The Hurricane Years by Cameron Hawley

Author:Cameron Hawley
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781504025836
Publisher: Open Road Media

7

Night had come to County Memorial as it always did, less a phenomenon of light than of sound. The hushing mantle had fallen, the last visitor gone from the corridor, the cart clatter stilled, the squawk box cut off. The only sound was the click of Mrs. Cope’s knitting needles, and that, endlessly persistent, was noticed only when it stopped.

Judd Wilder lifted his head.

“Want something?” she asked.

“No,” he said, dropping his head, slipping back into the mental process that, earlier in the day, he had described to Dr. Kharr as “doing a lot of thinking.” He had been in no way dishonest in that statement—he imagined that he had—yet there was little truth in the implication that he had been engaged in any serious self-analysis. His mind, an instrument shaped by long usage to a different end, could not be easily turned in upon itself. What passed for introspection was largely a review of stored memories, necessarily limited to impressions already made and recorded. Even now, preoccupied with some of the why questions that Kharr had asked, his search for answers did not go beyond a review of those motivations of which he had been conscious at the time.

All that he had told Kharr about his reasons for going with Crouch Carpet had been essentially true, yet he had been aware then, and was even more so now, that he had not given him the whole story. He had not been deceptive—if Kharr had given him an opening, he might have told him something about Kay, at least enough to let him know what he had been up against—and there was the further justification that Kharr would probably have got the wrong impression. Kay had not really influenced him. He had made his own decision. And no one could say that it hadn’t worked out. No matter what Kharr was imagining …

His thoughts came full circle again, back to where they had started, that big pitch about wasting his talent in business … Kay … that night he came home to tell her about taking the Crouch Carpet job …

Impulsively, surprising himself, he said, “Do you suppose there’s any stationery around? Maybe I ought to write my wife.”

“Well, it’s about time,” Cope exclaimed, stuffing her knitting, stabbing herself with a needle, brushing off a wince of pain. “If there isn’t any, I’ll get some,” she said, on her feet, banging drawers, finding nothing.

“Forget it,” he said. “I’ll write in the morning.”

“You’ll do it right now,” she said, charging out of the room, back in a moment with a sheaf of County Memorial letterheads, fishing a ballpoint out of her purse, cranking up the bed, a flurry of furious activity that left him with a pen in hand, and a blank sheet in front of him.

He wrote Dear Kay and then stopped, beginning a search for words. He thought of an opening sentence and tested it in silent recitation, abruptly diverted by another and stronger voice … “If I were to

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.