"Carrie Richardson - Sous La Mer" - читать интересную книгу автора (Richardson Carrie)

ThereтАЩs one in every. crowd. Someone to whom SuzanneтАЩs songs speak
heart-to-heart. Someone who is half in love with the sea already, before he hears her
sing. Someone who hears тАЬOn the Shoals of My Heart,тАЭ тАЬStormsails,тАЭ тАЬтАШRound
Cape Heartbreak,тАЭ or тАЬAdrift,тАЭ songs of love and loss and the sea, always the sea тАФ
and whose life is never the same after the experience.

Allan LeeтАЩs dedication radiated from puppy-dog eyes as he bent to take
SuzanneтАЩs hand. I spoke up: тАЬMy sister and I appreciate your kind remarks, Mr.
Lee. Unfortunately, Suzanne is a little fatigued right now. IтАЩd better take her home.тАЭ

He stood aside with clear reluctance as I lifted Suzanne into the car,
rearranged her blanket, folded the wheelchair, and placed it in the back seat. I went
around to the driverтАЩs door; our eyes locked over the top of the car. My smile was
stiff. тАЬGood night, Mr. Lee.тАЭ

He was still standing there, looking bereft, as we pulled away. Suzanne waved
farewell, then turned to me. тАЬMerlin, you are such a spoilsport.тАЭ She mimed a pout,
then giggled.

тАЬLeave him alone, Suzanne.тАЭ I steered us home down the coast highway,
directed by the cold, pointing stars.

Two weeks later Suzanne played at BoudreauxтАЩs in Biloxi, late sets Friday and
Saturday nights. Allan Lee sat in the back of the house both nights; after SaturdayтАЩs
performance he came backstage to bring her a white rose.

She smiled and pressed his hand, then exclaimed over her clumsiness in
scratching his wrist with a thom. Allan protested that it was nothing. Without
comment, I handed over my handkerchief for Suzanne to blot the tiny beads of
blood. When Allan invited us both for drinks, I declined, pleading my driving
responsibilities. After an awkward moment, Suzanne also made her apologies. Allan
took note of my unspoken satisfaction, but I could tell by the set of his jaw that he
was far from giving up.

A month later we were in Bay St. Louis, to provide afternoon entertainment
during the annual Blessing of the Shrimp Fleet Festival. Allan took one of the scats in
the first row of folding chairs and waved to Suzanne like an old friend as I wheeled
her into place before the microphone.

After her set he insisted on giving us a guided tour of the piers. His father was
a shrimper, he told us, and he delighted in pointing out and naming each freshly
painted, flower-festooned, and holy-water-sprinkled boat. Flags and gay plastic
streamers of all colors snapped in the breeze, and above our heads gray and white
gulls laughed and tumbled as they snatched from midair the popcorn Suzanne threw
to them тАФ popcorn Allan had purchased for her.

I might as well have been invisible. Allan told her of his job feeding and
training the performing stock at the Marine Life Oceanarium in Gulfport. He was
especially fond of the dolphins, praising their quick intelligence and constant good
humor. Bored and irritated, I wandered on down the pier by myself, enjoying the