"Da Da," Emma said.
"It's a quilt for you, Special One."
"Sweetums, next weekend . . ."
"Yes?"
"It's Daddy's birthday and Mother is having a major party, Saturday
night."
"That's nice," Oliver said dutifully. "Can't make it though."
"How come?"
"Saturday is the 31st, month-end. It's the only time I can install
those damn operating system changes--after the monthly reports and
backups and before any new transactions."
"Oh dear."
"It's my last responsibility, the last round-up."
"Well, Daddy will understand. I'll take Precious down Saturday morning
and come back Sunday afternoon. I hope the roads aren't bad."
"Don't go if they are."
"We'll see. Time for nighty-night, Precious. Da Da got you a lovely
quilt."
22.
Oliver adjusted his tie. The blue blazer that Jennifer had bought fit
well. "You look wonderful," she said, brushing non-existent dust from
his shoulder, her face happy behind him in the mirror. The oxford-cloth
shirt was soft and expansive. His gray wool slacks were tightly
creased. His shoes gleamed. Her creation. "Now don't be late."
Oliver turned and saluted. "Aye, aye . . . Jennifer, I don't know
about this.
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