Linnea wiped the water from her face and raised her hand to slap Sunny, who couldnt dodge in time, leaving a fiery handprint on her face. Sunny was completely enraged and grabbed Linneas long, loose hair.
"Stop it!" Jay Gatsby shouted angrily. The room fell silent instantly.
Linnea suddenly squatted down and began to cry pitifully, complaining about her grievances between sobs: "Miss OConnell, I was worried youd misunderstand, so I wanted to come and see you, but you... you called me a bitch and splashed me with hot water. I just wanted to come and see you..."
Sunny was dumbfounded. She wondered how Linnea had chosen to become a doctor with such heavenly-level acting skills—it was a waste.
Sunny sneered coldly, but then saw Jay Gatsbys gaze as sharp as a knife coming over, and her heart instantly froze.
"Sunny OConnell, what do you want?" Jay Gatsby asked expressionlessly.
"Enough, Jay Gatsby, dont put on a show in front of me. Get out! Get out of here!"
Jay Gatsby helped Linnea up, and Linnea leaned against Jay Gatsby, crying bitterly.
She wiped her tears and stood in front of Sunny: "Sunny OConnell, I wont care about how you treat me, but I wont allow you to retaliate against Gatsby for any reason, nor will I allow you to hurt him. Youd better understand that you wont succeed."
Sunny was already sincerely impressed by Linneas acting.
She didnt bother looking at her and said directly to Jay Gatsby, "I have something to ask you."
Jay Gatsby looked at her coldly: "Right now, I have nothing to say to you." After that, he left with Linnea in his arms.
Sunny watched their backs disappear, not knowing what to do with herself for a moment.
She only remembered the last words Jay Gatsby said to her eight months ago when she left: "Be good, take care of yourself there, and Ill surprise you when you come home."
How ironic, was this the surprise he said?
When Mrs. Thompson came in, it was already completely dark. She turned on the light and found Sunny still sitting on the floor. Mrs. Thompson put down the cereal porridge and small snacks, and gently called her, "Miss, have something to eat."
"Mrs. Thompson, when did Dr. Lin come?"
Mrs. Thompson looked around, locked the door, and whispered, "Its been three months."
Three months, which means that less than half a year after she left, Linnea had replaced her.
Mrs. Thompson had been at "Garden Manor" for more than ten years and had seen both of them grow up. She always thought that the young master and miss were a definite couple.
But after the miss left for a few months and came back, it was this scene.
"Ah!" Mrs. Thompson sighed and urged Sunny to finish the porridge.
Mrs. Thompson left, and Sunny lay on the bed, her mind repeatedly recalling the scene she had just entered. She stared blankly at the ceiling, not knowing what had gone wrong, and even more unable to understand how Jay Gatsby, who had always been as precious to her as a treasure, could suddenly change like a different person.
Her head ached terribly. Sunny forced herself to close her eyes.
In her drowsiness, Sunny seemed to see the boundless ocean of her childhood again, a gust of wind raising huge waves. She shouted helplessly, "Dad, Dad..." Then Jay Gatsby came, encircled her in his arms, kissed her forehead, told her not to be afraid, and carried her onto a small boat. The boat swayed, and Sunny saw her dad waving at her from another boat. She wanted to row the boat over, but she couldnt move it. Then Jay Gatsby suddenly disappeared, and she watched her dad swallowed by the sea, and a huge wave swallowed her again.
"Dad—" Sunny woke up completely, sat up, and found no wind or waves, no sea, no disaster. There was nothing, yes, no dad and Gatsby.
She lay down weakly, covered her eyes with her hands, and cried like a child, "Dad, why didnt you take me with you..."
Twenty years ago, five-year-old little Sunny had also cried like this in the dark, shivering.
That night, Jay Gatsby opened the door, gave her a plush Shar-Pei dog, and then lay quietly beside her. The two children fell asleep holding hands.
Sunny moved her fingers, as if trying to regain that warmth, but the air in the summer night was cold to the bone.