Romeo Blue Read Online Free

of you.
    I think of you.
    “This is a grave matter, Derek. We would like to know what’s going on,” Gideon said, nodding at Derek with a bit of melancholy.
    But Derek didn’t look up. Then the 78 came to the end of the song and the needle of the Victrola was scratching softly against the center of the record in a rhythmical way, reminding me of a nagging thought that I wished would just go away.
    “Derek, dear,” said The Gram, looking straight at him. “We’ve all been at sixes and sevens here, especially Gideon. Are you ready to tell us what the letter said?”

    Derek continued to stare at his plate. There was one last green bean lying there. It was turned down, like a frowning mouth.
    “Sometimes when I read my poetry aloud, I know what I want to change or add to the poem. Sometimes reading aloud helps find an answer,” said Mr. Henley.
    “Oh, Bob, what a lovely thing to say,” said Auntie. And she and Mr. Henley began staring into each other’s eyes.
    Derek slowly reached in his shirt pocket. He laid a folded piece of paper on the table. He lifted his one useless arm and dropped it on a corner of the paper to hold it down. With his good hand he then unfolded the letter and read in a low, quiet voice:
“Dear Derek,
I just landed in Portland. I am a merchant seaman on the USS Washington anchored out in the bay. I’m on shore leave for a while. I’ve been walking around the streets thinking about you and finally after all these time hoping to see you. May I come over just for an afternoon? We have so much to talk about.
With love,
Your father, Edmund Blakely.”
    “Hmm, after all these time?” said Gideon. “Your dad seems to be a bit, um, sloppy.”

    “It’s just a letter, a slipup. Who cares,” said Derek.
    “No, no, it’s fine,” said Gideon. “I was just noticing that …”
    “Gideon, hush,” said The Gram. “Must you always be a teacher?”
    “Oh, Derek,” I said. “Will you see your father? Will he be coming here?”
    “What are his intentions?” said Aunt Miami. She was holding Mr. Henley’s hand under the table. I saw it only because I happened to be under the table myself for one minute, fetching two wandering green beans that had rolled off my plate by mistake.
    “I don’t know what his intentions are,” said Derek. “But I think I am grown up enough now to make this decision for myself.”
    “Well,” said Aunt Miami. “You could write him and tell him you are indisposed and far too busy. He’s waited twelve years to see you. Tell him you need some time now and lots of it. Then toss away his letter and let him get back on his ship, the USS Thanks a Lot for Nothing, Pal .”
    The Gram and Mr. Henley began clapping and cheering. Aunt Miami stood up and took a bow.
    “Okay. Perhaps. Yeah, you’re right,” said Derek, folding the letter back into his pocket. “I’ll write and say no. Sorry. Too late.”
    “There you go, good boy.” said The Gram, putting her arm round Derek. “And now let’s hope he leaves us alone!”

    Uncle Gideon put a piece of driftwood into the woodstove. He left the door open and stared at the fire that seemed then to sizzle and spark and leap about, like a caged tiger. Outside, curtains of rain swept against the windows. I could hear the anxious ocean breaking on the rocks below. And I stared at the large oil painting, above the sideboard, of the old sea captain who once lived in this house, who once built this house. Captain A. E. Bathburn, 1854.

Unfortunately, at school in Bottlebay, Maine, there was to be an autumn dance for teens at the end of October. I was only twelve and would not be admitted. Derek had been practicing waltz steps and swing steps in the parlor. Before the letter came, I had been helping him get his steps right. “How am I doing?” I had said to him a few weeks ago as we made a last twirl to a song called “When I’m Not with You.”
    Derek had looked down at me. He smiled and he said, “You’re the cat’s