[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

flat, she got up and looked for a note. Finding none, she
made herself coffee and returned to bed with the other
book of short stories.
Rain tapped against the windows. She hunkered down
under the blankets, occasionally getting up to eat
something a bowl of cereal, peanut butter on toast.
She was still hungry when she got ready for work.
The rain stopped and she went outside, her hair shower
wet. Unlocking the scooter from the porch post, she
bumped it down the steps and purred off through the
mist toward the restaurant.
Friday came, throwing Annie into a fit of angst as she
watched Molly change outfits. "Why are you trying to
impress him?" She herself was getting ready for work.
"I'm not, stupid. I always change clothes before I go
out. Don't you?"
"I don't try on dozens of clothes." Certainly not for
some man. "Where are you going? Maybe I'll come
over afterwards. Or you could come to the restaurant
and I could wait on you. Their fish fry's not bad."
Molly ended up in jeans and a plaid shirt. "How do I
look?" She turned in a slow circle.
"Goddamn gorgeous. He's going to come on to you."
"Forget it. He's not even cute." Molly looked
exasperated. "I don't know where we're going. Maybe
we'll stop in and see you."
"Yeah, do that," Annie said.
Molly gave her a light kiss. "Otherwise, I'll see you in
bed."
Jake and Molly didn't stop at the restaurant where
Annie worked. Molly wasn't at the apartment either.
Annie flopped in the lone chair and opened Fletcher's
book, but her mind wandered. At eleven she went
outside to walk the streets in a cold wind.
She hurried past the warm lights of campus housing on
her way to the river at the bottom of a long hill.
Laughter and music and people moving behind the
windows reached inside her to the lonely spot that only
Molly filled.
Tired and cold, she stood on the bridge over the dark
water.
Leaning on the railing, watching the steaming surface,
she felt as bleak as the river looked.
She turned toward her flat, head down, hands stuffed in
pockets, and suddenly in a hurry, strode toward home.
Light leaked out from under the door, and Annie
unlocked it and entered quietly, her eyes immediately
honing in on the bed.
She hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath until
she exhaled in relief. Molly lay alone, curled fetus-like in
sleep. Quietly removing her clothes, she slipped into the
warm bed and shivered for a few minutes, then
wrapped herself around Molly, drawing heat from her.
"Where were you?" Molly murmured sleepily.
"Out. Where were you?"
"We went to Boyer's frat house after dinner. It's over
by the river."
She'd probably passed under its windows while Molly
was there. "What did you do?"
"Talked. Studied."
Annie phoned her mother from a pay phone on campus
over the weekend. She told her that Fletcher had
invited her to audit her seminar.
"Have you called about your suspension?"
"I don't want to go back there. I'm learning more here."
"We can't afford the tuition there."
"I know, Mom. When am I going to see you?"
"I'll come next Saturday. I'm not scheduled to work."
Afraid she'd have to explain Molly, she said impulsively,
"I'll take that night off. We can go to Josey's, if she's not
doing anything."
"I'll call Josey," her mother said.
"I haven't seen the twins since I left, and I've only seen
Jeanne once. Think they would come?"
"If they can. I miss you, sweetie."
"Me, too."
XXIII
Josey
She'd almost finished the Woman in the Mirror series,
and Mary was after her to hang two of the paintings on
the wall at the Mill. "Too personal," she said, crossing
her arms to brace herself against Mary's
persuasiveness.
They were having lunch with Ellen, who said, "I talked
to my friend who runs a gallery in Appleton. She's
always got a show going. I told her you didn't want the
paintings to go to a private party."
"That's better than putting them on the wall here. More
exposure," Mary said excitedly.
"I don't want exposure," Josey protested. "Not with
those paintings."
"Only with exposure do you become really successful,
Jose," Mary said patiently, as if she were talking to a
child.
"That's not why I painted them, Mare," she shot back.
"They were therapy. Now the sessions are almost over
and the subject can be put to rest."
Mary heaved a great sigh. "No one's going to connect
you personally to these paintings."
"But she would be expected to be there opening night,"
Ellen said.
"You go for me, Mary, and I'll exhibit."
Mary said firmly, "I'll go with you."
"And so will I," Ellen put in.
Fall was everywhere in the nutty smell of woods, the
yellowing of grass, the fading crimson of the poison
sumac, the wilting asters, the red and yellow maples, the
brownish red oak leaves. She drove home in a haze of
dust that hung over everything.
Roy's truck hunkered in the driveway. She found him [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]