"Patricia A. McKillip - Solstice Wood" - читать интересную книгу автора (McKillip Patricia A)

for this.тАЭ I thought a moment, then took off my bathrobe,
wrinkle-free polyester, folded that and a pajama top into the bag.
тАЬCan I at least take you to the airport?тАЭ
Madison taught music fundamentals at the community college;
his summer course hadnтАЩt started yet. It was like Grandpa Liam to
die sleeping out under the stars, I thought; heтАЩd probably been
waiting for the summer solstice.
тАЬOkay. What else do I need?тАЭ
тАЬToothbrush. All that.тАЭ
тАЬGot it.тАЭ I showed him the little airline bag of bathroom supplies
IтАЩd acquired once when my luggage spent the night somewhere.
тАЬOh.тАЭ I went to the refrigerator, examined my collection of nail
polish I kept in the egg bin to prevent streaking. Black? White?
Plum? My mind went blank. Then I saw Grandpa Liam again, his
rangy body hunkered down over a patch of tiny wildflowers growing
along a stream bank. They were as lightly blue as his eyes. Sun fell
on his hair, turning it into smooth ivory. He smiled at me, and said,
тАЬForget-me-not.тАЭ I felt the blotchy swelling under my eyes again. I
grabbed a bottle without seeing it, zipped it into a side-pocket along
with my travel alarm.
тАЬWhat else? Oh. I need to book a flight.тАЭ
тАЬSyl.тАЭ Madison put his arms around me again. Over his shoulder,
I saw the sky lightening, revealing, out of my high, uncurtained
window, block upon block, mile upon mile of stone and cement and
winding tarmac, flowing everywhere around me, hills covered with
buildings instead of trees, everything blocked, gridded, measured,
planned, the earth so buried that nothing could bloom in secret,
unseen in the light of day.
тАЬWhat have I forgotten?тАЭ I asked him, soothed by the sight. I
would come back to those predictable streets as soon as possible;
not even Gram could stop me.
тАЬYou could get dressed,тАЭ Madison suggested gently. I pulled away
from him, looking bewilderedly down at my naked self. He kissed
my ear. тАЬIтАЩll find you a flight while you shower.тАЭ
тАФ┬л? ┬╗тАФ
So I made my arrangements with almost annoying ease, until
there I was, just where Gram wanted me, driving a Popsicle-red
rental car from the airport at twilight through the village where I
was born, and hungry on top of it.
The ancient village IтАЩd left for good seven years earlier hadnтАЩt
changed much. A pizza parlor had opened up where Andie Blair had
had her diner for fifty-two years. The new owners had kept the
thick, bottle-blue windows and the stone shed in the back for
storing bodies in winter when, a couple of centuries before, the
place had been the village apothecary shop. The creaky inn with its
meandering halls and narrow stairways had a new ramp for the
handicapped zigzagging from the slate steps. It was a
bed-and-breakfast in this century, owned by the Starr sisters and
their dead brotherтАЩs widow. I saw the twinsтАЩ heads in the lounge
window as I drove past, both covered with the same tight gray