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Show FEEDING THE BIRDS Leah hated Hunt. W± struggle! JHi_s quest! \tis_ sorrow that he must forever disappoint people! Hunt was always wrong -- so he was always right. God, really: Where did it end? Where did all the mangled galaxy of Hunt lose its physics? The entire winter, today, seemed to have left Leah in a capsuled fury. It was noon. The weather had been crazy for days. Explosive thaws. Then returns to ice. Leah put her hands in the dishwater and felt dissociated from them. She looked through her window. Right now, everything was melting, but there were clouds, black roils, rising just beyond the lake. Hunt had gone to Rye. That was the dawn-and-breakfast-and-getting-the-children-off-to-school announcement: "I'm going over to Rye today. Driving over." Lehad had fixed him, clearly naked in bafflement. "The old hotels," Hunt had said, explaining it all. "The old seaside hotels. I want to paint one or two." And he'd packed easel, oils, charcoal, sketchpads, into the Volvo and -- always the seeker after images of Truth -- had just taken off. Leah hated him. She lifted her hands from the dishwater, put one to her mouth and bit it hard. She was miles from her mother. Her father was dead. She had no brothers or sisters. She had no friends. But Hunt was finding Truth at the beach in Rye! Hunt with loving and incredible family everywhere. And Leah should support him! |