At the Water's Edge Read Online Free PDF Page A

whispered, clutching his hand.
    â€œOf course,” he said. “Do you want one of your heart pills?”
    â€œNo, I’ll be all right,” I said.
    â€œDo you mind if I…?” He let the question trail off.
    â€œOf course not. Help yourself.”
    At ten to seven, forty minutes before we were expected in the drawing room for cocktails, we crept downstairs, both of us in our robes, glancing nervously at each other and hiding behind corners until we ascertained that nobody was around. I felt like a child sneaking down to eavesdrop on a party for grown-ups.
    I telephoned Mrs. Pew and sheepishly asked if she would please keep an eye out for my hair comb. After a slight pause, she said curtly that yes, she would.
As she had told me last night
.
    When I hung up, I turned wordlessly to Ellis, who pulled me into his arms.
    â€œHush, my darling,” he said, pressing my head to his chest. “This too shall pass.”
    â€”
    At seven thirty, we met at the top of the stairs. I had bathed and repaired my hair as best I could in the available time. I had also put on a touch of lipstick and rouge, since my face was so devoid of color as to be nearly transparent, and dabbed some eau de toilette behind my ears. Ellis had nicked himself shaving, and there were comb marks in his wet hair.
    â€œReady?” he said.
    â€œAbsolutely not. You?”
    â€œCourage, my dear,” he said, offering his arm. I curled my icy fingers in the crook of his elbow.
    As Ellis and I entered the drawing room, my father-in-law, Colonel Whitney Hyde, raised his face and aimed it at the grandfather clock. He was leaning against the mantel, right next to a delicate cage hanging from an elaborate floor stand. The canary within was the color oforange sorbet, a plump, smooth ovoid with a short fan of a tail, chocolate spots for eyes, and a sweet beak. He was almost too perfect to be real, and not once had he sung during my four-year tenure in this house, even as his quarters were reduced to help him concentrate.
    My mother-in-law, Edith Stone Hyde, sat perched on the edge of a silk jacquard chair the color of a robin’s egg, Louis XIV style. Her gray eyes latched onto us the moment we entered the room.
    Ellis crossed the carpet briskly and kissed her cheek. “Happy New Year, Mother,” he said. “I hope you’re feeling better.”
    â€œYes, Happy New Year,” I added, stepping forward.
    She turned her gaze on me and I stopped in my tracks. Her jaw was set, her eyes unblinking. Over by the mantel, the ends of the Colonel’s mustache twitched. The canary fluttered from its perch to the side of the cage and clung there, its fleshless toes and translucent claws wrapped around the bars.
    Tick, tock
went the clock. I thought my knees might go out from under me.
    â€œBetter…Hmmm…Am I feeling better…” She spoke slowly, clearly, mulling the words. Her brow furrowed ever so slightly. She drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair, starting with her smallest finger and going up, twice, and then reversing the order. The rhythm was that of a horse cantering. The pause felt interminable.
    She looked suddenly up at Ellis. “Are you referring to my migraine?”
    â€œOf course,” Ellis said emphatically. “We know how you suffer.”
    â€œDo you? How kind of you. Both of you.”
    Tick, tock
.
    Ellis straightened his spine and his tie and went to the sideboard to pour drinks. Whiskeys for the men, sherries for the ladies. He delivered his mother’s, then his father’s, and then brought ours over.
    â€œTell me, how was the party?” his mother said, gazing at the delicate crystal glass she held in her lap. Her voice was completely without inflection.
    â€œIt was quite an event,” Ellis said, too loudly, too enthusiastically. “The Pews certainly do things right. An orchestra, endless champagne,never-ending trays of delicious tidbits. You’d