"Lisa Goldstein - Lilyanna" - читать интересную книгу автора (Goldstein Lisa)

I was actually trembling as I walked through the library, picking up books and
rifling through their pages, turning them upside down and shaking them to dislodge
any stray pieces of paper. My heart pounded so loudly I could hear it in the silence.
I made myself go slower, straightening each pile of books carefully and setting them
gently in the bin.
Amy and I had gone out for a drink once. Afterward she had invited me to her
house. I had felt awkward, filled with trepidation; I hadn’t known what she wanted,
hadn’t known what I wanted for that matter. It was one of those moments where a
life could change in an instant, some decision made that could never be taken back.
I needn’t have worried. She lived with her three children, two dogs, and a
parrot, who shouted “Abandon all hope!” when we walked through the door. Her
ex-husband, I soon discovered, lived over the garage and had been taking care of the
kids, only two of which were his. One of the dogs was recovering from some
complex surgery and wore that collar that looks like a giant Elizabethan ruff. He had
fixed ideas about how big he was, ideas that did not include the collar, and kept
bumping into things. Perhaps it was only in memory that he bumped into me more
than anything else.
The ex-husband made his living from entering contests, and Amy’s walls were
stacked with computer games and lifetime supplies of hair product; he had run out
of space to store them all. As we sat on her couch, trying to talk over children’s
demands and the parrot’s squawking, a postal truck pulled up, setting off a round of
barking from the dogs, and disgorged more boxes.
I noticed for the first time that evening that she was quite pretty—though
perhaps cute might be a better word, with her frizzy blond hair, snub nose, and
freckles. And I had never realized how short she was; she barely came up to my
shoulders.
She turned out to be an interesting woman, too, more thoughtful than I would
have expected from her surroundings. “Sometimes I feel like I’m walking down a
long hallway, and doors are closing all around me,” she said. “There are so many
things I wanted to do, things I thought I’d get around to when I was older. Like go
to exotic places and write books about them, and learn how to sail, and speak
Spanish, and make pottery ... And have kids, of course, but it’s the kids that are
keeping me from all the rest of it. You can’t do everything, I guess is what I’m
saying. Do you know what I mean?”
I didn’t, not really. She had her hands full, more than full; she seemed to be
doing enough for several people already.
“Well, but you’re still young, younger than I am,” I said. “There’s still time
for all that.” But she looked at me as if my answer had disappointed her.
I never went back. I’m not sure why, really. All the time I was with her I kept
thinking about Nina, the way she used to stride forward on those long legs, the way
she always seemed to know where she was going, even when she was lost. And
Amy’s life looked too confusing, there were too many things to take in at once.
I finished making the rounds of the library. There had been no messages from
the books, not a scrap of paper to be found. I cursed myself for an idiot. I had built
up something out of nothing, a ludicrous fantasy. I felt a mad urge to take every
book off the shelf and shake them until they gave up their secrets. Instead I took a
last look at the photograph and headed for the door.
I caught the glimmer of white again, but this time it did not go away when I
looked directly at it. It was a pearl someone had dropped. As I bent to pick it up I
remembered the photograph, the pearl earrings the woman wore.