Seventh Wonder Read Online Free Page A

the day after we get here. As if you could possibly enjoy your vacation after that.”
    The ancient mattress next to Faye’s sagged as Meg lowered herself on top of it. “It’ll be all right,” she replied, striving to portray a sense of aloof detachment. “We weren’t exactly soul mates.”
    Faye studied her with equal parts admiration and skepticism. “Good for you,” she said after a moment, though she still sounded doubtful.
    Meg spent even more time than she had the prior evening preparing for dinner. She brushed out her hair and used a hot iron to press it into a smooth, flat curtain, then secured it on either side with matching barrettes. She also applied sparing amounts of rouge and mascara and dressed in a pale blue dress without ruffles or bows. She tried not to think about what her motivation might be for looking her best. Faye voiced her assumption that Meg simply meant to prove to all interested parties she was better off without Rick, and Meg let her believe it.
    Dinner felt surreal. Paul and Mary Ann discussed shuttle schedules in preparation for the group’s planned excursion to the south rim; Don feigned interest in Alan’s monologue on the iniquity of the Nixon administration’s proposed draft lottery; and Faye spent a good deal of time glowering at Rick and Alice for their increasingly flirtatious behavior. Meg, for the most part, kept her eyes down. Only occasionally did she glance up, waiting to feel some pang of regret or jealousy as she beheld their constant whisperings; each time she was disconcerted by her lack of unease. Faye, certainly, was far more irate than she.
    After dinner, they congregated on the back deck. The clouds had cleared, leaving behind a streaking orange torch of a sun that drizzled like viscous honey into the canyon.
    They each staked their claim to a chair and commenced perusing leather bound cocktail menus as waiters bustled about with white aprons and oval trays. Meg was last to take her seat. It was then, as she glanced fleetingly outward to the rocks awash in color, that she noticed John Stovall standing farther along the railing. He clutched the long neck of a beer bottle as he watched her with thinly veiled interest.
    Meg lost her surefootedness, nearly stumbling as she laid down the final steps toward her chair. Her blood thrummed in her veins, seeing how he lingered at the edge of her peripheral vision.
    “Meg? Did you hear me?”
    She blinked at the calling of her name; to her right, Paul watched her perplexedly, apparently having been the one to address her. John’s attentiveness to her was proving to be exceptionally distracting.
    “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” she asked.
    “I asked if you want anything to drink.” He nodded toward an expectant waiter.
    She swallowed the dryness in her throat. “Chardonnay, please. And an ice water if you don’t mind.” She was flustered, and this shamed her. The waiter left to fetch her drink, and Paul returned to his conversation with Faye. Meg chanced a stealthy peek at John; she sucked her bottom lip into her mouth to keep from smiling when he again glanced her way.
    She felt his pull the way one feels gravity in plunging from a great height, during the transitory seconds before meeting the swell of the ground. Her friends’ banter continued in the background, but their lackadaisical efforts to include Meg went largely unnoticed.
    Minutes passed before she at last marshaled the courage to stand. Feeling half numb, she went to lean against the balustrade. For long moments, she didn’t dare drag her eyes away from the sinking sun as it hauled a frayed mantle of shadows over the canyon’s tortuous and deeply gouged ravines. For a brief instant, her fear that he would find his way over to her was matched only by her fear that he wouldn’t.
    Then he was there, beside her. She closed her eyes and simply breathed, her shoulders pushed back, small hands gripping the rail.
    “How are you this evening, Miss