A Wedding in December: A Novel by Anita Shreve

Author:Anita Shreve
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Middle-aged persons, Reference, Domestic fiction, Weddings, Fiction, Psychological, Sagas, General, Friendship
ISBN: 9780316738996
Publisher: Little, Brown
Published: 2005-10-10T04:13:38.543273+00:00

Agnes, sitting against the headboard, put the notebook in her lap. It was snowing outside. Had anyone mentioned snow last night? Agnes got out of bed and padded, in stocking feet, to the window. The snow fell thickly. Four to five inches were already on the ground. How amazing! This would be a winter wedding after all.

Agnes crossed her arms over her chest. So Louise was blind. Well, it had to be that way, didn’t it? Agnes knew that she could, in less time than it took to formulate a sentence, make Louise well again, give her sight. But Agnes thought she would not. The reality of the explosion was doubtless worse than Agnes, with all her reading, had been able to imagine. Innes, for example, might easily have found Louise with the glass still protruding from her eyes. Would he then have operated on Louise?

Oddly satisfying, that: Louise blind for life.

Immensely satisfying, too, just to be able to write the story of Innes Finch. Last night, it had been all Agnes could do to stop herself from speaking certain words of another story that had squeezed themselves up inside her throat. She had mentioned Jim’s name, and that in itself had been thrilling, but it hadn’t been enough. Rewarding, though, to discover how much the others had admired their former teacher. What was it that Jerry had said? Mr. Mitchell was the man?

Yes, Agnes thought. He was the man.

Her head throbbed at one temple. If she ate, if she had coffee, her hangover might abate. She didn’t just yet want to get dressed, however, and she very much didn’t want to see the others at breakfast. Perhaps an Advil was what was needed.

Agnes rummaged through her backpack. She found the bottle of Advil at the bottom, slipped two pills onto her palm, and filled a glass of water at the bathroom sink. Two Advil and forget about it. This was the advice she gave her field hockey girls when they complained of minor aches and pains.

Agnes caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and was not happy with what she saw. Her face looked haggard, her eyes slightly bloodshot. Her hair was matted on one side from sleep. Her breath was foul. She found her toothpaste in her toilet kit and brushed her teeth. She knew she ought to get into the shower and let the water clear her head, but the idea of a shower—washing the body, shampooing the hair, drying it with the hair dryer—seemed like a tremendous amount of effort just now. Instead, she walked to the desk and sat in the chair. She stared at the snow.

What would she do all day? A baseball game was clearly out of the picture. Visit the outlets? But would the roads be cleared? Sledding? Agnes thought she could get mildly interested in coasting down the long hill that sloped away from the inn. But would that activity completely occupy her thoughts the way downhill skiing used to

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