The Wintering Read Online Free PDF

upstairs; now, she appeared having put on bedroom shoes, softly padding. Amy went quickly toward the car and whispered, “Come on. Let’s go. Hurry.”
    Quill had to stop. “Fine,” he answered. “How’re you, Mrs. Howard?” Weariness overcame Amy as she knew her mother would tell him. Edith touched the neck of her pink robe, and her cheeks flushed the same pale color. She was happy to have conversation with someone, though her eyes stared about wearily at morning, and her hand held without interest the doorknob to her house. “I’m fine,” Edith said weakly, which meant that she was not. But it was not young people’s worry, her smile said, bravely. In the car, Amy clenched her fists; her feet pressed against the floorboard hard.
    â€œDoes your momma think you’re crazy, too?” Edith asked. If only Quill would not answer, Amy thought, saying, “Mother, we have to go.”
    â€œAmy hops around like a flea,” Edith said. “Does your mother think you’ll see this man?”
    â€œShe said we’d have a pretty drive,” Quill said. Edith’s eyes shone and her smile grew. She saw that was a nicer and more subtle way of putting it than she had. Perhaps she was often too blunt; had that made Amy so shy? She said softly, “You won’t see him.”
    Amy, with an intense look, had urged Quill into the car. He started the motor, and as they backed out of the drive Amy saw Edith watching as if to make the moment of their having been there last. Amy smiled and waved and Edith waved back thinking, My baby. While they were still within hearing distance, she cupped her hands as if to yodel and called, “Don’t forget Dea! And have a good time!”
    Quill’s foot went to the brake. “What did she say?”
    â€œNothing,” Amy said. “Go on. I heard. I have to stop a minute and speak to my aunt.” She leaned against the seat thinking how irritating it was to be told, like a dog, to Speak! In public places, Edith was always nudging her and saying, “There’s so-and-so, don’t forget to speak.” If she were playing bridge at home, she would say, “The girls will be here, don’t forget to come in and speak.” Otherwise, Edith said, ladies talked about rudeness and the upbringing of someone’s child and whether or not they were going to turn out right.
    Halting the car at a red light, Quill removed his coat and laid it in careful folds on the back seat. At a filling station, opposite, where her family traded, the proprietor knelt changing a tire but did not recognize Amy in the unfamiliar car. When she waved, he made no sign in return; then she was taken on, melancholy at not being known. Signs above them read QUILL BLVD. It was lined with car lots whose shimmery signs and triangular paper announcements rattled in the wind. The galore turned even the fine mist tawdry, Amy thought. Customerless salesmen stood at windows staring out with thoughtless faces, and people leapt gutters full of water to catch busses. Damming up gutters as a child, and sifting through debris, she often had found money and pretty stones, which she called by the names of exotic jewels; luck had been comfort in the loneliness to which she had seemed born. Having aspired then to being grown, she had never suspected that could also mean insecurity and more loneliness. Amy was grateful that Quill did not mind silence; she kept watching life along the street. Women came from cavernous supermarkets, followed by white-aproned clerks obscured by grocery sacks. Once, she had asked her mother why she did not shop for weeks ahead. And Edith had said, “You don’t know anything about running a house, and you never will. You’ll never have your nose out of a book long enough!” Eventually, Amy had understood. This morning, Edith had announced happily that they were out of coffee. With purpose, she would go out