But Emma does tentatively tell Susan that she was a large part of the diary, her mother singing Susan’s praises and how she pleasured Charlotte, and the love Charlotte felt for Susan.Another waterworks of tears follows this revelation by Emma. Susan grabs Emma’s hand, tells her, “Yes, we did love each other so much. What we had was so different and special. It added a part of our lives we were missing but did not change the main parts.”“My mother wrote about how it began, the night before her wedding, you were already married. I can somewhat understand what came over you both that night, having been drinking and all, but why did it start up again after Charlotte returned from her honeymoon? All she wrote about with my father, she seemed to like. A bit deviant in nature, to have been filling for her. And it seemed you were happily married also,” Emma questions Susan.“Your mother and I had always been friends from elementary school. We were always together through high school. . A man was casually leaning against the counter sipping coffee. He was naked except for a gold Rolex around his left wrist."Good morning, Cassie," he said."Mr. Johnson?" I whispered.He made no effort to cover himself. He stood there naked and proud, with a knowing twinkle in his eye and a half-smile on his face. "You're home early. Something wrong?" he asked.The question hardly registered. My mind was flooded by the sight of him in all his glory.Mr. Johnson wasn't a big man-maybe only five-nine or so, and probably no more than one hundred fifty pounds. His face was square-jawed, chiseled, and lean, with light blonde, almost white, hair, and bright, piercing light blue eyes. Sky blue. The color that seems translucent and almost unreal. Those eyes always seemed... well, cool. Perhaps detached is a better word, and in control. Yes, in control.He wore expensive, hand-tailored shirts and suits and Italian loafers-the top of the line in everything. I had seen him a few times in his boxer.
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