Heart Troubles by Stephen; Birmingham Read Free Book Online Page A

hush,” said Dolores. “I’m sure she wouldn’t do a thing like that.”
    â€œOh, wouldn’t she? You don’t know Louise.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” Dolores said. There was a silence, and then she said, “How is Mrs. Fiedler?”
    He waved his hand. “Same as ever, I’m afraid. She’s off seeing her doctor, as usual.”
    â€œPoor thing.”
    â€œHer troubles are purely psychogenic, pet, as I’ve explained to you.”
    â€œI know. But I like her. She looks … very sweet.”
    He raised his eyebrows. “Oh? You’ve met Louise?”
    â€œNot really. But I saw her the other day, in the grocery store. I was buying some cheese-and-olive spread for Mother, and I saw her—I heard her give her name, you know. For the charge account.”
    â€œI see.”
    â€œI thought she had a very sweet face. A very dear face.”
    â€œSweet with suffering, you mean?” he asked her.
    â€œNo, not that. Not really. A brave face, I guess I mean.” Dolores raised herself in her chair and tucked her feet underneath her. With one hand, she rubbed her forearm. “I think I got some of that stuff today,” she said. “You know, poison oak or poison ivy.”
    â€œLet me see.” Mr. Fiedler got up from his chair and crossed the terrace to where Dolores sat. He took her hand and examined the arm closely, pulling up the sleeve of the green jacket. “It looks like a good case of nettles,” he said. “Let me get you same witch hazel.”
    â€œOh, don’t bother, please. It’ll go away in a minute, I’m sure.”
    â€œNo bother at all.” Mr. Fiedler walked over to the door and into the house, Dolores stood up and went slowly to the edge of the terrace and looked out at the sea beyond the rocks and the juniper bushes, at the whitecaps breaking far out in the slanting sun and the tide sweeping in toward the land. She yawned and stretched herself, and unbuttoned the green riding jacket and slipped it off. Then she tucked the tails of her white blouse in around the waistband of her jodhpurs. She went back to her chair, sat down, and put one foot across one knee. Critically she examined the bare foot, rubbing the sole with her fingertips and brushing the sand from between her toes. “Whose are these huaraches?” she said when Mr. Fiedler came back out with the bottle of witch hazel in his hand.
    â€œLouise’s.”
    â€œMay I borrow them? When the sun gets off this terrace, these stones are cold. ”
    â€œSure.” Mr. Fiedler picked them up from where they lay under a chair. “Here you are. Probably acres too big for you.” He handed them to Dolores. “Oh-oh, I forgot something. Have you got a Kleenex I can use as a swab?”
    â€œNo,” Dolores said. “But I’m brave. Just put it on straight.”
    Mr. Fiedler emptied some of the clear liquid into his cupped palm and rubbed it gently, in smooth, bladelike strokes, up and down Dolores’ arm. “Feel better?” he asked.
    Martha, just then, coming out with two glasses in her hands, said, “Here’s your Scotch. And here’s your Coke, miss.”
    â€œI’m sure we wouldn’t be able to tell the difference if you didn’t point it out to us, Martha,” said Mr. Fiedler.
    And then, when Martha had left, he said, “Here’s a toast to the summer crowd. I couldn’t live without ’em.” He drank deeply.
    Dolores sat, half turned in her chair, looking at the ocean. “It’s such a beautiful view from here,” she said.
    â€œI’m like Gertrude Stein,” Mr. Fiedler said. “I like a view, but I like to sit with my back to it.”
    â€œYou’re the best-read person I’ve ever met,” she said. Suddenly she clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh! I forgot to bring back your book! ”
    â€œDid you read