Undo by Joe Hutsko (first ebook reader .txt) 📕
That this was my first attempt at writing a novel goes a long way toward explaining the earliest rejections of the work, then titled "Silicon Dreams," by editors unlucky enough to have had it land with a thud on their desks. Somehow I'd lost sight of Mr. Wolfe's excellent illustration and found myself mimicking, all at once, the likes of Sidney Sheldon, Arthur Hailey, Jackie Collins, and, believe it or not, Stephen King (who happens to be my favorite mainstream read). With so many influences at play in the already befuddled head of an aspiring young writer with dreams of hitting the number one spot on all of t
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“Sorry, Matthew, but it was never that simple.”
But it could be now, Matthew thought, sitting there at the breakfast table, clutching tightly in his fist the little circular thing he had been hiding in his briefcase for so many years.
He was completely spent, used up. Alone. There was no one for him now. No one he could call on. William had informed him that Laurence had arranged for a transfer to an ICP office in France. And, effective immediately, Eileen, his former secretary, was Byron Holmes’s personal assistant.
And then there was Greta.
He opened his fist and looked at the gold object in his palm. It rolled out of his hand onto the tabletop.
He twirled Greta’s wedding band round and round with his fingertip. On that awful day years ago, he had retrieved the ring from the boat deck before kicking her severed finger into the ocean. Unable to face the horror of what had happened to her, to her hand, he had hidden the ring in his briefcase ever since.
She was the only person in the world who had ever truly supported him, the only person who would know just what to say right now. And she was gone. He had destroyed her, too, with his damnable, selfish dream. A dream that had become a nightmare. One from which there would be no waking. It was all over. Really and truly through.
Ah, but the cyanide pill. It was his grandest plan ever. He wiped his nose on his shirtsleeve and straightened, contemplating the details of his new plan. Had Greta left anything in the medicine cabinet? Sleeping pills? What about the garage, in that damned car? He lowered his head to his folded arms again, considered his options.
He was awakened by the sound of the doorbell.
As everything came back to him all at once, his first reaction was paranoia. The press. Reporters and photographers. They had scaled the gate, and they were coming for him, coming to mock him.
“Go away,” he shouted.
But instead of leaving him alone, they resorted to pounding, screaming his name. They rang again, more pounding.
He called for Marie and ordered her to send them away. The housekeeper came back a moment later and told him who it was at the door.
He grabbed the ring and leaped up from his chair, tears finally coming as he staggered down the foyer.
He twisted the lock and swung open the door.
And there she stood. A sobbing Greta, wearing, he noticed at once and unmistakably, the very gloves he had bought for Laurence. Pigskin, and fit for a queen. His queen.
Yes, she was wearing them now, and didn’t that then mean that he had bought them for her, really? That they belonged together?
Peter sat on the rug with his legs crossed, Isle in a bundle beside him, and together they listened to Kate’s soothing voice mingle with the sound of the light rainfall outside.
Ivy came into the room, humming softly.
“Is she asleep?”
“Not quite. I think she’s sorta wired. She’s had a tough day. You too.”
“You three,” Ivy said.
Peter stood up. “Thanks for letting her stay here tonight. I’ll bring her over tomorrow afternoon, if that’s okay.”
“Sure,” Ivy said. “A deal’s a deal.”
“Thanks.”
Peter had offered to marry Ivy, but she had declined. In their out of court settlement, Peter had agreed to child-support payments, and Ivy had granted him visitation rights.
For the rights to her ISLE hardware and software design, ICP paid Ivy six million dollars.
They hugged, and then she was gone.
He sat back down beside Isle and she stirred. He took her in his arms.
“You miss Grandma Gracie and Grandpa Byron already?” he said, pretending she understood every word. “Me too,” he said.
Byron and Grace had left a few hours ago for Maine, to take care of some things and plan their move west. They intended to find a vacation home in California, where they would reside for however long Byron managed Wallaby.
Peter’s own home now felt like it used to, before Isle. Quiet, empty. Yet at this moment, it was more full of life than ever. But this, he had to keep reminding himself, was temporary. That was the deal. But it was better than nothing at all. Better than being completely alone.
The next song started playing on the disc player. Kate’s voice chased away the silence, replaced it with the missing element.
“When you’re a little older,” he told Isle, “I’m going to teach you how to sing just like that.”
“And who’s going to teach you?”
Peter spun around.
Kate stood there in the doorway, smiling, wearing a raincoat and carrying a garment bag.
“I let myself in,” she said as he jumped to his feet.
“Hello, babies,” she said, shrugging off of her wet coat. She dropped her bag on the floor and set her purse on the coffee table.
“I can’t believe it’s you,” Peter said excitedly. “What are you doing here?”
She bent, hands on her knees, and smiled brightly at Isle.
“Look at you, little girl. This is the first time I’ve seen you in person.” She looked up at Peter. “Hey, what kind of welcome is that? I thought you’d be happy to see me.”
“I am, I am!” he said touching her arm. “I just can’t believe you’re really here.”
“Congratulations,” she said, retrieving a copy of the “Los Angeles Times” from her purse. “And to you, too,” she said waving the front page of the business section at Isle. Beneath the headline was a picture of Peter holding Isle, flanked by Byron and Ivy.
“Back to Wallaby,” Kate said. “Sure surprised me.” She opened her hands before Isle. “May I?”
“Of course,” he said, placing Isle gently in Kate’s arms. “Be careful, you have to support her head. Like this,” he said, taking Kate’s hand and carefully cradling it beneath Isle’s neck. “That’s right.”
For a few precious moments he let his hand remain beneath Kate’s before pulling away. Watching her holding the infant Peter felt a swell in his throat, wishing it could be like this between them again, always.
Kate sat down on the sofa.
“So, is it true?”
“Is what true?”
Freeing a hand, she picked up the newspaper and scanned the article. “Here it is,” she said. “Quote: ‘I’m not going to work as much as I used to. There are more important things in my life now.’ End quote.”
“True,” he said. “Totally.”
“What about Ivy?”
He explained the arrangement they had made and the deal with ICP.
“Good for her. She’s earned it.”
Peter agreed, then sat quiet for a few moments, unsure how to say what he wanted to say.
“What about us? You. I mean, is there any way I can earn you back?”
Kate looked at him and smiled. She took his hand and held it in her own, beneath Isle.
They sat there in silence for a while, adjusting to feeling one another again after so long apart. After a minute or so it felt to Peter as though they were breathing as one, the way they used to, and along with this feeling his heart stirred, declaring itself in an unfamiliar way, and he tensed.
“What is it?” she said.
“I’m scared,” he said.
They kissed.
End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of “Undo”, a novel by Joe Hutsko COPYRIGHT 1996, by Joe Hutsko
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