669小说网

第13部分（第4页）

wool　runner　in　defeat。　The　football　game…what　memories　it　brought。　That

sound…the　excited　roar　of　the　crowd；　the　babble　of　color　mentators；

the　endless　streams　of　kickoffs　and　passes；　punts　and　first　downs；

fumbles；　tumbles；　and　pileups…brought　back　the　days　in　New　Orleans　when

the　men　of　the　family　gathered　for　their　weekly　fix。　Her　brother　sit　had

been　so　long　since　shed　seen　them。　Were　they　watching　this　same　game？

And　how　was　her　father　feeling？　He　wasnt　young　anymore。　Should　she　make

the　effort　to　go　back　before　。。。　？

〃Chloe？　Are　you　all　right？〃

It　wasnt　until　Ross　spoke　that　she　realized　hed　even　approached。　Nor

had　she　been　aware　of　the　tears　in　her　eyes。　With　a　hard　swallow　and　a

feeble　smile；　she　willed　the　sadness　away。　〃Im　fine。　I　think　Ill　go

for　a　run。〃

Leaving　Ross　where　he　stood；　she　pensively　covered　the　last　of　the　steps

to　the　top　landing；　disappeared　into　her　room　to　change　into　running

wear；　then　went　back　down　the　stairs　and　outside。　Her　sneakers　beat

rhythmically　down　the　beach　toward　the　far　end　of　the　bay；　much　as　they

had　done　at　roughly　the　same　time　the　day　before。　Had　it　only　been

twenty…four　hours　since　Ross　had　shown　up？　Already　he　seemed　so　at　home

here。　Worse；　at　odd　times　it　seemed　natural　to　have　him　here。

The　questions　kept　pace　with　her　jog。　Was　it　only　that　Ross　was　a　face

from　her　past？　Was　he　a　link　to　those　people　who　had　once　meant　so　much

to　her？　Did　she　crave　the　warmth　of　her　family？　Was　Ross；　by

association；　an　extension　of　them？

Without　answers；　she　paced　herself　for　another　ten　minutes　before

turning　around。　When　she　reached　the　house　she　didnt　bother　to　stop　at

the　door。　An　easy　lope　carried　her　into　the　kitchen；　through　to　the

living　room；　and　up　the　stairs。　No　sign　of　Ross…so　much　the　better。

Jogging　in　place　with　the　last　of　her　precious　energy；　she　piled　her

arms　with　fresh　towels　from　a　surprisingly　low　stack　in　the　linen　closet

and　went　to　her　room　for　a　robe。　There　she　stopped　dead　in　her　tracks。

Where　an　open　expanse　of　pale　lavender　quilt　had　been　when　she　had　left；

was　a　landscape　of　mate　artifacts。　And　clothes。　His　clothes。　He　had　made

himself　perfectly　at　home。　This　was　the　limit。

A　fit　of　fury　took　her　to　the　bathroom　door。　Better　judgment　stopped　her

on　the　threshold。　The　sink　taps　were　running。　If　she　barged　in；　what

would　she　find？　The　tremble　that　snaked　through　her　had　nothing　to　do

with　fear。　Rather；　she　conjured　up　the　image　of　Ross　shaving；　a　coat　of

white　lather　covering　his　jaw；　a　towel…her　towel　over　his　loins；　and