Read Online The Horse Whisperer by Nicholas Evans - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Nicholas Evans
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her, Annie’s hand still on his shoulder, the whoosh of the respirator measuring the silence between them all. Then Annie shivered and took her hand away. Shewrapped her woolen jacket tightly around her, folding her arms.
“I thought I’d go home and get some of her things,” she said. “You know, so when she wakes up, they’ll be there.”
“I’ll go. You don’t want to drive now.”
“No, I want to. Really. Can I have your keys?”
He found them and gave them to her.
“I’ll pack a bag for us too. Is there anything special you need?”
“Just clothes, a razor maybe.”
She bent and kissed him on the forehead.
“Be careful,” he said.
“I will. I won’t be long.”
He watched her go. She stopped at the door and looked back at him and he could tell there was something she wanted to say.
“What?” he said. But she just smiled and shook her head. Then she turned and was gone.
The roads were clear and at this hour, apart from a lonely sand truck or two, quite deserted. Annie drove south on 87 and then east on 90, taking the same exit the truck had taken the morning before.
There had been no thaw and the car’s headlights lit the low walls of soiled snow along the roadside. Robert had fitted the snow tires and they made a low roar on the gritted blacktop. There was a phone-in on the radio, a woman saying how worried she was about her teenage son. She’d recently bought a new car, a Nissan, and the boy seemed to have fallen in love with it. He spent hours sitting in it, stroking it and today she’d walked into the garage and caught him making love to its tailpipe.
“Kinda what you’d call a fixation, huh?” said the show’s host, whose name was Melvin. All phone-ins seemed to have these ruthless wise guy hosts nowadays and Annie could never understand why people kept calling, knowing full well they would get humiliated. Perhaps that was the point. This caller sailed on oblivious.
“Yes, I guess that’s what it is,” she said. “But I don’t know what to do about it.”
“Don’t do anything,” cried Melvin. “The kid’ll soon get exhausted. Next caller . . .”
Annie turned off the highway onto the lane that curled up the shoulder of the hill to their house. The road surface here was glistening hard-pack snow and she drove carefully through the tunnel of trees and pulled into the driveway that Robert must have cleared yesterday morning. Her headlights panned across the white clapboard front of the house above her, its gables lost among towering beech trees. There were no lights on inside and the hall walls and ceiling gave a glimpse of blue as the headlights shafted briefly in. An outside light came on automatically as Annie drove around to the back of the house and waited for the door of the basement garage to raise.
The kitchen was how Robert had left it. Cupboard doors hung open and on the table stood the two unpacked grocery bags. Some ice cream in one of them had melted and leaked and was dripping off the table into a small pink lake on the floor. The red light was flashing on the answering machine, showing there were messages. But Annie didn’t feel like listening to them. She saw the note Grace had written to Robert and stared at it, somehow not wanting to touch it. Then she turned abruptly and got to work clearing the ice cream and putting away the food that hadn’t been spoiled.
Upstairs, packing a bag for Robert and herself, she felt oddly robotic, as if her every action were programmed. She supposed the numbness had something to do with shock or maybe it was some kind of denial.
It was certainly true that when she first saw Grace after the operation, the sight was so alien, so extreme, that she couldn’t take it in. She had been almost jealous of the pain it wrought so palpably in Robert. She had seen the way his eyes kept roving over Grace’s body, siphoning agony from every intrusion the doctors had made. But Annie just stared. This new version they had
“I thought I’d go home and get some of her things,” she said. “You know, so when she wakes up, they’ll be there.”
“I’ll go. You don’t want to drive now.”
“No, I want to. Really. Can I have your keys?”
He found them and gave them to her.
“I’ll pack a bag for us too. Is there anything special you need?”
“Just clothes, a razor maybe.”
She bent and kissed him on the forehead.
“Be careful,” he said.
“I will. I won’t be long.”
He watched her go. She stopped at the door and looked back at him and he could tell there was something she wanted to say.
“What?” he said. But she just smiled and shook her head. Then she turned and was gone.
The roads were clear and at this hour, apart from a lonely sand truck or two, quite deserted. Annie drove south on 87 and then east on 90, taking the same exit the truck had taken the morning before.
There had been no thaw and the car’s headlights lit the low walls of soiled snow along the roadside. Robert had fitted the snow tires and they made a low roar on the gritted blacktop. There was a phone-in on the radio, a woman saying how worried she was about her teenage son. She’d recently bought a new car, a Nissan, and the boy seemed to have fallen in love with it. He spent hours sitting in it, stroking it and today she’d walked into the garage and caught him making love to its tailpipe.
“Kinda what you’d call a fixation, huh?” said the show’s host, whose name was Melvin. All phone-ins seemed to have these ruthless wise guy hosts nowadays and Annie could never understand why people kept calling, knowing full well they would get humiliated. Perhaps that was the point. This caller sailed on oblivious.
“Yes, I guess that’s what it is,” she said. “But I don’t know what to do about it.”
“Don’t do anything,” cried Melvin. “The kid’ll soon get exhausted. Next caller . . .”
Annie turned off the highway onto the lane that curled up the shoulder of the hill to their house. The road surface here was glistening hard-pack snow and she drove carefully through the tunnel of trees and pulled into the driveway that Robert must have cleared yesterday morning. Her headlights panned across the white clapboard front of the house above her, its gables lost among towering beech trees. There were no lights on inside and the hall walls and ceiling gave a glimpse of blue as the headlights shafted briefly in. An outside light came on automatically as Annie drove around to the back of the house and waited for the door of the basement garage to raise.
The kitchen was how Robert had left it. Cupboard doors hung open and on the table stood the two unpacked grocery bags. Some ice cream in one of them had melted and leaked and was dripping off the table into a small pink lake on the floor. The red light was flashing on the answering machine, showing there were messages. But Annie didn’t feel like listening to them. She saw the note Grace had written to Robert and stared at it, somehow not wanting to touch it. Then she turned abruptly and got to work clearing the ice cream and putting away the food that hadn’t been spoiled.
Upstairs, packing a bag for Robert and herself, she felt oddly robotic, as if her every action were programmed. She supposed the numbness had something to do with shock or maybe it was some kind of denial.
It was certainly true that when she first saw Grace after the operation, the sight was so alien, so extreme, that she couldn’t take it in. She had been almost jealous of the pain it wrought so palpably in Robert. She had seen the way his eyes kept roving over Grace’s body, siphoning agony from every intrusion the doctors had made. But Annie just stared. This new version they had
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