The Ramblers Read Online Free PDF

changed everything. She saw it on his face, that wincing glimmer of recognition. This woman is unhinged. Soon he’ll have to know the truth. And then she’ll be alone again.
    At first, it’s true, Clio was more than willing to be Henry’s latest flavor. She’d thought it through and decided that it would be good for her to fill some of her time with pleasurable experiences. Surely, going out with an attractive, intelligent and worldly man was healthier than hibernating and crying into her bird books or trolling the grief chat boards she rustled up online. How many times could she read another punctuation-free paragraph saying that getting over the loss of a loved one takes time ?
    He wanted to see lots of her and she agreed. He took her to see Madame Butterfly at the Met, to sip Guinness at his favorite city pubs. They had picnics in Central Park and spent a night at the quiet Sheeley House bed and breakfast in the Hudson Valley, rode bikes up to theCloisters, went to see Shakespeare in the Park’s The Comedy of Errors . Henry even became a regular on her Sunday birding tours, disappearing after to work so she could have her time with Smith.
    To say that it wasn’t the right time for her to jump into anything serious was an understatement, but never did she let herself think this would lead to something lasting. Well, that’s not entirely true. More than once, she’d be sitting in her office at the museum or up at Columbia and she’d catch herself daydreaming, imagining a future with this most unusual man, but then she’d put an end to the nonsense; people like her did not end up with people like him outside of the movies. People like him did not end up with anyone. His whole existence was predicated on change, on hopping around from one hotel to the next, on working feverishly hard at the expense of a personal life. There were women, but they were exquisite, disposable accoutrements to his busy life. Models. Actresses. Socialites. Not ornithologists.
    â€œHe mentioned maybe even having a family,” Clio says quietly, aware of the tremble in her voice. The moment the words are out, she wishes she could retrieve them. This is a delicate topic for Smith.
    â€œBut he’s so old. I mean, he’s almost fifty,” Smith says.
    â€œI know,” Clio says, looking down. “But he’s youthful. Sometimes, I forget that he’s so much older . . . I’m not sure it matters.”
    â€œDo you think he actually wants kids? He somehow doesn’t strike me as the playground type, you know.”
    â€œI have no idea. We’ve never discussed it. We’ve never discussed any of this.” Clio swallows and feels herself bristling at Smith’s comment.
    â€œAnd might I remind you that you don’t want to have kids?”
    â€œI never said that,” Clio says, fixing her gaze on the Picasso lithograph Smith’s parents bought her when she turned thirty. “I mean, not exactly. I said that people like me perhaps shouldn’t have kids. That I need to consider the risks. There’s a difference.”
    Smith straightens a stack of books on the bedside table, puts her hands on her hips and lifts the shades, looks out onto Central Park West. Clio sighs.
    â€œListen, don’t be upset. None of this matters anymore, Smith. I went full-on psycho in front of him. You should have seen the poor man’s face. Pure horror. I hightailed it out of there like the room was on fire. So now I’ve gone and wrecked it all. It’s over. He’s a practical man with a reputation to uphold. I’ve unwittingly given him an out. I’m pretty sure he’s going to take it.”
    The retelling brings back the nausea. Mere hours later and it all seems like a harrowing dream. When the cab pulled up downstairs, Clio was alert enough to catch the doorman’s reaction to her frightful state. There she was, arriving at one of the most elite