Read Online Three Women at the Water's Edge by Nancy Thayer - Free Book Online
Authors: Nancy Thayer
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said, springing up out of a chair when she saw Dale walk in. “You look like a drowned cat.”
“I’ve been walking by the beach,” Dale said. “It was so beautiful, so fantastic, I can’t describe it. But I’ve gotten so cold. I can’t stop shivering.”
“Get in the bathtub right away, get in the hottest water you can stand. Hurry up, take those clothes off, they’re soaked. Walking on the beach at this time of year? You’re crazy. What’s gotten into you? Look at your hair, it’s marvelous the way it goes all curly and fuzzy when it’s damp. Go on, get in the tub, I’ll bring you—what? What should I bring you, what would be good for you? What do we have in the way of liquor? Here. How about a nice stiff scotch? That’s as close to brandy as we can get. What in the world were you doing out there on the beach anyway?”
Dale went into the bathroom and started the water into the tub. She poured in a great dollop of bath oil. She piled her hair on top of her head and held it there with two wooden prongs, then peeled her wet jeans and sweater off her body; the jeans were almost iced. Her skin had gone very white, and she was covered with gooseflesh. The hot water on her cold skin was painful, a sort of shocking burn, but she forced herself into the tub, down into the hot foamy depths, so that only her head was above the water. She could hear Carol going on and on in the other room, and she smiled to herself. Carol was the most perfect person to live with at times like these, because she excelled in taking charge, taking care. Carol would make a fine mother, Dale thought, Carol should have ten children. Carol made taking care of people an art. In fact, Carol reminded Dale of her mother—at least of her mother as she remembered her. Dale hadn’t seen her mother since the divorce, since her mother had undergone her mysterious and unexplainable transformation; she could not believe her mother had changed as much as her father wrote she had. Dale could not imagine her mother being any way other than she had been the twenty-four years Dale had known her: warm, generous, kind, thoughtful, always ready to help.
“Here,” Carol said, coming into the bathroom. “A nice neat scotch. No ice, no water. Have a sip. You need it.” She handed the glass to Dale and then put the lid of the toilet seat down and sat down on it, crossed her legs, and looked at Dale affectionately. “Feel better? At least your teeth have stopped chattering.”
“God, Carol, I’m sorry about dinner,” Dale said. “I forgot it was my turn to cook tonight.” She sipped the scotch. It burned. She could feel it burning all the way down through her chest and into her stomach.
“Oh, heavens, don’t worry about that,” Carol said. “I was in the mood to make a beef stew anyway. Smells good, doesn’t it? I made enough so we won’t have to cook tomorrow night, we can just warm it up. Oh, by the way, Hank Kennedy phoned. He called twice, once when I just got home and then about fifteen minutes ago.”
“He
did
?” Dale tried her best to sound casual, and she was astounded that she did not drop the glass of scotch into the tub. “Did he say why he was calling?”
“No, he just said he wanted to talk to you. I told him you would be home any minute. He said he’d call you back. Hey, the scotch is working. Your color is returning, you’re beginning to look human again. Shall I go put dinner on the table or would you like to soak some more?”
“Yes, I’d like to soak a few minutes more,” Dale said. “I want to get thoroughly warmed up. Even my bones got cold out there. That beef stew smells better than anything I’ve ever smelled before in my life. I’m so hungry, I can’t tell you how hungry I am.”
“Well, you should be, after running around on the beach at the end of October,” Carol said sensibly, rose, and left the bathroom. “Call me when you’re getting out, and I’ll dish up the stew.”
Dale sipped more of
“I’ve been walking by the beach,” Dale said. “It was so beautiful, so fantastic, I can’t describe it. But I’ve gotten so cold. I can’t stop shivering.”
“Get in the bathtub right away, get in the hottest water you can stand. Hurry up, take those clothes off, they’re soaked. Walking on the beach at this time of year? You’re crazy. What’s gotten into you? Look at your hair, it’s marvelous the way it goes all curly and fuzzy when it’s damp. Go on, get in the tub, I’ll bring you—what? What should I bring you, what would be good for you? What do we have in the way of liquor? Here. How about a nice stiff scotch? That’s as close to brandy as we can get. What in the world were you doing out there on the beach anyway?”
Dale went into the bathroom and started the water into the tub. She poured in a great dollop of bath oil. She piled her hair on top of her head and held it there with two wooden prongs, then peeled her wet jeans and sweater off her body; the jeans were almost iced. Her skin had gone very white, and she was covered with gooseflesh. The hot water on her cold skin was painful, a sort of shocking burn, but she forced herself into the tub, down into the hot foamy depths, so that only her head was above the water. She could hear Carol going on and on in the other room, and she smiled to herself. Carol was the most perfect person to live with at times like these, because she excelled in taking charge, taking care. Carol would make a fine mother, Dale thought, Carol should have ten children. Carol made taking care of people an art. In fact, Carol reminded Dale of her mother—at least of her mother as she remembered her. Dale hadn’t seen her mother since the divorce, since her mother had undergone her mysterious and unexplainable transformation; she could not believe her mother had changed as much as her father wrote she had. Dale could not imagine her mother being any way other than she had been the twenty-four years Dale had known her: warm, generous, kind, thoughtful, always ready to help.
“Here,” Carol said, coming into the bathroom. “A nice neat scotch. No ice, no water. Have a sip. You need it.” She handed the glass to Dale and then put the lid of the toilet seat down and sat down on it, crossed her legs, and looked at Dale affectionately. “Feel better? At least your teeth have stopped chattering.”
“God, Carol, I’m sorry about dinner,” Dale said. “I forgot it was my turn to cook tonight.” She sipped the scotch. It burned. She could feel it burning all the way down through her chest and into her stomach.
“Oh, heavens, don’t worry about that,” Carol said. “I was in the mood to make a beef stew anyway. Smells good, doesn’t it? I made enough so we won’t have to cook tomorrow night, we can just warm it up. Oh, by the way, Hank Kennedy phoned. He called twice, once when I just got home and then about fifteen minutes ago.”
“He
did
?” Dale tried her best to sound casual, and she was astounded that she did not drop the glass of scotch into the tub. “Did he say why he was calling?”
“No, he just said he wanted to talk to you. I told him you would be home any minute. He said he’d call you back. Hey, the scotch is working. Your color is returning, you’re beginning to look human again. Shall I go put dinner on the table or would you like to soak some more?”
“Yes, I’d like to soak a few minutes more,” Dale said. “I want to get thoroughly warmed up. Even my bones got cold out there. That beef stew smells better than anything I’ve ever smelled before in my life. I’m so hungry, I can’t tell you how hungry I am.”
“Well, you should be, after running around on the beach at the end of October,” Carol said sensibly, rose, and left the bathroom. “Call me when you’re getting out, and I’ll dish up the stew.”
Dale sipped more of
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