Happy All the Time Read Online Free PDF Page A

said.
    â€œLike someone who was going to get married.”
    â€œAnd you’re sure you love me enough to get married?” said Guido.
    â€œDon’t be silly,” said Holly. “Of course I am.”
    â€œAnd what makes you think so?”
    â€œGuido, I can’t be grilled on these subjects. I gave you a list of things I loved about you. I told you why I loved you. Now why can’t I simply love you and not talk about it all the time?”
    â€œAre you sure loving my eyes and hands is enough? What about my character?”
    â€œI’m just in love with you,” Holly said. “I can’t talk about these things. Your character is your hair. It’s all integrated. I don’t think about these things the way you do. I just feel things—that’s all.”
    Guido held her broken wrist gently and kissed all the knuckles of her hand. Her fingers felt cool and helpless.
    â€œI love you because you do inspired things like that,” said Holly. “Will you tie the sling up for me?”
    He tied the little silk knot at the back of her neck and she held her head steady, the way a patient child does.

PART TWO

CHAPTER 2
    One morning, Vincent Cardworthy woke up in a bedroom in Sewickley, Pennsylvania, next to a woman he was not sure he recognized. He knew he was in Sewickley—he had been there the night before and he was positive he had not been on an airplane in between. The woman lying next to him had bright blond hair and ruddy cheeks. She wore a cotton nightgown.
    Vincent sat up. Recollection dropped over him like a noose. The woman was Rachel Montgomery. She was a friend of the friends who had put Vincent up for the weekend. He had come to Pittsburgh to address the Planning Council on waste and sewage. Rachel had been a guest for dinner on Saturday night. Memories of the dinner were dim; everyone had had a lot of drink. Rachel, he remembered, had been driven over and Vincent had gallantly offered to drive her home since he was more sober than his host.
    Rachel was a divorcée, or about to become one, and she was quite voluble. He had walked her to the door and had been invited in for a nightcap. By this time Vincent was exhausted as well as tight. It had not mattered to him that he had no idea of how to get back to his hosts.
    Rachel had sat him down on the couch and begun: her soon to be ex-husband was a banker and was now in Bermuda playing golf with his brother and sister-in-law. Meanwhile, Rachel held down the fort, which had a tennis court attached, with little Hugh, who was three, and Sophie, who was five. In her spare time, she was in love with the lawyer who was getting her her divorce and he was in love with her. They planned to be married when his own divorce came through. Rachel’s final papers were in the mail; within the week she would be a free woman.
    â€œWasn’t it nice of Annie and Richard to invite me as a fourth?” Rachel said. She leaned closer to Vincent.
    â€œIt’s awfully late,” Vincent said. “I think I ought to get back.”
    â€œOh, just have one little drinkie,” said Rachel. She leaped off the couch and left Vincent alone to contemplate his surroundings. The couch he sat upon was plaid. So were the shades of the big jug lamps and the rug on the floor. The chairs were the sort you see in men’s clubs. Each had a plaid car rug tossed over the back. Vincent scanned the room for a gun case, but there was none. Instead there were framed photographs of two little children, Rachel, and a man who was doubtless the soon to be ex-husband, all in riding gear. There were pictures of children on ponies and adults on horses. On the end tables were vases of paper flowers and silver baby cups filled with stale cigarettes.
    Rachel came back with two tall glasses.
    â€œIt’s much too late to go home now,” she said.
    â€œI think you’d better give me some directions,” said Vincent. He did not like