"Kate Wilhelm - Happiest Day Of Her Life" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wilhelm Kate)

"The voice of experience," Aunt Rebecca said, pouring coffee for Reba. "I was just about to scramble
eggs. Walt will be down in a minute."

"None for me," Reba said. "Just coffee. I'll get a bite later. Mother, the wedding is all taken care of.
There's not a thing for you to do except take it easy, relax. Okay?"

"Darling, you wouldn't believe how much I have to do! What I thought we'd do is shop a little. I can't
wear a violet dress if Rebecca insists on wearing blue.

And the wedding gift, of course. What pattern of silver do you have? But that's so boring, isn't it? I want
something memorable for you. Then, I thought we'd meet and have lunch, just you and I, and Bob, of
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course. Or maybe not with Bob.

A mother and daughter should have lunch alone on this occasion. Yes, definitely, just the two of us --"

"Mother! I'm sorry. I'm tied up all day, people at work planned lunch already

--"

"She's so much like her father," Sonya said to Rebecca. "It took my breath away looking at her sleeping;
she looks so much like him, and talks like him." Then she turned to Reba and said, "Darling, I don't want
to upset any plans you already have, of course, but it does seem that on the last day of your life as a
single girl you could take a little time out for the only mother you'll ever have."

The last day of her life! "Mother! I'm not a girl. I'm twenty-nine years old.

I'm really happy you came in time for the wedding, but I have to work today, and

I have a million things I have to take care of. I'll see you tonight." She put down her coffee cup, snatched
up her purse and jacket, and headed for the front door.

Aunt Rebecca walked out with her to the porch. "Don't worry about her," she said, patting Reba's arm.
"I won't let her near your room."

"Or the Gilfords, or the church, or the hotel," Reba muttered. "I'll call the hotel and tell them to add two
more to the dinner party."

Sonya was coming toward them. "Darling, I hope you made an appointment to have your hair done..."

Reba fled.

It was downhill for the rest of the morning. Traffic crossing the bridge from

Vancouver, Washington, into Portland, Oregon, was bumper to bumper with long inexplicable pauses
between small incremental forward movements. Once she reached the hospital where she worked in the