Read Online On the Run by John D. MacDonald - Free Book Online Page A

messenger. I’m glad I’m able to do what he wanted me to do.”
    “That’s nice.”
    “If he’s awake, do you want to say hello?”
    “I don’t think so.”
    “Suit yourself.”
    “It’s a small place. It would go through a little switchboard, wouldn’t it? I don’t think you ought to be … too specific about who is coming back with you.”
    “It’s a small place, and I imagine that everybody in town knows Tom has been trying to locate his grandsons. But nobody would know you’ve been on the run. Or probably care particularly.”
    “Try to keep it short and vague.”
    She looked at him. Her dark eyes were cool. “Anything you say, Sidney. I guess that being nervous can becomequite a habit. It’s a strange way to live, not trusting anybody.”
    He stood outside the booth as she made the call. He saw her face in profile, expressionless in waiting, then suddenly warm and softening, the smile curving, and he knew she was talking to the old man. To see her like that gave him a surprising feeling of loss. She had worn that look for him, for a little while. When she came out, her face was still again.
    “He’s very pleased.”
    “That’s nice.”
    He went to a news stand and bought a road atlas. She had no sun glasses. He bought her a pair.
    As he headed north out of the city on Route 59, she said, “You said we’d have to buy some things.”
    “We’ll get them up the line.”
    The wagon was heavy and powerful. After it had cooled off, he turned the air-conditioning to low. It had been a long time since he had taken a trip. He liked the feel of the car, the way it snugged to the road at high speed. She sat far from him, looking out her side window at the baked land. The silence between them seemed to be an uncomfortable truce.
    He was curious about her driving, so when they reached Lufkin, a little over an hour out of Houston, he had her take the wheel. She was erratic at first, picking up too much speed and then glancing at the meter and dropping back, going into the gentle curves too fast, wandering slightly. But then she found the rhythm of the car and the road. She held the wheel high, her hands clenched at two o’clock and ten o’clock, chin high, lips slightly compressed. He lounged back against the passenger door, elbow hooked over the back of the seat and studied her. The blue skirt was hiked above her knees. Her forearms had that little-girl look. Her breasts were high and firm under the white material of her blouse. The line of her throat was lovely. There was, he thought, something obscurely erotic about an attractive woman driving a big car at high speed, an interest composed of contrast. There she sat, the vulnerable animal, perched on her soft and useful hindquarters, all her flesh humming to the vibration of the road speed, with one dainty foot and ankle urging the hammering ton of metal along. Herface held a gravity and a sadness, and he thought it wasteful that after being shut up so long with the dying, she had lost any flavor of holiday in this long trip.
    “I want to say some things without you saying a word,” he said.
    “You certainly …”
    “That’s two words, and this is something that won’t work if we turn it into a discussion group. You just keep driving and you won’t be able to keep from listening. Maybe it won’t work no matter how I say it. I don’t want to make any apology about last night.”
    He paused and watched her mouth. It looked as if she was going to speak, but then she compressed her lips more tightly.
    “I thought about it after you went back to your room, Paula. I wondered why I should have done such a crude and lousy thing. I don’t have anything against you personally. This isn’t an apology. It’s just sort of … exploring the things behind it. That means understanding me a little bit. I don’t have the instincts of a loner. From my background, I guess I should have. But I’ve always wanted roots. I’ve wanted my own people around