Felix glanced at her sideways. Please God, she wasn’t going anywhere creepy with this, was she?
“Harry and that young sweetheart of his make a fine couple.”
On the other side of the sliding glass doors, Harry and Sammie lay entwined on the living room sofa, watching a movie. Harry was so still, he had to be asleep. Or maybe not, since he had just scratched his head. Intriguing. Maybe dopamine suppressed the tics; maybe love was a natural cure for Tourette’s.
“I’m not sure they are a couple,” Felix said. “Officially, that is.” How could he explain something he didn’t understand, and why would he even try?
“Youngsters have their own way of doing things. But those two are as much in love as I’ve ever seen. I bet you and Ella were one fine couple. Y’all still are. You so dark, Ella so fair. I didn’t see a single picture of you in the house. Lots of photos of Harry—Harry as a baby; Harry sitting on a toy dump truck; Harry dressed for his first day of kindergarten, I assume, with a multicolored backpack and matching outfit.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Felix noted Harry’s red plaid shirt and clashing purple jeans. If Harry had a style, Felix couldn’t identify it. “Hard to believe, but Harry used to like everything to match.”
“Yes.” Eudora trailed off. “So many pictures of Harry, but none of his handsome parents, and I had to wonder why.”
“Were you snooping?”
“Wouldn’t be much of a crazy neighbor if I didn’t snoop, now, would I? Don’t you have a good nose around when you’re in a house for the first time—see what you can learn? See what’s missing.”
Was she finding fault? “I’m not one for photos. That’s Ella’s territory.”
“And Harry can’t take the occasional photo of his parents while y’all are on vacation?”
“We don’t really have vacations.” Holidays, spent in England, were classified as duty visits. When Harry was younger, they’d squeezed in the occasional sightseeing trip—to York, to Bath—but the last two visits had been devoted to overseeing Mother’s affairs, and Harry and Ella had restricted their tourism to the Tower of London and the Imperial War Museum. And, from what he could remember, a number of rather expensive cream teas.
“Next time I come, I expect to see a picture of you and Ella on your wedding day.”
“I’m not sure I know where the wedding photos are.” The photo of his pregnant bride, the one he kept by his side of the bed so he could see it first thing every morning, was not for public viewing.
“Oh, I’m sure if you search you’ll find something.”
“I’m stretched a little thin, Eudora—”
“I bet she was beautiful. As a young woman.”
“Yes,” Felix said. “She was. Still is.”
“Tell me how you met. In London, I believe?”
He gave her his hardest stare, but she merely raised her eyebrows. “How did you know?” he said.
“Ella told me once. I was telling her about meeting Dahlia. Love at first sight.”
“And Dahlia was married?” Two can play the Ella-told-me game.
“Oh, yes. Happily married to her childhood sweetheart. But we met, and it was one of those life-changing events you can’t ignore. Like a category five hurricane knocking on your front door. You can’t really escape from that, even if you want to.”
“Meeting Ella was life changing.” The words slipped out unedited.
“I imagine it was.” Eudora cocked her head to the side.
Felix smiled. He was back on the Tube, seeing Ella’s face for the first time, knowing she held the power to break his heart and not caring. “We were on the London Underground, and the train was stuck in a tunnel during rush hour. Ella’s claustrophobic, which of course I didn’t know at the time, but I could tell she was anxious.”
“How very astute of you.”
“I’d been watching her; it was hard not to. She’s never been a woman to blend in.”