Summer House
“It was a little appalling, how easily she dozed through the hours in her chaise near the window. It wasn’t so much that she slept as that she daydreamed, and not even that, it was more a kind of drifting, as if her chaise of its own accord transformed into a hot-air balloon or Aladdin’s magic carpet, lifting her effortlessly up and away from her present life, out the window, above the clouds, and smoothly through her past.She could look down on herself as a girl, galloping her enormous old quar...ter horse across the fields, riding western, not that prissy eastern way, as wild as an Indian, her hair flying straight out behind her and her springer spaniel loping alongside, pink tongue hanging out, smiling, because Pup loved to run. She could spy herself as a young woman, giddy and silly and crazy with love for the dashing officer she’d met, Herbert Wheelwright. She could watch herself keeping her back straight as she endured her mother-in-law’s barbed “compliments,” and wasn’t amused by those memories; the old wash of anger flooded through her, as heated and potent as it had been all those years ago.MoreLess
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