Read Online The Ramblers by Aidan Donnelley Rowley - Free Book Online

A question.
    Sit?
    And the crazy thing is she did. She sat down next to him. Looking back, it makes little sense. She’d spent her life in self-protection mode, cultivating a safe distance from others, but there was something about this man. He was strikingly handsome, and Clio wondered vaguely if she was supposed to know who he was, if he was a movie star. Whatever it was, she responded to his simple, odd question and walked over, clutching her binoculars and bag and small notebook, and she sat next to him on the bench. The world went on around them.
    He was very different up close, from this proximal vantage, leagues less polished. There was a keen scruffiness to him, an aura of unraveling; this relieved Clio, and her relief surprised her because this meant somehow that she already cared. His dress shirt was woefully wrinkled, stained with drips of coffee. His slacks were too short and tattered at the hem. His socks were a bright green with small white shamrocks. His shoes looked as if they might fall apart. One was untied.
    I got caught in the rain, he said, his voice deep and smoky, hints of an accent cutting through.
    They talked. In staccato bursts at first, but then with an ease that seemed to startle them both. They talked about the park and the birds and the rain, about the fact that they’d both lost mothers, that he was opening a hotel. Hours went by. Clio felt thankful that Smith was occupied at a baby shower downtown. Otherwise, Clio would have run off long before to meet her friend.
    â€œHenry called me that afternoon, you know,” Patrick says. “Told me about you. Before your head swells, I should mention that we talkon that particular day every year, the day Mum died. I usually call him, to check in. He took it the hardest of all of us, was always quite the mother’s boy, but this year he phoned me instead.”
    â€œWhat did he say?” Clio says, curious, biting her bottom lip.
    â€œOh, I don’t know, that he was off brooding in the park and he met the most becoming and unusual girl, that he blabbered on about our mum, that it just so happened that this girl had lost her own mother. He said he saw this as a sign. And I gave him a hard time for this foolish sign nonsense. I told him to ask you out. He said he already did.”
    â€œYes, he was pretty quick to do that,” Clio says.
    â€œYou don’t understand how this shocked me, Clio. My brother is all about work. There have always been women, flings, yes, but he’s never much cared about anyone. I pester him about settling down sometimes because he’s so wonderful with my sons, but he’s been adamant that marriage and a family aren’t part of his plan. He’s always had this thing about sticking it to our old man, showing him that he could come here to the States and make a name for himself, and I think he’s become addicted to the grind, to the success, but then he calls me up that day and goes on and on about you and frankly it didn’t even matter what he said, because I could detect this change in my brother and I had this good feeling.”
    He pauses, looks over at Clio, but says nothing. She feels her body continue to tense, the tears rising. She blinks, willing them to stay put.
    â€œWhat a sorry sight he was this morning at breakfast. All puffy eyed and wrecked. He had me to the room because he wasn’t quite in the shape to show his face. You’d think with Henry’s size he’d be able to drink us all under the table, but not so. He’s always been the lightweight in the Kildare clan. So he was struggling mightily this morning and looked like shit. He’s very worried about you, Clio.”
    Clio nods and stares out at the Gill, the calm surface of the water shiny with sun. The two towers of the San Remo stand proud in the distance. The tears she’s tried so hard to hold back rise now, poolingin her eyes. A single droplet snakes down her cheek. She