it."
"I haven't tried to change it yet." He frowned at Marianne. "You're
awfully quiet."
"I've been warned. I've already been through all this with my parents,"
she added quickly. "They don't particularly like it, but we're set.
Emma and I are both eighteen now. We know what we want."
He felt suddenly, uncomfortably old. "And being eighteen means you can
do as you please?"
"We're not kids anymore," Marianne began before Emma put a hand over her
mouth.
"Sit down, Marianne, and be quiet."
Emma took her glass back from Johnno. "I know how much I owe my father,
and you. Since I was three years old, I've done everything he's asked
of me. Not just out of gratitude, Johnno, you know that, but because I
love him more than anyone in the world. I can't go on being a child for
him, being content in whatever safe little box he's picked out for me.
You wanted something, and so did he. You went for it. Well, I want
something, too."
She walked over to her suitcase, popped it, then took out a portfolio.
The nerves had faded. The energy hadn't. "These are my pictures.
I'm going to try my hand at making a living from them, and I'm going to
go to school here, to learn how. I'm going to share an apartment with
Marianne. I'm going to make friends, and go out to clubs and walk in
the park. I'm going to be a part of the world for a change instead of
standing right on the edge looking in. Please understand."
"How unhappy were you?"
She smiled a little. "I couldn't begin to explain."
"Maybe you should have."
"I tried." She turned away a moment. "He didn't understand. He
couldn't. I only wanted to be with him, with you. Because that wasn't
possible I tried to be what he wanted. That night in Martinique." She
paused, choosing her words carefully. Even Marianne didn't know what
she had seen. "Things changed for me, and for Dad. I finished out what
I'd started, Johnno. I owed him that-so much more than that. But this
is for me."
"I'll talk to him for you."
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. He's liable to take one leap over the Atlantic and
lop off my head." Idly, he opened the portfolio. "You always were
clever," he murmured. "Both of you." He nodded to a sketch of
Devastation that hung on the east wall. "Told you I was going to frame
it."
With a cry of pleasure Marianne leaped up. She had drawn it on the
evening of their graduation celebration. The house Brian had rented on
Long Island had been full of people. Never one to be shy' Marianne had
ordered all four men to pose. "I didn't think you meant it. Thanks."
"I suppose you're going to make your way drawing pictures while Emma
snaps them."
"That's right. It'll be a bit hard to be starving artists with the
inheritance my grandmother left me, but we're going to give it a shot."