Seventh Wonder Read Online Free

strength, or one of weakness.
    * * *
    The rain started just after lunch - gray, sheeting torrents of water that broke from the sky and rustled down the canyon’s eaves, along with thunder that rolled like far-off cannon. Their hike effectively canceled, the group bided their time in the common room of the lodge, playing board games, gossiping or, in Meg’s case, writing in her journal. She felt tense and jittery, anxious for the rain to end so she could be free of this place and the prying eyes of her travel companions. They seemed to have guessed what had happened between her and Rick, and their occasional, curious stares served only to deepen her sense of self-consciousness.
    Mercifully, the storm dissipated as quickly as it had begun, and the sun returned, glancing off puddles and giving the smooth stone deck the appearance of being glazed in light.
    “I’m going for a walk,” Meg announced to no one in particular as she stood from her chair and strode toward the door, her shoulder bag crossing her body.
    Being outside was a comfort. A cool humidity clung to the air, making her wish she had her jacket. Without giving it any sentient thought, she moved in the direction of the trail she’d taken last night.
    The overlook seemed like a different place entirely in the drab, muted light of day. Meg glanced unconsciously toward the stand of spruce. Of course, he wasn’t there. She wondered whether she would see him again, and whether she should be concerned about the twinge of disappointment she felt when she considered the possibility. Just what I need, she thought sardonically. Another hang-up on another artist .
    Beneath the trees, from where John had materialized the night before, the ground was mercifully dry. Meg sat against a tree with her legs bent and pulled her shoulder bag into her lap. She withdrew a well-worn copy of Pasternak’s Doctor Zhivago . For some time she read, loving the weighted comfort of the book in her hands, the broken spine and soft, battered cover. She folded down the corner of her page, just as Yuri and his family were disembarking in Varykino, and leaned her head back against the tree’s knotted trunk. She closed her eyes and felt the breeze pass over her like a soothing hand, fluttering the pages of her book and ruffling the ends of her hair.
    Sometime later, a gray and white goshawk swooped down from its invisible flight path and alit on one of the topmost branches, instigating an impromptu rain shower that doused her hair and spattered the pages of her book. For some inexplicable reason, this struck Meg as comical. She laughed quietly to herself as she shook the water off her book and tucked it back inside her bag, then stood and brushed off the back of her pants. A glance at her wristwatch indicated she’d been here two hours, which wasn’t surprising considering the lack of sensation in her hindquarters.
    As she ambled back toward the lodge, she relished the warmth of the sun and wondered whether anyone had questioned her whereabouts. (In a part of her mind she wouldn’t quite allow herself to acknowledge, she also felt a familiar swell of regret at having spent the past two hours waiting for someone who hadn’t come.)
    When she reached the cabin she shared with the other girls, Faye was curled up on her side in the bed next to Meg’s while Jefferson Airplane streamed from a transistor radio atop the nightstand. At first glance she appeared to be asleep, but as Meg quietly slipped free of her bag, Faye rolled over to face her. She crooked her elbow and propped her head up with her hand as she fixed Meg with a look of interest.
    “Rick Iverson is a fucking asshole,” she said. Her expression failed to change as she spoke using the same inflection one would typically reserve for much more ordinary declarations.
    Meg was baffled. She could hardly manage more than a perfunctory “Oh?”
    “Don and I think it’s the pits that he’d make you ride all this way and then dump you