Read Online Escape by Barbara Delinsky - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Barbara Delinsky
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rubbed my forehead, pushing the dilemma around.
“Do not do that,” Vicki ordered. “You’re here to relax.”
“I’m here to decide what to
do
with my life,” I said, mildly hysterical.
“Shh. One step at a time. Right now, what are your choices?”
There were three. “Stay here. Go back to New York. Go somewhere else.”
“Forget somewhere else. Short run, it’s here or New York. Start with New York. If you went back, what would change?”
“Nothing. That’s the problem. If I go back, I have to accept that that’s my life, but I don’t know if I can. The alternative—staying here—creates other problems.”
“Like Jude?”
“No. Jude is not a factor in my being here. I told you that.”
“Okay.” She indulged me. “Then James. If he knew you were here, you could buy time with less guilt.”
“What about Lane Lavash?”
“Tell them you’re sick,” she said as she stood.
“That’d work if I planned to be back by the end of the week, but maybe I won’t.” I eyed her cautiously.
I’d said it before, but it bore repeating: when it came to me, Vicki Bell got it.
“The room is yours as long as you want it. I don’t hate you anymore—not even for telling me about Jude, because I’d rather know than not.” She studied me for another minute, before reaching down with a hug. “I don’t live in the city, and I do have lots of friends, but you were always the best of the bunch.”
The feeling was mutual. I thought about that as Vicki walked back to the Red Fox. What made a friend a best friend? Did it have to be someone who knew your people, who shared your life outlook or your views on religion or politics? Could it just be someone who could talk and listen and commiserate?
Vicki and I were strangers until we were eighteen. It was move-in day freshman year. Assigned to different roommates down the hall from each other, we met for the first time in the communal bathroom. I was brushing my hair, she was brushing her teeth, both of us needing to escape the scary newness of our lives by doing the mundane.
She was from New Hampshire, I was from Maine, she wanted Art, I wanted English, but we started to talk and didn’t stop until my worried mother came looking for me. I found myself looking for Vicki wherever I went, and she did the same. When her roommate dropped out after a week, my moving into her room was a no-brainer.
Chemistry. Vicki and I had that. Right from the start.
But wasn’t a best friend also someone you could trust not to hurt you? I had hurt Vicki, yet here she was, opening her home and heart to me again. So maybe being a best friend entailed the ability to forgive.
Gradually, the sun moved, casting me in the dappled shade of the goldfinch’s oak. Thinking about friendship, then marriage, then dreams, I sat on the grass as the life of Bell Valley flowed by. It was a leisurely life, but it had purpose. There was Carl Younger, owner of the hardware store, carrying a bag of trash out the side door and pausing to check a birdfeeder before disappearing around back. And Sara Carney, adjusting the big OPEN flag in front of The Fiber Store, which had been The Sewing Store when I was here last but had expanded into yarn, to judge from the colorful window display. Likewise, the telephone store was now The Gadget Store.
Simple and straightforward. That’s Bell Valley. What you see is what you get.
Take The Bookstore. A hot new release was advertised in the window, along with displays of other books, but I also saw puzzles, games, and gift wrap. Vickie Longosz—the Book V, we called her—had branched out, which made total sense, given the economic reality. I wondered if she would think me a traitor for owning a Kindle.
I was thinking that I ought to drop in and buy a few books with the cash that my husband was worried about, when I saw the car that had been parked at the end of the green move closer. It was a small charcoal SUV. I smiled, wondering if the hair shop was
“Do not do that,” Vicki ordered. “You’re here to relax.”
“I’m here to decide what to
do
with my life,” I said, mildly hysterical.
“Shh. One step at a time. Right now, what are your choices?”
There were three. “Stay here. Go back to New York. Go somewhere else.”
“Forget somewhere else. Short run, it’s here or New York. Start with New York. If you went back, what would change?”
“Nothing. That’s the problem. If I go back, I have to accept that that’s my life, but I don’t know if I can. The alternative—staying here—creates other problems.”
“Like Jude?”
“No. Jude is not a factor in my being here. I told you that.”
“Okay.” She indulged me. “Then James. If he knew you were here, you could buy time with less guilt.”
“What about Lane Lavash?”
“Tell them you’re sick,” she said as she stood.
“That’d work if I planned to be back by the end of the week, but maybe I won’t.” I eyed her cautiously.
I’d said it before, but it bore repeating: when it came to me, Vicki Bell got it.
“The room is yours as long as you want it. I don’t hate you anymore—not even for telling me about Jude, because I’d rather know than not.” She studied me for another minute, before reaching down with a hug. “I don’t live in the city, and I do have lots of friends, but you were always the best of the bunch.”
The feeling was mutual. I thought about that as Vicki walked back to the Red Fox. What made a friend a best friend? Did it have to be someone who knew your people, who shared your life outlook or your views on religion or politics? Could it just be someone who could talk and listen and commiserate?
Vicki and I were strangers until we were eighteen. It was move-in day freshman year. Assigned to different roommates down the hall from each other, we met for the first time in the communal bathroom. I was brushing my hair, she was brushing her teeth, both of us needing to escape the scary newness of our lives by doing the mundane.
She was from New Hampshire, I was from Maine, she wanted Art, I wanted English, but we started to talk and didn’t stop until my worried mother came looking for me. I found myself looking for Vicki wherever I went, and she did the same. When her roommate dropped out after a week, my moving into her room was a no-brainer.
Chemistry. Vicki and I had that. Right from the start.
But wasn’t a best friend also someone you could trust not to hurt you? I had hurt Vicki, yet here she was, opening her home and heart to me again. So maybe being a best friend entailed the ability to forgive.
Gradually, the sun moved, casting me in the dappled shade of the goldfinch’s oak. Thinking about friendship, then marriage, then dreams, I sat on the grass as the life of Bell Valley flowed by. It was a leisurely life, but it had purpose. There was Carl Younger, owner of the hardware store, carrying a bag of trash out the side door and pausing to check a birdfeeder before disappearing around back. And Sara Carney, adjusting the big OPEN flag in front of The Fiber Store, which had been The Sewing Store when I was here last but had expanded into yarn, to judge from the colorful window display. Likewise, the telephone store was now The Gadget Store.
Simple and straightforward. That’s Bell Valley. What you see is what you get.
Take The Bookstore. A hot new release was advertised in the window, along with displays of other books, but I also saw puzzles, games, and gift wrap. Vickie Longosz—the Book V, we called her—had branched out, which made total sense, given the economic reality. I wondered if she would think me a traitor for owning a Kindle.
I was thinking that I ought to drop in and buy a few books with the cash that my husband was worried about, when I saw the car that had been parked at the end of the green move closer. It was a small charcoal SUV. I smiled, wondering if the hair shop was
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