Body Surfing
Chapter One
Three o'clock, the dead hour. The faint irritation of sand grit
between bare foot and floorboards. Wet towels hanging from bedposts
and porch railings. A door, caught in a gust, slams, and someone
near it emits the expected cry of surprise. A southwest wind, not
the norm even in August, sends stifling air into the many rooms of
the old summerhouse. The hope is for an east wind off the water, and
periodically someone says it.
An east wind now would be a godsend.
The energy of the morning has dissipated itself in fast walks and
private lessons, in vigorous reading and lazy tennis. Even in a
brief expedition to a showroom in Portsmouth to look at Audi
Quattros. Mrs. Edwards, Sydney has been told, will need a new car in
the fall.
There are guests in the house who must be attended to. One hopes for
visitors with initiative, like a refreshing east wind. They are not
Sydney's concern. Her afternoons are free. Her entire life, but for
a few hours each day of overpaid tutoring, is disconcertingly free.
She changes into a black tank suit, the elastic sprung in the legs.
She i ... read full excerpt from Body Surfing ebook
