July 11th - Sunday
Much better mood today. Derek evidently spoke with London - no more sun-spots! & Dom took the cat to the vet - she's her fluffy, white self again --- except for a couple of bald spots.
Nick Boyle is not what I expected. He's shy and quiet. I like him. I guess I was expecting a gung-ho Marine of the "hoo-yah!" truck driver variety --- a good ol' boy. I sense a deep trouble in him, but then sometimes the clouds disburse and he's clear and bright as sunshine after a bayou storm.
He's a wiz at computers and anything mechanical. He's got that tinkerer's knack that Uncle Roscoe had - that man could fix anything from a '32 Chevy to a Swiss watch. Nick's quick and smart as a whip, but seems afraid to show it. Julia beat him once at pool, but not twice.
He runs every morning - 20 miles. I think he'd do it in a blizzard. Philip is beginning to join him for the portion around the house & gardens. Afterwards, Nick disappears, but today I found him reading up in the mezzanine alcove. When I asked him what it was, I was surprised. It was Robert Louis Stevenson's diaries (not his Legacy Journals). He must have read the question in my face. He told me that Derek had let him borrow the books once a very long time ago for a school report. I got the impression that he loved them so much that he'd been slow to return them, and had paid dearly for his transgression. I can't believe that of Derek. I've borrowed things and kept them for months with nary a word said - and I know he knows they're gone, but he never even asks who has them. I suspect he knows.
I can't figure out what's going on between those 2 - I can't get a handle on what I'm sensing. As fond as I'm becoming of Nick, whatever it is worries me - for Derek's sake. I don't like it.
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