Page 11 of Simon Says

CHAPTER TWO

“Mom said youwanted to see me?” Rosie appeared in Simon’s office just as he was taking a sip of tea.

“Do you have time for a story?”

She flopped down into the overstuffed chair in the corner that he probably used as a nap chair. “I’m all yours.”

“Oh please no. I’m not prepared for a pet as high maintenance as you.”

Rosie smiled wide. “Simon! Did you just make a joke? What’s next? Pigs flying? Snowballs melting in Hades?”

“I joke.” He looked a little offended.

Rosie just shook her head no, but seeing that the idea of being humorless was disturbing to him, she took pity and said, “But you have good reason to be serious. Heavy hangs the head that wears the crown and all that.”

“Heavyisthe head.”

“You shouldn’t correct people who have come from afar just because you asked.”

“Afar?” he scoffed audibly. “Distance doesn’t matter with you. It’s irrelevant.”

“Not helping your case.”

He stared for a couple of beats before saying, “Heavy hangs the head is better. Shakespeare be damned.”

“Damn right.”

Simon rose and flipped open the top half of a beautiful carved globe to reveal a mini bar. “How about a Scotch?”

“Make mine three fingers.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You sure? This is good stuff and I need you conscious.”

She laughed. “You’re not worried about my state of sobriety. You’re being stingy.” She looked at the decanter. “That must be theshit. Because you may be stuffy, but you’re not stingy.”

“Thank you,” he said drily. “I assure you it is not shit.”

“Okay.” For once in her life, she decided to exercise some patience and let him get to his point in his own good way in his own good time.

He sat down in his executive chair and swiveled toward her. “What are you doing?”

“Waiting for you to tell me why I’m here.”

“No, Rosie. I mean what are you doing with your life? Right now.”

“With my life,” she repeated. “Well, I’ve been trying to talk Glen into letting me have some free range chickens in the court park.”

“How’s that going?”

“He’s being difficult and obstinate.”

Simon nodded. “Ah. What else?”

“I’ve taken up painting.”

“Painting,” Simon said drily.

“Yeah. I put one of my paintings of the Brackinstarle dragons up in the hallway leading to the infirmary. The nurses think I have an incredible imagination, but I was actually going for photo realism. I stopped trying to explain because their eyes sort of, um, glaze over.”

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