Page:Jay Little - Maybe—Tomorrow.pdf/145



THE FOLLOWING MORNING AFTER Gaylord had finished his breakfast, he continued to sit at the table and idly run his fingers across the edge of his water glass. His athletic frame was clad in grey trousers and a dark royal blue sport shirt. His sensitive face was handsome but his eyes were strangely sad; forlorn, yet somewhat wistful. There was some unusual quality about him that made his mother pause and watch him a second before she interrupted his thoughts. She stood in the doorway and fingered the pale blue satin robe she wore. It was smartly tailored and had her initials embroidered in bold letters across the left side. It had been a present from her son on her last birthday.

Mrs. Scott had told her all about the lengthy details Gaylord had gone into when he had taken the shiny material to her house. Mrs. Scott did fancy sewing for several of the women of Cotton; those that could afford her prices. Still, she was kept busy sewing for this selected clientele; busy making garments that flowed willowly and gracefully.

"Let's make this simple," she had said after Gaylord suggested flowing lines. "Your mother is such a lovely thing, Gaylord; let's make it … no, simple isn't the exact word I want to say. Let's make it tailored, smart … trim cut. I'll personally embroider three large initials on the left side, above her heart."

Above her heart, had struck Gaylord like a blow from a sledge hammer.

"Yes," he had answered, "that's it. Just what I want."

Carol Le Claire, watching her son, thought she had never seen on anyone's face such perfect distribution of handsomeness.

"How's my baby?" she asked, in a voice low and musical. She 135