"Lisa Goldstein - Rites of Spring" - читать интересную книгу автора (Goldstein Lisa)

the daughter is wearing what looks like a bridal wreath, a circlet of flowers. She is beautif
with light brown hair and blue eyes. I can't tell what she's thinking; she has the vacant
expression of the very young. Her mother seems to have gotten all the wisdom in the family
Her husband looks nearly twice her age. He is unsmiling, almost grim. He has long grea
hair, a short beard, and wears a black leather vest over a T-shirt. He stands a little in front
her, casting her partly in shadow. "What does she do?" I ask.
"Nothing, as far as I know," Ms. Green says. "He won't let her leave the house."
"What about him? He looks like a Hell's Angel."
"I wouldn't be surprised." For the first time she looks away from me, down toward her
She smoothes her busy skirt. "I don't like to think about it."
"How long has she been with him?"
"About four months. They got married right after they met."
"Where did she meet him?"
Ms. Green looks away again. "She says it was in a park."
We talk a little more, and then I give her my standard contract and explain about my fee
She signs the contract and writes a check for my retainer.
 As soon as she leaves the nausea I've been fighting the past few weeks returns. I run do
the hallway to the bathroom and make it just in time to throw up into the toilet. As I stand an
catch my breath I wonder why the hell they call it morn-ing sickness. Mine seems to go on
day.
I make my way back to the office. I've got to do something about this, I think. I've got to
decide. I flip through the cal-endar on my desk. The doctor's appointment is in two days, on
March 19.
Dora Green had given me the last address she had for Carolyn and her husband, and had
told me that her daughter had been taking classes at the university. It's past four o'clock, tho
and in this sleepy northern California town the university is probably closed for the day. I
decide to visit Carolyn's neigh-borhood.
Before I leave I call a contact in the Department of Motor Vehicles and ask her to run a
check on Jack Hayes, Carolyn's husband; on Carolyn Green; and on Carolyn Hayes. Then I
up my coat and purse, lock the office door, and step out into the hallway.
The landing smells even worse than usual, frying grease and floor polish. They say that
your sense of smell improves when you're pregnant, but in the past few weeks I've discov-e
that this doesn't nearly go far enough. What I think ac-tually happens is that your entire skin
becomes a giant olfactory gland.
The temperature outside is in the thirties, and the sun is barely visible through the cloud
It's the coldest March peo-ple in this town can remember. Wind burns my ears. My
well-dressed client, I remember, wore a plush padded overcoat. I wrap my thin cloth coat
around me and get into my car.
The car's heater kicks in just as I drive up to Carolyn's address. I sit in the car a momen
longer before going out to face the cold. Iron bars front the windows of some of the houses
around me; other houses are boarded up or burned out or covered with graffiti. Five or six
teenage boys walk down the street, drinking something from a paper bag and laughing loudl
An old man stands at a bus stop, talking angrily to himself.
I turn off the car and step outside. The wind chills me almost instantly, and I huddle into
coat. The address Ms. Green gave me is an apartment building, and I see the apart-ment I w
facing the landing on the second floor. I climb the outside stairs and knock. Music plays fro
the first floor.
There is no answer. I knock again, louder. The door to the nearest apartment opens and
man steps out. ' 'What the hell do you want?" he asks. "Can't a man get a little sleep around
here?"