"Kim Stanley Robinson - Sixty Days and Counting" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robinson Kim Stanley)

immediately explain why he was thereтАФthe possible danger she was inтАФso that she
did not jump to the conclusion that he was somehow stalking her. They could talk;
he could see what she wanted to do, perhaps even help her move somewhere else, if
thatтАЩs what she wanted. Although in that caseтАж
Well, but he had run through all these thoughts a thousand times during the drive. All
the scenarios led to a break point beyond which it was hard to imagine. He had to go
to work on Monday. Or he should. And soтАж
He finished his lunch and walked around a little. Southwest HarborтАЩs harbor was a
small bay surrounded by forested hills, and filled with working boats and working
docks, also a small Coast Guard station out on the point to the left. It was quiet, icy,
empty of people: picturesque, but in a good way. A working harbor.
He would have to risk dropping in on her. The wand said he was clean. EdgardoтАЩs
friend had said his van was clean. He had driven all night, he was five miles away
from her. Surely the decision had already been made!



So he got back in his van, and drove back up the road, then took a left and followed
a winding road through bare trees. Past an iced-over pond on the right, then another
one on the left, this one a lake that was narrow and long, extending south for miles, a
white flatness at the bottom of a classic U-shaped glacial slot. Soon after that, a left
turn onto a gravel road.
He drove slower than ever, under a dense network of overarching branches. Houses
to the left were fronting the long frozen lake. CarolineтАЩs friendтАЩs place was on the
right, where it would overlook a second arm of the lake. The map showed a
Y-shaped lake, with the long arm straight, and the other shorter arm curving into it
about halfway down.
Her friendтАЩs house had no number in its driveway, but by the numbers before and
after it, he deduced that it had to be the one. He turned around in a driveway, idled
back up the road.
The place had a short gravel curve of driveway, with no cars in it. At the end of the
driveway to the left stood a house, while to the right was a detached garage. Both
were dark green with white trim. A car could have been hidden in the garage. Ah; the
house number was there on the side of the garage.
He didnтАЩt want to drive into the driveway. On the other hand it must look odd, him
idling out on the road, looking inтАФif there was anyone there to see. He idled down
the road farther, back in the direction of the paved road. Then he parked on the side
at a wide spot, cursing under his breath. He got out and walked quickly down the
road and up the driveway to the house in question.
He stopped between the house and the garage, under a big bare-limbed tree. The
snow was crushed down to ice shards on the flagstones between the house and
garage, as if someone had walked all over them and then there had been a thaw. No
one was visible through the kitchen window. He was afraid to knock on the kitchen
door. He stepped around the side of the house, looking in the windows running
down that side. Inside was a big room, beyond it a sun porch facing the lake. The
lake was down a slope from the house. There was a narrow path down, flanked by
stone-walled terraces filled with snow and black weeds. Down on the water at the
bottom of the path was a little white dock, anchored by a tiny white boathouse.
The door of the boathouse swung open from inside.
тАЬCaroline?тАЭ Frank called down.