"WILHELM, KATE - JUSTICE FOR SOME" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wilhelm Kate)

since. They weren't coming back, she had realized that night. Blaine had
left her, the children had left her, and none of them would ever come
back.

I She entered her room. She had taken out most of Winnie's things,
replaced frilly curtains with lace panels and drapes, put in a blue rug,
and an easy chair and reading lamp, made it her own, with the children's
pictures on one wall, every stage of their childhood faithfully
recorded, framed. They were both beautiful, she often told herself in
wonder. Even if Winnie had inherited her frizzy red hair, she had been a
beautiful girl, was a beautiful young woman now. And Virgil was so like
his father, with brown hair, dark eyes that often looked black, but were
actually dark blue. The same crooked grin. He was twenty-three and lost.

Somehow he had become lost. And that was what the reunion was all about,
she admitted to herself. She had to have a little time with the
children, find out what Virgil was doing, what he wanted to do, why he
had dropped out of school, if he intended to go back. Find out if he was
sick, into drugs. In serious trouble. And if the children wouldn't or
couldn't come to her to spend some real time, she had decided to go
where they were willing to be, her father's house. She gazed at Virgil's
picture, his crooked grin, and she wanted to demand: Who are you?

What are you turning into? Abruptly she swung away from the picture.

She had to pack, she reminded herself, and remembered that she still had
not done the laundry. And a few minutes later, starting the laundry, she
remembered that she was overdue for dinner. Some nights she forgot to
eat until it was almost bedtime. She had posted a note on the
refrigerator: Seven o'clock Eat! She sat down at the kitchen table and
drank another glass of Dirk's wine and then wrote a list of as after
nine.

It was one-thirty when she finally dropped into bed, exhausted and
restless, the way she was before a trip.

She wished she had sleeping pills, anything to put her over the edge
swiftly, stop the tape loop that played endlessly in her mind. Virgil,
her eighty-year-old father, Winnie, Dirk and his proposition, her own
future.

For a time everyone had kept asking, what are you going to do now?

What are your plans, and she had had no answers. She still had none.

Five-year plans, forty-year plans? One seemed as meaningless as the
other.

Then she remembered another night when she had been too restless to
sleep; she had dressed and had gone out in the car, down to the Spurs