Read Online At the Water's Edge by Sara Gruen - Free Book Online

waist. “I don’t think you’ll be needing that anymore,” he said.
    Ellis looked down. He was still wearing his life belt. He turned away, fumbling as he unfastened it, and let it drop at the base of a lamppost. I felt his shame acutely.
    The driver opened the rear door of the car and motioned for me to get in. A soiled blanket covered the seat.
    â€œSlide on over then,” he said. He winked at me. I think.
    Ellis got in after me. Hank took one look at the blanket before walking to the front of the car. He stood by the passenger door, waiting for the driver to open it.
    â€œWell, are you going to get in, or aren’t you?” said the driver, jerking his chin toward the rear.
    Finally, reluctantly, Hank came around back. Ellis frowned and shifted to the middle seat. Hank got in beside him.
    â€œRight, then,” said the driver. He shut our door, climbed into the driver’s seat, and resumed whistling.

Chapter Six
    A fter four hours and twenty minutes of utter, stomach-roiling misery, with the driver leaning maliciously into hairpin curves despite (or perhaps because of) having to stop no fewer than six times so I could lean out of the back of the car and be sick, he came to a stop and announced we’d reached our destination.
    â€œHere we are then,” he said cheerfully, shutting off the engine. “Home, sweet home.”
    I glanced outside. It wasn’t clear to me we’d arrived anywhere.
    My stomach began churning again, and I couldn’t wait for the driver to come around and let me out, although he was obviously in no rush to do anything. I fumbled with the handle, yanking it back and forth before finally realizing it twisted. When I flung the door outward, I went with it, landing on my knees in the gravel.
    â€œMaddie!” Ellis cried.
    â€œI’m all right,” I said, still grasping the door handle. I looked up, through the strands of hair that had fallen over my face. The clouds shifted to expose the moon, and in its light I saw our destination.
    It was a squat, gray building in pebble-and-dash, with heavy blackshutters on the windows of both floors. A wooden sign hung over the entrance, creaking in the wind:
    THE FRASER ARMS
    Proprietor A. W. Ross
    Licensed to Serve Beer and Spirits
    Good Food, Rooms
    Est. 1547
    My queasiness rose in urgent waves, and while I couldn’t believe there was anything left for me to expel, I hauled myself upright and staggered toward a half barrel of frostbitten pansies by the front door. I crashed into the wall instead, hitting first with my open palms and then my left cheek. I stayed there for a moment, my face flattened against the pebbled surface.
    â€œMaddie? Are you all right?” Ellis asked from somewhere behind me.
    â€œI’m fine,” I said.
    â€œYou don’t look fine.”
    I turned and slid down the wall, my coat and hair scraping against the embedded stones until I was resting on my heels.
    Snow collected on my exposed knees. Somewhere in the distance a sheep bleated.
    â€œMaddie?”
    â€œI’m fine,” I said again.
    I watched as Ellis and Hank climbed out of the car, regarding them with something akin to loathing.
    Ellis took a few steps toward the building and read the sign. He raised his eyebrows and looked back at Hank.
    â€œ
This
is where we’re staying?”
    â€œSo it would appear,” said Hank.
    â€œIt looks like a pile of rubble,” said Ellis. “Or one of those long communal mud houses. From, you know, Arizona or wherever.”
    â€œWhat were you expecting, the Waldorf-Astoria?” Hank asked.“You knew we were going to be roughing it. Think of it as a field camp.”
    Ellis harrumphed. “That would be putting it kindly.”
    â€œWhere’s your sense of adventure?”
    â€œSomewhere in the ship’s latrine, I suspect,” said Ellis. “I suppose Freddie chose this dump.”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œHe