Walking the Labyrinth Read Online Free PDF Page A

her and got into the back seat. “How are you, Lila?” she asked.
    Lila looked in the rearview mirror and nodded. Molly grinned; the housekeeper was as taciturn as ever. Lila lit a cigarette and pulled away from the curb.
    Fentrice lived in a small town a few hours’ drive from Chicago. They talked about neutral subjects, Molly’s jobs, Fentrice’s garden. Now that she was finally here Molly found herself reluctant to ask questions. It was enough to be home, to be surrounded by the familiar sights and smells of home.
    The road before them darkened. Lila switched on the headlights. Traffic had been heavy on the highway leading out of Chicago but was now starting to thin. Finally they left the highway; the streets here were narrow and tree-lined, their blackness relieved only by streetlamps and an occasional light or flickering television screen from the houses on either side.
    Lila pulled into the driveway of Fentrice’s house. Fentrice unlocked the front door and held it open for Molly while the housekeeper drove the car into the garage.
    “Are you hungry?” Fentrice asked.
    “No, I ate on the plane,” Molly said.
    “Why don’t you get a good night’s sleep then? We’ll talk in the morning.”
    “I’m not tired. It’s only eight o’clock in California. Aunt Fentrice, I wanted to ask you—”
    “Well, I’m tired, dear. It’s been a long drive for me.”
    “Oh! I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking—” Lila came in and set the car keys on Fentrice’s desk. Even Lila was older, Molly saw with surprise. The housekeeper seemed to have grown smaller; she shuffled rather than walked, her shoulders stooped. “I’ll let you go then. See you in the morning.” Molly kissed Fentrice and went upstairs.
    Her old room was as she had left it, the brass bed with its patchwork quilt, the small scarred wooden desk. Over the desk hung an old map of the world, now badly outdated; she used to study it instead of doing her homework, wondering what the exotic-sounding places were like. To the right of the desk was a bookshelf over-filled with her childhood books: The Jungle Book, Hans Brinker, The Hobbit, The Phantom Tollbooth .
    She had spent whole afternoons reading in this room, she remembered. She had rarely invited anyone over, preferring instead to go to other kids’ houses. Had she been ashamed of Fentrice? Or was it that she didn’t want the kids at school to know too much about her and her aunt, didn’t want to give them ammunition for their crude jokes and insults?
    When Molly came into the kitchen the next day Fentrice had breakfast ready, pancakes and tea and slices of cantaloupe. “Real maple syrup,” Molly said, delighted. “You can hardly find this in California.”
    Fentrice smiled. She sat opposite Molly at the round oak table. Sunlight came in through the window. “How did you sleep?” she asked.
    Molly added milk to her tea. “Wonderful,” she said. “Listen, Aunt Fentrice—this man’s been bothering me again.”
    “Which man, dear?”
    “The one asking questions about you. He showed me a clipping about your family, about you and Callan and someone named Thorne—”
    “Thorne! I haven’t thought about her in years. Lila, dear, there’s no water left in the kettle. You’ll have to add some more before you turn the stove on.”
    Molly nodded to the housekeeper. “Morning, Lila. Was Thorne related to you?” she asked Fentrice.
    “Oh no. She joined us somewhere along the way. I don’t remember where now. And then she left us—Oh, it’s all so long ago.”
    “The clipping said you were sisters. That you looked like her.”
    “Did it? How odd.”
    “Here.” Molly took the Xeroxed article from her pocket and put it on the table between them.
    “Andrew Dodd! Do you know, I think I remember him. Cocky young man, he was.”
    “He remembers you too.”
    “Is he still alive? Good Lord. Whatever happened to him?”
    “He got married, apparently. Quit drinking. Had some kids, grandkids.