Whispers by Belva Plain

Author:Belva Plain [Plain, Belva]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-8041-5257-0
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2014-05-28T04:00:00+00:00

In midmorning Tom Lawrence called with an invitation to Annie for a good-bye dinner with Sybil, who was going back home. The normalcy of this request, made in Tom’s jocular way, but arriving in these abnormal circumstances, made Lynn’s answer choke in her throat.

“Annie’s not here.” Her voice slipped into a high falsetto. “Annie’s run away.”

There was a pause. What should, what could, anyone reply to news like that?

He asked her quietly whether she could tell him anything more.

“Yes. She went back to St. Louis to my sister. Only, my sister wasn’t there—” Her voice broke, and he had to wait for her to resume. “Bruce has gone to bring her home.”

“Robert’s not back, then?”

“No. The day after tomorrow.”

“Who’s with you, Lynn?”

“Nobody. I made Emily go to school, and Josie has a terrible cold, flu or something. And I don’t want anyone else to know.”

“Of course not. You shouldn’t be there by yourself, though. I’m coming over.”

“Oh, no! You needn’t. I’m all right, really.”

She must look frightful, a pregnant elephant with dark circles under the eyes.… Strange that she should care at all, at a time like this, how she would appear before this man. “Your work, your office—”

“I’m coming over.”

The pile of logs in the fireplace was ready to be ignited. For a moment she regarded it uncertainly, feeling a little foolish for even having the thought, as though she were being a hostess preparing for guests. Then, deciding, she lit the fire, went to the kitchen to prepare coffee, took a cup of violets from the windowsill and put it on the tray with the cups and the coffeepot. By the time Tom arrived, the fire was lovely, the coffee was fragrant, and a little plate of warm muffins lay on the table before the fire.

In jeans and a flannel shirt he looked like a college boy, belying his years. Robert never wore jeans. Her thoughts were disconnected.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked. “Or shall we talk instead about the day’s headlines? Or shall we not talk at all?”

She put out her hands, palms up, expressing confusion, and began to string together the adjectives that seemed to come automatically with every description of Annie. “I don’t know how to say it.… She’s a difficult, secretive, moody child.” She had to stop.

Tom nodded. “She’s a great little kid, all the same. My sister couldn’t get over how much she knows compared with Sybil.”

And Robert complains that she’s stupid.

“She’s a sweet little girl, your Annie.”

There was a very gentle compassion in Tom’s face. His eyes were leaf shaped; funny, she had not noticed that before.

“You gave her a wonderful time. She loved it.”

He took a muffin. “Banana. It’s different. What’s in it?”

“Orange peel. I thought I’d try it. Is it any good?”

“Wonderful. I told you, you ought to be in business. But of course, this is hardly the time.”

The fire crackled, drawing them with its ancient lure to watch its tipsy dance. Presently, Tom spoke again.

“May I

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