My Journal
By Harriman Nelson
56
“Are you sure, sir?”
Ames asked via my cabin’s phone. I knew it was early in California. NIMR
Security had called his home number, but I doubted if his questioning my
request was due to grogginess.
“I’m sure. Have the
lawyers draft the proper form, and you fax it to me here aboard Seaview.”
“Does Lee
know about this?”
“Just do it! And no. He doesn't know bout
it,” I sighed. “But
it’s the only way I know of that will prove to him that I want what he wants
even if I don’t want it.”
“Sir, I don’t know exactly
what happened between you, but I can’t believe that Lee would want this.”
“I know what I’m
doing, Ames. Nelson out,” I said firmly, ended the call, and informed Sparks to
expect a fax from NIMR.
I wondered where Lee
was, as I leaned back in my chair. Sailing to Sicily hadn’t been part of his
original plans. He might even have changed his mind about rejoining the tour
group at all. For a moment I envisioned Lee and Joe, along with Melina and the
nun riding in a hay wagon drawn by donkeys, their bare feet dangling in the
breeze, drinking the local Sangria from a shared bottle, (except, of course,
for the nun). Such creatures are above such things…. Oh, Harriman, get a grip, I told myself and forced myself back
to real life.
I can only hope that
they will attend the planned meeting at the Madrid Museum. By then the museum’s curator
will have received my signed form, with instructions to present it to Lee
as a fait’ accompli. A form that, once signed by him, will dissolve his adoption as my son.
I have no doubt that
he’ll sign it with a flourish; probably relieved. Then it
will be all over.
All over. Oh, God.
