Read Online All Around the Town by Mary Higgins Clark - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mary Higgins Clark
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in, Laurie." He was always so kind to her.
Grant's tiny office was painted a sunny yellow. Crammed bookshelves lined the wall to the right of the window. A long table held reference books and student papers. The top of his desk was tidy, holding only a phone, a plant and a fishbowl in which a solitary goldfish swam aimlessly.
Grant motioned toward the chair opposite his desk. "Sit down, Laurie." He was wearing a dark blue sweater over a white turtleneck shirt. Laurie had the fleeting thought that the effect was almost clerical.
He was holding her last paper in his hand, the one she'd written on Emily Dickinson. "You didn't like it?" she asked apprehensively.
"I thought it was terrific. It's just I don't see why you changed your mind about old Em."
He liked it. Laurie smiled in relief. But what did he mean about changing her mind?
"Last term when you wrote about Emily Dickinson, you made a strong case for her life as a recluse, saying that her genius could only be fully expressed by removing herself from contact with the many. Now your thesis is that she was a neurotic filled with fear, that her poetry would have reached greater heights if she hadn't suppressed her emotions. You conclude, 'A lusty affair with her mentor and idol, Charles Wadsworth, would have done her a lot of good.'"
Grant smiled. "I've sometimes wondered the same thing, but what made you change your mind?"
What indeed? Laurie found an answer. "Maybe my mind works like yours. Maybe I started to wonder what would have happened if she had found a physical outlet for her emotions instead of being afraid of them."
Grant nodded. "Okay. These couple of sentences in the margin... You wrote them?"
It didn't even look like her writing, but the blue cover had her name on it. She nodded.
There was something about Professor Grant that was different. The expression on his face was thoughtful, even troubled. Was he just trying to be nice to her? Maybe the paper was lousy after all.
The goldfish was swimming slowly, indifferently. "What happened to the others?" she asked.
"Some joker overfed them. They all died. Laurie, there is something I want to talk to you about..."
"I'd rather die from overeating than being smashed in a car, wouldn't you? At least you don't bleed. Oh, I'm sorry. What did you want to talk about?"
Allan Grant shook his head. "Nothing that won't keep. It isn't getting much better, is it?"
She knew what he meant.
"Sometimes I can honestly agree with the doctor that if there was any fault, it was with the bus with faulty brakes that was going much too fast. Other times, no."
The loud voice in her head shouted: You robbed your mother and father of the rest of their lives just as you robbed them of two years when you waved at that funeral procession.
She didn't want to cry in front of Professor Grant. He'd been so nice, but people got sick of always having to bolster you up. She stood up. "I... I have to go. Is there anything else?"
With troubled eyes, Allan Grant watched Laurie leave. It was too soon to be sure, but the term paper he was holding had given him the first solid clue as to the identity of the mysterious letter writer who signed herself "Leona."
There was a sensual theme in the paper that was totally unlike Laurie's usual style but similar to the tone of the letters. It seemed to him that he recognized some unusually extravagant phrases as well. That wasn't proof, but at least it gave him a place to start looking.
Laurie Kenyon was the last person he'd have dreamt could be the writer of those letters. Her attitude toward him had been consistently that of a respectful student toward a teacher whom she admired and liked.
As Grant reached for his jacket, he decided he would say nothing to either Karen or the administration about his suspicions. Some of those letters were downright salacious. It would be embarrassing for any innocent person to be questioned about them, particularly a kid living through the kind of tragedy Laurie
Grant's tiny office was painted a sunny yellow. Crammed bookshelves lined the wall to the right of the window. A long table held reference books and student papers. The top of his desk was tidy, holding only a phone, a plant and a fishbowl in which a solitary goldfish swam aimlessly.
Grant motioned toward the chair opposite his desk. "Sit down, Laurie." He was wearing a dark blue sweater over a white turtleneck shirt. Laurie had the fleeting thought that the effect was almost clerical.
He was holding her last paper in his hand, the one she'd written on Emily Dickinson. "You didn't like it?" she asked apprehensively.
"I thought it was terrific. It's just I don't see why you changed your mind about old Em."
He liked it. Laurie smiled in relief. But what did he mean about changing her mind?
"Last term when you wrote about Emily Dickinson, you made a strong case for her life as a recluse, saying that her genius could only be fully expressed by removing herself from contact with the many. Now your thesis is that she was a neurotic filled with fear, that her poetry would have reached greater heights if she hadn't suppressed her emotions. You conclude, 'A lusty affair with her mentor and idol, Charles Wadsworth, would have done her a lot of good.'"
Grant smiled. "I've sometimes wondered the same thing, but what made you change your mind?"
What indeed? Laurie found an answer. "Maybe my mind works like yours. Maybe I started to wonder what would have happened if she had found a physical outlet for her emotions instead of being afraid of them."
Grant nodded. "Okay. These couple of sentences in the margin... You wrote them?"
It didn't even look like her writing, but the blue cover had her name on it. She nodded.
There was something about Professor Grant that was different. The expression on his face was thoughtful, even troubled. Was he just trying to be nice to her? Maybe the paper was lousy after all.
The goldfish was swimming slowly, indifferently. "What happened to the others?" she asked.
"Some joker overfed them. They all died. Laurie, there is something I want to talk to you about..."
"I'd rather die from overeating than being smashed in a car, wouldn't you? At least you don't bleed. Oh, I'm sorry. What did you want to talk about?"
Allan Grant shook his head. "Nothing that won't keep. It isn't getting much better, is it?"
She knew what he meant.
"Sometimes I can honestly agree with the doctor that if there was any fault, it was with the bus with faulty brakes that was going much too fast. Other times, no."
The loud voice in her head shouted: You robbed your mother and father of the rest of their lives just as you robbed them of two years when you waved at that funeral procession.
She didn't want to cry in front of Professor Grant. He'd been so nice, but people got sick of always having to bolster you up. She stood up. "I... I have to go. Is there anything else?"
With troubled eyes, Allan Grant watched Laurie leave. It was too soon to be sure, but the term paper he was holding had given him the first solid clue as to the identity of the mysterious letter writer who signed herself "Leona."
There was a sensual theme in the paper that was totally unlike Laurie's usual style but similar to the tone of the letters. It seemed to him that he recognized some unusually extravagant phrases as well. That wasn't proof, but at least it gave him a place to start looking.
Laurie Kenyon was the last person he'd have dreamt could be the writer of those letters. Her attitude toward him had been consistently that of a respectful student toward a teacher whom she admired and liked.
As Grant reached for his jacket, he decided he would say nothing to either Karen or the administration about his suspicions. Some of those letters were downright salacious. It would be embarrassing for any innocent person to be questioned about them, particularly a kid living through the kind of tragedy Laurie
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