Read Online The Widening Gyre by Robert B. Parker - Free Book Online
Authors: Robert B. Parker
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tomorrow,“ I said.
”Yes.“
”There’s nothing to eat.“
”I noticed,“ Paul said. ”Maybe we can go down to the rescue mission.“
I finished the last Rolling Rock. There was a bottle of Murphy’s Irish Whiskey in the cupboard above the refrigerator for emergencies. I got it out and had some on the rocks. ”I’m glad to see you,“ I said.
”Hard booze?“ Paul said.
I nodded. ”Want a sniff?“ I said.
”Sure.“
I poured a little for him, over ice. He sipped it and didn’t look completely pleased.
”Is it worse than drinking nothing?“ I said.
”No.“
I put the dishes into the dishwasher and wiped off the counter. We went into the living room with two glasses and the whiskey and some ice.
”Since when have you been drinking hard booze?“ Paul said.
”It’s come to seem soothing lately.“
Paul nodded. ”One of those all-hour convenience stores will probably be open,“ Paul said. ”I could run out and get some sliced turkey roll and a loaf of Wonder bread. Maybe a quart of Tab, for the festive board.“
”We’ll eat out,“ I said. ”The hotels are usually open. The Ritz, maybe.“ I drank some whiskey. When you’ve been nursing it out of a bottle neck, a glass and ice seems like being on the wagon. ”I thought you were bringing a girl friend.“
”Paige, yeah. I was. But her parents got bent out of shape, so she went home.“
There was a fire laid in the cold fireplace. It saved time in case I met someone who wanted to jump on my bones in front of a romantic fire. I’d gotten this one ready in August. No sense wasting it. I got up and lit it and sat back down and watched the flames enlarge. The hell with romance.
I drank some more whiskey. Paul nursed his. I knew he didn’t like it. My glass was empty. I added more whiskey. An ice cube.
”Susan still in Washington?“ Paul said.
”Yes.“
”Couldn’t get back for Thanksgiving?“
”Nope.“
”I’m surprised you didn’t go down.“
I nodded.
”Where is it she’s at?“
”Children’s Hospital National Medical Center,“ I said. ”One Eleven Michigan Avenue, North West, Washington, D.C., 20010.“
”Internship?“
”Yes. Pre-doctoral internship.“ I leaned forward and poured a little whiskey into Paul’s glass. The kindling was fully flamed and the larger hardwood logs were beginning to burn. I stared at the flames as they flickered over the wood. Matter is neither created nor destroyed. E = mc2.
”She quit being a guidance teacher?“
I nodded. ”Actually took a leave, but she’s not likely to go back. Not with a Harvard Ph.D. in psychology.“
”You mind?“ Paul said.
”Her quitting guidance?“
”The whole thing,“ Paul said. ”Ph.D., internship, off to Washington, not around for Thanksgiving. You mind that?“
I got up and walked to the window and looked down into Marlborough Street. It was bone empty. ”Susan is doing something very important to her,“ I said. ”She needs to do this, to strive, to seek, and not to yield.“
The holiday desolation of the empty street was depressing. In the streetlights’ shine it was manifestly silent. Over the hills and through the woods to grandmother’s house we go.
Paul said, ”Yeah, but do you mind?“
I drank some more whiskey. ”Yes,“ I said.
”How come you didn’t go down for Thanksgiving dinner with her? She have to work?“
”No. She’s spending it in Bethesda with the head of her intern program. It’s important to her.“ I kept staring out the window.
”More important than being with you?“
”There’s other times,“ I said.
A cab came up the empty street and stopped on the other side. An old woman in a fur coat got out carrying a fat white cat. The cabbie pulled away and she walked up the dark steps to her door and fumbled at the lock and then went in.
”If you had something you were working on, you’d stay away on Thanksgiving,“ Paul said.
”I know.“
”If I’d gotten a chance to dance, like at
”Yes.“
”There’s nothing to eat.“
”I noticed,“ Paul said. ”Maybe we can go down to the rescue mission.“
I finished the last Rolling Rock. There was a bottle of Murphy’s Irish Whiskey in the cupboard above the refrigerator for emergencies. I got it out and had some on the rocks. ”I’m glad to see you,“ I said.
”Hard booze?“ Paul said.
I nodded. ”Want a sniff?“ I said.
”Sure.“
I poured a little for him, over ice. He sipped it and didn’t look completely pleased.
”Is it worse than drinking nothing?“ I said.
”No.“
I put the dishes into the dishwasher and wiped off the counter. We went into the living room with two glasses and the whiskey and some ice.
”Since when have you been drinking hard booze?“ Paul said.
”It’s come to seem soothing lately.“
Paul nodded. ”One of those all-hour convenience stores will probably be open,“ Paul said. ”I could run out and get some sliced turkey roll and a loaf of Wonder bread. Maybe a quart of Tab, for the festive board.“
”We’ll eat out,“ I said. ”The hotels are usually open. The Ritz, maybe.“ I drank some whiskey. When you’ve been nursing it out of a bottle neck, a glass and ice seems like being on the wagon. ”I thought you were bringing a girl friend.“
”Paige, yeah. I was. But her parents got bent out of shape, so she went home.“
There was a fire laid in the cold fireplace. It saved time in case I met someone who wanted to jump on my bones in front of a romantic fire. I’d gotten this one ready in August. No sense wasting it. I got up and lit it and sat back down and watched the flames enlarge. The hell with romance.
I drank some more whiskey. Paul nursed his. I knew he didn’t like it. My glass was empty. I added more whiskey. An ice cube.
”Susan still in Washington?“ Paul said.
”Yes.“
”Couldn’t get back for Thanksgiving?“
”Nope.“
”I’m surprised you didn’t go down.“
I nodded.
”Where is it she’s at?“
”Children’s Hospital National Medical Center,“ I said. ”One Eleven Michigan Avenue, North West, Washington, D.C., 20010.“
”Internship?“
”Yes. Pre-doctoral internship.“ I leaned forward and poured a little whiskey into Paul’s glass. The kindling was fully flamed and the larger hardwood logs were beginning to burn. I stared at the flames as they flickered over the wood. Matter is neither created nor destroyed. E = mc2.
”She quit being a guidance teacher?“
I nodded. ”Actually took a leave, but she’s not likely to go back. Not with a Harvard Ph.D. in psychology.“
”You mind?“ Paul said.
”Her quitting guidance?“
”The whole thing,“ Paul said. ”Ph.D., internship, off to Washington, not around for Thanksgiving. You mind that?“
I got up and walked to the window and looked down into Marlborough Street. It was bone empty. ”Susan is doing something very important to her,“ I said. ”She needs to do this, to strive, to seek, and not to yield.“
The holiday desolation of the empty street was depressing. In the streetlights’ shine it was manifestly silent. Over the hills and through the woods to grandmother’s house we go.
Paul said, ”Yeah, but do you mind?“
I drank some more whiskey. ”Yes,“ I said.
”How come you didn’t go down for Thanksgiving dinner with her? She have to work?“
”No. She’s spending it in Bethesda with the head of her intern program. It’s important to her.“ I kept staring out the window.
”More important than being with you?“
”There’s other times,“ I said.
A cab came up the empty street and stopped on the other side. An old woman in a fur coat got out carrying a fat white cat. The cabbie pulled away and she walked up the dark steps to her door and fumbled at the lock and then went in.
”If you had something you were working on, you’d stay away on Thanksgiving,“ Paul said.
”I know.“
”If I’d gotten a chance to dance, like at
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