frankly, he’d been more certain of that than he had been that the cancer had returned.
But somehow—perhaps through divine intervention, who knew?—Bonnie had let him in one last time. But with concessions. A host of them he couldn’t really recall right now except for the pompous ass seated across from them.
The pompous ass must have felt Aaron’s despising vibes, because he looked up, smiled and said, “We did some good work Monday. We learned about our mutual feelings surrounding the first separation, didn’t we?”
Bonnie nodded. Aaron just glared at him
“Now Bonnie, when we met on Monday, you indicated you were agitated about a recent event, do you recall?” Daniel asked.
“Yes, I do,” Bonnie said primly. She was sitting ramrod straight, her hands folded in her lap, looking gorgeous with her dark hair cropped short and wild, just like he saw in the magazines he read when he was getting chemo.
“Would you care to talk a little about that?” Daniel prompted.
She sighed, looked at Aaron. “I guess its old news now. It was just that our daughter Rachel had been up to care for Aaron while I went back to Los Angeles to take care of a few things—”
“Because your primary home is in Los Angeles, correct?” Daniel clarified. “And you’ve come to New York to be with your husband during a difficult time.”