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Show Woodworth/148 ice in it so that the glass gets frosty. She hasn't had any pills today, so it's ok. She pushes herself upright, and a wave of blackness sweeps across her eyes. A drink will help her clear her head, too. Besides, who knows when Ned will be back and she'll have a chance to have another one? She stands up, plucks the insistent wrinkles of her damp slip off her body, and heads down the stairs, the pools of sweat under her arms and between her legs evaporating from the passing of air. By the time they leave for the Grayson's, she feels content, drifting. It always seems cooler by a pool. She has her suit tucked under her arm. Ned, too, has his suit, held casually in one hand. So insensitive, so selfish. Even in the way he walks. He hasn't even noticed she's been drinking. That's good. But he wouldn't say anything. Gave up on that years ago. And it's easier. Who is he to talk? Always so wrapped up in what goes on at the hospital. It's morbid. After all these years, operations and fractures and wounds spewing blood and exposed brains surge through her mind. Shouldn't have told her all of that. "I bet it's even unbearable on Nantucket," Ned says. They are in the Grayson's driveway, heading up to the house. Funny how they always go out their front door, and in the Grayson's front door. "Yes," she says. She doesn't want to think about Nantucket. Feels like he's been hinting all summer - Christ, all year, about going there. And he knows she doesn't want to. There's too much there, too much to remind her. Better to stay here. The things that remind her are familiar. And can find them or avoidttremr There ar^no surprises. |
