phone book and asked him to call a travel agent. “Find out about flights to San Francisco for tomorrow morning,” she said, “and book me a room for tonight somewhere near the airport. Somewhere nice.”
While he made the calls, Holly finished packing, tucked her riches into a fat leather bag, and carried her things down to Kit’s car.
She was gone for such an oddly long time that Kit was on the point of going after her, afraid suddenly that their father might havefound them out, when she returned. She was a bit breathless and looked as if she might have been crying.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Fine. I’m a little overwhelmed, I guess. It’s finally beginning to sink in.” She took a quick look in the fridge and, after a moment, reluctantly poured a quart of milk down the kitchen sink. “I hope you won’t mind giving me a ride to the hotel.”
“Of course not,” he said, glad that they would be leaving together.
“Oh, here,” she said, fetching a postcard from her desk, writing out a name and a telephone number, handing it to him. “I’ll write to you at Yale in the fall to let you know where I am, but I don’t think I’d better try to reach you here. If you need me before then, call the Corrigans. Emily Corrigan’s my best friend. She’s been my roommate at Bryn Mawr for the past two years. When I go back to school in the fall, I’m sure it will be somewhere else, but I’ll still be in touch with Emily. She’ll know where I am.”
Kit was ashamed to realize that he had not known about an Emily, that he had never bothered to ask Holly about the man she’d been with the night before, who had unintentionally played such a pivotal role in their lives. But he believed that there would be time to learn about Holly’s life, and he looked forward to meeting her again on neutral ground where the only shadows would be their own.
On their way to the hotel, Kit and Holly Barrows said their good-byes in roundabout ways amid long silences that struck them as less odd than the sound of their two voices together. When they arrived at the hotel, Kit waved away the doorman and helped Holly carry her luggage into the lobby. He said good-bye to her then, held her head against his shoulder for a moment, and drove away without giving a single thought to where he might go. It just didn’t seem important at the time.
Chapter 6
When Rachel woke up in Harry’s bed, it took her a full minute to remember where she was and why she felt so ill. It was a long and frightening minute, measured by a parade of sensations that compounded her bewilderment, one by one. The clenching of her stomach, the sour film on her tongue, the pasty lethargy of her eyelids, the sticky ache where her thighs met, the sting of her abraded cheeks.
“Thank God,” Rachel whispered when she realized she was alone. She lay in the bed for a while, listening, but finally climbed unsteadily to her feet, hoping that Harry would not return before she’d had a chance to dress and compose herself. When she could not find her sweater, she gingerly searched through the clothes that were draped over chair backs and radiators, lampshades and bedposts, across the neglected room. The green chamois shirt she chose was fairly clean, worn just enough to smell vaguely of Harry.
Once in the bathroom, Rachel locked the door and began to clean herself carefully and thoroughly. She ran Harry’s toothbrush under very hot water, both before and after scrubbing every part of her mouth, including, especially, her lips.
It didn’t surprise her when the cloth she used to wash herself came away red, for she ached and throbbed as if a piece of glass were trying to work its way out of an old abscess. She looked around the bathroom, found a small mirror in the medicine cabinet, and by perching gently on the edge of the tub was able to look down at the reflection of her genitals.
Where her flesh had before been smooth and pink, it was now
While he made the calls, Holly finished packing, tucked her riches into a fat leather bag, and carried her things down to Kit’s car.
She was gone for such an oddly long time that Kit was on the point of going after her, afraid suddenly that their father might havefound them out, when she returned. She was a bit breathless and looked as if she might have been crying.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Fine. I’m a little overwhelmed, I guess. It’s finally beginning to sink in.” She took a quick look in the fridge and, after a moment, reluctantly poured a quart of milk down the kitchen sink. “I hope you won’t mind giving me a ride to the hotel.”
“Of course not,” he said, glad that they would be leaving together.
“Oh, here,” she said, fetching a postcard from her desk, writing out a name and a telephone number, handing it to him. “I’ll write to you at Yale in the fall to let you know where I am, but I don’t think I’d better try to reach you here. If you need me before then, call the Corrigans. Emily Corrigan’s my best friend. She’s been my roommate at Bryn Mawr for the past two years. When I go back to school in the fall, I’m sure it will be somewhere else, but I’ll still be in touch with Emily. She’ll know where I am.”
Kit was ashamed to realize that he had not known about an Emily, that he had never bothered to ask Holly about the man she’d been with the night before, who had unintentionally played such a pivotal role in their lives. But he believed that there would be time to learn about Holly’s life, and he looked forward to meeting her again on neutral ground where the only shadows would be their own.
On their way to the hotel, Kit and Holly Barrows said their good-byes in roundabout ways amid long silences that struck them as less odd than the sound of their two voices together. When they arrived at the hotel, Kit waved away the doorman and helped Holly carry her luggage into the lobby. He said good-bye to her then, held her head against his shoulder for a moment, and drove away without giving a single thought to where he might go. It just didn’t seem important at the time.
Chapter 6
When Rachel woke up in Harry’s bed, it took her a full minute to remember where she was and why she felt so ill. It was a long and frightening minute, measured by a parade of sensations that compounded her bewilderment, one by one. The clenching of her stomach, the sour film on her tongue, the pasty lethargy of her eyelids, the sticky ache where her thighs met, the sting of her abraded cheeks.
“Thank God,” Rachel whispered when she realized she was alone. She lay in the bed for a while, listening, but finally climbed unsteadily to her feet, hoping that Harry would not return before she’d had a chance to dress and compose herself. When she could not find her sweater, she gingerly searched through the clothes that were draped over chair backs and radiators, lampshades and bedposts, across the neglected room. The green chamois shirt she chose was fairly clean, worn just enough to smell vaguely of Harry.
Once in the bathroom, Rachel locked the door and began to clean herself carefully and thoroughly. She ran Harry’s toothbrush under very hot water, both before and after scrubbing every part of her mouth, including, especially, her lips.
It didn’t surprise her when the cloth she used to wash herself came away red, for she ached and throbbed as if a piece of glass were trying to work its way out of an old abscess. She looked around the bathroom, found a small mirror in the medicine cabinet, and by perching gently on the edge of the tub was able to look down at the reflection of her genitals.
Where her flesh had before been smooth and pink, it was now
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