Read Online Wildwood by Drusilla Campbell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Drusilla Campbell
Ads: Link
to—Gregorian chants, soothing as tranquilizers. She slipped the Walkman into her oversized canvas tote, stood and inched her way down the aisle toward the exit.
She felt her airport demeanor take possession: a longer stride and straighter back, prouder head, expression not excited, never excited, but anticipatory, expectant, busy-busy-busy. She knew the other passengers and the people lined up at the airport windows watched her as she strode across the tarmac between the plane and the terminal. Gerard said they watched because she looked like Someone. A woman just back from someplace thrilling, en route to somewhere even better. Though no longer young and never beautiful—her nose was long, a little hooked, and her forehead too high—she attracted more attention now than ever. Gerard said she carried herself with distinction—which was also pretty amusing since she had never felt in the least distinctive. If she had, she would not have had to create her airport personality in the first place.
Once in Heathrow Airport a teenaged girl had asked for her autograph. She signed Amelia Earhart and the girl had said, “I just love your show.”
Hannah waited behind the barrier. Her round youthful face beamed at Liz through the glass, glowing with health and excitement. She wore a long cotton skirt and a roomy Shaker sweater the color of orange sherbet and her feet were laced into leather espadrilles. A thick braid overpowered her willful silver blond hair and hung to the middle of her back. Exotic bead and turquoise earrings dangled halfway to her shoulders. She looked like a rich grown-up hippie.
They waved, ran and fell into each other’s arms. Let’s not talk, Liz thought. Let’s not spoil this.
In the car there was suddenly too much to say and no easy place to start so Liz filled up the space with talk about the guest house in Belize, her friends, the way she and Gerard lived.
“While I’m gone he’s starting the new kitchen and that’ll make life much easier. Trying to feed a dozen hungry tourists breakfast and dinner on a gas stove with two burners is a nightmare. When I get back there’ll be a new Aga stove—new to us, anyway; actually we’re buying it from a pair of old British queens; one of them’s sick so they’ve decided to go back to England. And while I was in Miami I ordered a double refrigerator with a huge freezer. Plus a bunch of modular cupboards and some Formica. Bright red, can you believe that? Remember when the stuff only came in speckled and sand? God willing it all gets on the right ship and someone finds the energy to unload it.” She paused for breath. “You and Dan’ll have to quit making excuses and come down before we get too fashionable. Gerard can take you into the rain forest and there’s Mayan ruins.” She must have said all this before on the phone or e-mail. The important thing was to avoid empty air. “It’s super down there, Hannah. In the morning everything drips and the sound of the place is primeval.”
“And Gerard? He’s well?”
Liz took a photo from her purse and held it out. “I don’t think you’ve seen this one.” It showed a tall, dark man, with heavy eyes, strong and vigorous in his sixties, dressed in bush shirt and shorts.
“A hero for the new age,” Hannah said. “The Great White Environmentalist.” She grinned. “Cool.”
Hannah jerked the Volvo into the fast lane and Liz pressed her feet into the floorboards as if the car had dual controls like the one they’d all learned to drive on in Driver Education. Hannah had always been a kind of crazy driver given to last minute turns and tailgating. Liz felt the sonar beep of a headache behind her ears.
In the Santa Clara valley, five years’ absence meant a century of change. Going way back she remembered a time when orchards, not silicon, supported the valley. A time when the fruity summer air sang with susurration of bees and yellow jackets and everyone got stung and bit
She felt her airport demeanor take possession: a longer stride and straighter back, prouder head, expression not excited, never excited, but anticipatory, expectant, busy-busy-busy. She knew the other passengers and the people lined up at the airport windows watched her as she strode across the tarmac between the plane and the terminal. Gerard said they watched because she looked like Someone. A woman just back from someplace thrilling, en route to somewhere even better. Though no longer young and never beautiful—her nose was long, a little hooked, and her forehead too high—she attracted more attention now than ever. Gerard said she carried herself with distinction—which was also pretty amusing since she had never felt in the least distinctive. If she had, she would not have had to create her airport personality in the first place.
Once in Heathrow Airport a teenaged girl had asked for her autograph. She signed Amelia Earhart and the girl had said, “I just love your show.”
Hannah waited behind the barrier. Her round youthful face beamed at Liz through the glass, glowing with health and excitement. She wore a long cotton skirt and a roomy Shaker sweater the color of orange sherbet and her feet were laced into leather espadrilles. A thick braid overpowered her willful silver blond hair and hung to the middle of her back. Exotic bead and turquoise earrings dangled halfway to her shoulders. She looked like a rich grown-up hippie.
They waved, ran and fell into each other’s arms. Let’s not talk, Liz thought. Let’s not spoil this.
In the car there was suddenly too much to say and no easy place to start so Liz filled up the space with talk about the guest house in Belize, her friends, the way she and Gerard lived.
“While I’m gone he’s starting the new kitchen and that’ll make life much easier. Trying to feed a dozen hungry tourists breakfast and dinner on a gas stove with two burners is a nightmare. When I get back there’ll be a new Aga stove—new to us, anyway; actually we’re buying it from a pair of old British queens; one of them’s sick so they’ve decided to go back to England. And while I was in Miami I ordered a double refrigerator with a huge freezer. Plus a bunch of modular cupboards and some Formica. Bright red, can you believe that? Remember when the stuff only came in speckled and sand? God willing it all gets on the right ship and someone finds the energy to unload it.” She paused for breath. “You and Dan’ll have to quit making excuses and come down before we get too fashionable. Gerard can take you into the rain forest and there’s Mayan ruins.” She must have said all this before on the phone or e-mail. The important thing was to avoid empty air. “It’s super down there, Hannah. In the morning everything drips and the sound of the place is primeval.”
“And Gerard? He’s well?”
Liz took a photo from her purse and held it out. “I don’t think you’ve seen this one.” It showed a tall, dark man, with heavy eyes, strong and vigorous in his sixties, dressed in bush shirt and shorts.
“A hero for the new age,” Hannah said. “The Great White Environmentalist.” She grinned. “Cool.”
Hannah jerked the Volvo into the fast lane and Liz pressed her feet into the floorboards as if the car had dual controls like the one they’d all learned to drive on in Driver Education. Hannah had always been a kind of crazy driver given to last minute turns and tailgating. Liz felt the sonar beep of a headache behind her ears.
In the Santa Clara valley, five years’ absence meant a century of change. Going way back she remembered a time when orchards, not silicon, supported the valley. A time when the fruity summer air sang with susurration of bees and yellow jackets and everyone got stung and bit
Similar Books
