"Is the offer to meet your children still open?"
"Definitely!" he answered and after coffee we left Salem, skirting the city of Boston to the suburb of Newton and Paul North's home.
It was after seven o'clock when we left the restaurant, and an hour later we were approaching Newton. I said little on the trip, afraid to show my nervousness. Paul too was ill at ease. Aside from an anecdote about Karen feeding back yard squirrels and Timmy's love of anything sweet, he was far more quiet than usual.
"I shouldn't stay long," I said as we turned off the highway. "It is a school night."
"Oh, they don't go to school," he answered. "They're taught at home."
"By you?" As soon as I said it I realized how preposterous that sounded.
"There is a woman who comes in to teach Karen. Sister Rose is a retired nun who taught my wife in school. Karen is doing well. She's very advanced for her age." I wasn't sure if he meant Karen or the nun. He added, "The curriculum is pretty structured but she and Sister Rose to get along very well. My son is a bit of a hand full with his teacher, Mr. Potter, but Timmy is a sharp little guy and he's a quick learner."
"Tell me more about your children."
Paul chose his words carefully. "They live a pretty secluded life. That was my wife's doing. It was how she was brought up. After Carol's death I continued with the regimen the children were used to. I know I should get them out in the world more. They're far too protected." I had other questions but we'd reached the end of our trip.
I don't know what I expected of Paul's residence but it couldn't compare to the mansion we approached by way of an incredibly long driveway. I looked for a line of servants to greet us at the front door, like an English manor novel. While the structure itself was not massive, there was a splendor to the place I'd only seen in movies. Everything about the home was perfect from the manicured grounds behind the massive iron gate to the old world elegance of the building itself.
"I feel like I should be on a tour bus and pay an admission at the gate," I said as he pulled up in front.
Paul was embarrassed. "It was my parent's house. They gave it to us as a wedding present. Carol liked it."
The front door was opened without a knock by a neatly dressed woman who appeared to be in her late sixties. At least she was wearing street clothes and not dressed like an English nanny.