Suzanne's Diary for Nicholas Read Online Free PDF Page A

She’d learned
     bookbinding at the Penland School of Crafts in North Carolina.
    There was a phrase she loved, and also lived by— Hands to work, hearts to God.
    She had so many questions right now, but no one to answer them. No, that wasn’t completely true, was it? She had the diary.
    Suzanne.
    She liked her. Damn it, she liked Suzanne. She hadn’t wanted to—but there it was. Under different circumstances they might
     have been friends. She
had
friends like Suzanne in New York and back home in North Carolina. Laurie, Robin, Susan, Gilda, Lynn— lots of really good
     friends.
    Suzanne had been gutsy and brave to get out of Boston and move to Martha’s Vineyard. She had chased her dream to be the kind
     of doctor, the kind of woman, she needed to be. She had learned from her near-fatal heart attack: she’d learned to treasure
     every moment as a
gift.
    And what about Matt? What had Katie meant to him? Was she just another woman in a doomed affair? God, she felt as if she should
     be wearing the Scarlet Letter. Suddenly, she was ashamed. Her father used to ask her a question all the time when she was
     growing up: “Are you right with God, Katie?” She wasn’t sure now. She didn’t know if she was right with anyone. She had never
     felt that way before, and she didn’t like it.
    “Jerk,” she whispered. “You creep. Not
you,
Guinevere. I’m talking about Matt! Damn him!”
    Why didn’t he just tell her the truth? Had he been cheating on his perfect wife? Why hadn’t he wanted to talk about Suzanne?
     Or Nicholas?
    How could she have allowed Matt to seal off his past from her? She hadn’t pushed as much as she could have. Why? Because it
     wasn’t her style to be pushy. Because she didn’t like being pushed herself. She certainly didn’t like confrontations.
    But the most compelling reason had been the look in Matt’s eyes whenever they started to talk about his past. There was such
     sadness—but also intimations of anger. And Matt had
sworn
to her that he was no longer married.
    Katie kept remembering the horrible night Matt left her. She was still trying to make sense of it. Had she been a fool to
     trust
someone she thought she loved?
    On the night of July 18, she had prepared a special dinner. She was a good cook, though she seldom had the time to do this
     kind of elaborate affair. She’d set the wrought-iron table on her small terrace with her beautiful Royal Crown Derby china
     and her grand- mother’s silver. She’d bought a dozen roses, a mixture of red and white. She had Toni Braxton, Anita Baker,
     Whitney, and Eric Clapton on the CD player.
    When Matt arrived, she had the best, the most wonderful surprise waiting for him. It was really great: the first copy of the
     book of poems he’d written, which she had edited at the publishing house where she worked. It had been a labor of love. She
     also gave him the news that the printing was 11,500 copies—very large for a collection of poems. “You’re on your way. Don’t
     forget your friends when you get to the top,” she’d said.
    Less than an hour later, Katie found herself in tears, shaking all over, and feeling as if she were living a horrible nightmare
     that couldn’t possibly be real. Matt had barely come in the door when she knew something was wrong. She could see it in his
     eyes, hear it in the tone of his voice. Matt had finally told her, “Katie, I have to break this off. I can’t see you again.
     I won’t be coming to New York anymore. I know how awful that sounds, how unexpected. I’m sorry. I had to tell you in person.
     That’s why I came here tonight.”
    No, he had no idea how awful it sounded, or was. Her heart was broken. It
still
was broken. She had trusted him. She’d left herself completely open to hurt. She’d never done that before.
    And she had wanted to talk to him that night— she’d had important things to tell him.
    Katie just never got the chance.
    After he left her apartment, she opened a