Eden 30

EleanorEleanor’s editor had sent three letters, increasingly urgent, asking for her manuscript of the novel she had promised to deliver two months ago.

She crumpled the latest of them now and tossed it into the dim grate of the stifling little room where she had been trying to work. What she needed was a house by the sea.

She put her head in her hands and sighed. What she needed was to hear something—anything—from Eden.

She had not heard a word from the girl in months. But she could not give her up. After all the hopes she had invested in her—letting them go was too much.

She needed a drink. She glanced at the table in the corner of the room. The decanter of brandy she kept there was long empty. She sighed and stood to make her way downstairs.

The decanter in the parlor was empty too. She cursed under her breath and went to the hall for her hat and stick. There was a cafe on the corner.

She had been drinking and smoking for an hour when it came to her to leave Paris. She had come here for Eden. She would stay for Bette if Bette had asked her to, but she had not.

But the thought of Boston made Eleanor sick at heart and the thought of London—Wil and her friends—made her sick to her stomach.

She finished her cigarette and finished her drink.

Then it came to her. Bette was right. She had to tell Eden why it all mattered so much.

She would do it—she would go to Arizona and tell her about the inheritance.

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