The Body in the Big Apple PDF
Preview The Body in the Big Apple
KATHERINE HALL PAGE B The ODY in the B A IG PPLE To my mother, Alice M. Page, with love and joy The present contains nothing more than the past, and what is found in the effect was already in the cause. —HENRI BERGSON Contents Epigraph iii Prologue Memories are our waking dreams. 1 One “Is there a back way out of this apartment?” the… 3 Two Emma Stanstead was not in disguise, as her cryptic, surreptitious… 20 Three “Where are you? Are you home?” Faith asked tersely. Of… 49 Four Almost everybody was wearing black at Nathan Fox’s memorial service,… 78 Five This was serious. 108 Six Obviously, this was yet another item on Emma Stanstead’s “Things… 132 Seven Lorraine Fuchs lived in Bay Ridge, not far from the… 162 Eight “I can’t say I’m surprised. Not with the life she… 188 Nine This was a new thought. An insidious thought. Could Emma… 219 Ten “Stanstead, the guy whose party we did a week ago,… 246 Epilogue How could I have thought I was so invulnerable? How… 277 Author’s Note Excerpts From Have Faith in Your Kitchen Acknowledgments About the Author Praise Other Books by Katherine Hall Page Cover Copyright About the Publisher Prologue Memories are our waking dreams. Certain scenes recalled fill our minds with the im- mediacy of the present, though the event is long past. We hear words and are convinced we are remembering what was actually said. We see a room in exact detail. The particular drapes at a window—the fall of the fab- ric, the texture of the cloth. The flowers in a vase, their fragrance tenacious. The taste of a perfectly ripe pear, its juice sticky and sweet. Not the vague recollection of someone, but his very presence. Warm skin—in need of a shave, the feel of the slight bristle against the caress of a cheek. Yet other memories can be revived only obliquely. These tend to move persistently out of reach, slipping further and further away as we struggle to remember them. Tantalizing. How old was I? Which house was it? Who was that person? They retreat until it is only the face and the place in the photograph we are holding in our hands and not real memories at all. Ephemeral, fleeting—perhaps dreams have the ad- 1 vantage over memories. Certainly bad dreams do. Even our worst nightmares diminish over time. But the waking terror of a vivid recollection is with us for life. It comes unbidden, not merely an uninvited guest, but an unwanted one. We’re in the shower, driving, read- ing, talking, and suddenly these scenes push every- thing to one side, and, hostages, we can only watch helplessly, forced back into the past. The voices are too loud to ignore. The words repeat over and over again. This tale is that kind of memory. —Faith Sibley Fairchild, 1999 2
The list of books you might like
