A Hundred Summers Read Online Free PDF

terrific arm, you saw that , and an ice-cold brain. He just looks down the field and takes it all in, knows where everyone is, like a chess player. Never seen him call a play wrong.”
    “How is he?” I ask. The question nearly bursts from my lips. “His leg, I mean.”
    “Oh, he’s all right. He telephoned from the hospital. Wasn’t as bad as they thought. Single fracture, hairline or something. I guess those solid old bones of his are hard to crack. They’re setting it now.” Graham flicks his watch free from his cuff and glances at it. “He said he’d meet us here when they’re done.”
    “What, here ?” I ask.
    “He’ll be hungry.”
    “He doesn’t want to go home and rest?”
    A laugh. “No, not Nick. He won’t even go to bed when he’s got the flu. He’ll make a point of coming tonight, just to show what a big boy he is.”
    “That’s ridiculous,” says Budgie. “And stupid. He’ll turn himself into a cripple.”
    “He wanted to hop off the field by himself, the fool. I had to hold him down myself when they put him on the stretcher.”
    “Stupid,” Budgie says again.
    Her voice is distant, behind the persistent thud of my heartbeat in my ears. My hand is cold on my fork. I go through the pantomime of eating a piece of steak, drinking water, eating a piece of melting scalloped potato. “He’ll be all right, though, won’t he?” I ask, when I’m absolutely sure I’ve composed my voice.
    Graham shrugs. “He’ll be fine. Well, he won’t play again, he’ll graduate in June, but it was a clean break, at least. Won’t give him any trouble. Lucky fellow. Now, last year, Gardiner broke his neck tackling someone at the Yale game. Went in headfirst, the idiot. Nearly died. He’ll be in a wheelchair all his life. Oh, look! Nick’s here.” He throws down his napkin and waves.
    I turn my head, and there stands Nick Greenwald at the entrance to the dining room, his left leg wrapped almost to the knee in a thick white plaster cast and his arms slung over a pair of crutches. I want to see his face, to see if it matches the impossible image in my head, but he’s standing in a gap between the lights overhead, and he’s looking to the side, inspecting the room. The angled light carves a deep shadow beneath his cheekbone.
    His face turns. He spots Graham and hops forward on his crutches into the glow of a chandelier. I have only an instant to take him in. He’s smiling now, and the smile transforms him, softens all the edges, making him less formidable than I thought he would be.
    Budgie leans in to my ear. “Now’s your chance, Lily. Remember to ask him about himself. They love that. And for God sake don’t talk about books.”
    “Nick! It’s about time. What did you do, hobble all the way here from the hospital? Or did you meet a pretty nurse there?” Graham yanks out a chair for him. “You remember Budgie, don’t you, Nick? Budgie Byrne.”
    “Hello, Nick. I’m sorry about your leg.” Budgie holds out her hand.
    Nick props his crutch under his arm and grasps her fingers. “Budgie. How are you?”
    “And this is her friend Miss Dane. Lily Dane. Drove up with Budgie all the way from Smith this morning, just to meet you.”
    Graham’s voice is jovial, joking, making it plain he’s just filling the introduction with nonsense to lighten the mood, with Nick’s cast and crutches weighing everything down. The trouble is, he’s too close to the truth.
    Nick turns to me and takes in my burning cheeks. He smiles politely. Under the electric lights, his skin is smooth and even, suggesting olive, and his eyes are a kind of hazel, hovering somewhere between brown and green. Washed and dried, his hair shows itself a few shades darker than Graham’s, a rich medium brown, curling back in rebellion from a thorough brushing. He is not glossy, like Graham, not painted with elegant strokes. But when he speaks, his eyes crinkle expressively. “Miss Dane. Nick Greenwald. I’m sorry I couldn’t