The American Read Online Free
Author: Andrew Britton
waist and resting her chin on his shoulder.
âYouâre expecting a call, arenât you?â
Ryan raised an eyebrow at that. They had been together for only six months, and though they had once had a short, awkward discussion about the work he used to do, the subject did not often come up. Once again, he was amazed by how perceptive she could be.
He turned to face her, instinctively reaching out to touch her cheek, smooth beneath waves of shimmering golden brown. As her troubled blue eyes searched his face, he found he could only answer truthfully.
âI guess I am. The call is a given. Itâs whether I go or notâ¦â He turned to gaze at the approaching storm. âI just donât know.â
She leaned in to kiss him gently on the lips.
âYes, you do.â
Â
Later that evening, Katie left for Orono to attend a night course in physics. From the front door he watched as she tossed her books haphazardly into the rear seat and sped off in her battered Corolla, throwing him a cheerful wave along the way. Although she couldnât have known it, her prophecy was fulfilled when the telephone rang just before eight. Ryan hesitated and kept his fingertips on the receiver for several seconds before lifting it to his ear.
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It was still dark the following morning as Ryan streaked north on I-95 in his dark blue BMW 645Ci. He had scribbled a short note punctuated with an apology and left it on the kitchen table, but guessed that Katie would still be furious when she finally got back from Orono. Although the concern skirted the edge of his mind for a while, it was soon replaced by the pleasure of the carâs performance and the scenic beauty of the surrounding countryside.
As the first rays of the sun filtered through the passing forest, dense tree cover overhead rained dying leaves of brilliant red and yellow onto the roof of his vehicle and the approaching road. The trip seemed to pass faster than he had expected, and it wasnât long before he pulled into the daily parking lot at Bangor International Airport, the heavy sedan easily navigating the numerous speed bumps leading into the garage. It was just past 7:30 when he collected his electronic ticket from a pretty blond attendant at the United Airlines counter, who managed to flash him an alluring smile despite the early hour. By 8:45 he was on the next flight to Washington, D.C.
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About the same time he landed at Dulles International, Katie Donovan was rocketing recklessly up the narrow driveway bordered with pines to the house on Cape Elizabeth. She was in a dangerous mood, having spent the morning arguing with her faculty-appointed advisor over the course her dissertation was taking. As a second-year PhD candidate in applied mathematics, she had already spent so many years in school that the thought of leaving it all behind to start her career was becoming an increasingly attractive idea. The argument had degenerated into a shouting match; she had definitely burned some bridges there, but took solace in the fact that she would be spending the rest of the afternoon with Ryan.
Opening the front door, Katie announced her arrival with a flourish, but there was no answer. The sound of her heels clicking against the polished hardwood floors echoed throughout the house as she walked through the empty rooms. In the kitchen, she looked around in puzzlement before noticing the sheet of paper on the table.
Â
The note was apologetic, but Katie still found herself growing angrier each time she read it. How could he just take off without even saying good-bye? Over the past six months she had opened herself to him, shared so much, and in return he had revealed almost nothing of his past, except that he had briefly worked for the Central Intelligence Agency. It had taken a considerable degree of craftiness and charm to get that much out of him.
She picked up a framed photograph of the two of them standing on a pier at Kittery
âYouâre expecting a call, arenât you?â
Ryan raised an eyebrow at that. They had been together for only six months, and though they had once had a short, awkward discussion about the work he used to do, the subject did not often come up. Once again, he was amazed by how perceptive she could be.
He turned to face her, instinctively reaching out to touch her cheek, smooth beneath waves of shimmering golden brown. As her troubled blue eyes searched his face, he found he could only answer truthfully.
âI guess I am. The call is a given. Itâs whether I go or notâ¦â He turned to gaze at the approaching storm. âI just donât know.â
She leaned in to kiss him gently on the lips.
âYes, you do.â
Â
Later that evening, Katie left for Orono to attend a night course in physics. From the front door he watched as she tossed her books haphazardly into the rear seat and sped off in her battered Corolla, throwing him a cheerful wave along the way. Although she couldnât have known it, her prophecy was fulfilled when the telephone rang just before eight. Ryan hesitated and kept his fingertips on the receiver for several seconds before lifting it to his ear.
Â
It was still dark the following morning as Ryan streaked north on I-95 in his dark blue BMW 645Ci. He had scribbled a short note punctuated with an apology and left it on the kitchen table, but guessed that Katie would still be furious when she finally got back from Orono. Although the concern skirted the edge of his mind for a while, it was soon replaced by the pleasure of the carâs performance and the scenic beauty of the surrounding countryside.
As the first rays of the sun filtered through the passing forest, dense tree cover overhead rained dying leaves of brilliant red and yellow onto the roof of his vehicle and the approaching road. The trip seemed to pass faster than he had expected, and it wasnât long before he pulled into the daily parking lot at Bangor International Airport, the heavy sedan easily navigating the numerous speed bumps leading into the garage. It was just past 7:30 when he collected his electronic ticket from a pretty blond attendant at the United Airlines counter, who managed to flash him an alluring smile despite the early hour. By 8:45 he was on the next flight to Washington, D.C.
Â
About the same time he landed at Dulles International, Katie Donovan was rocketing recklessly up the narrow driveway bordered with pines to the house on Cape Elizabeth. She was in a dangerous mood, having spent the morning arguing with her faculty-appointed advisor over the course her dissertation was taking. As a second-year PhD candidate in applied mathematics, she had already spent so many years in school that the thought of leaving it all behind to start her career was becoming an increasingly attractive idea. The argument had degenerated into a shouting match; she had definitely burned some bridges there, but took solace in the fact that she would be spending the rest of the afternoon with Ryan.
Opening the front door, Katie announced her arrival with a flourish, but there was no answer. The sound of her heels clicking against the polished hardwood floors echoed throughout the house as she walked through the empty rooms. In the kitchen, she looked around in puzzlement before noticing the sheet of paper on the table.
Â
The note was apologetic, but Katie still found herself growing angrier each time she read it. How could he just take off without even saying good-bye? Over the past six months she had opened herself to him, shared so much, and in return he had revealed almost nothing of his past, except that he had briefly worked for the Central Intelligence Agency. It had taken a considerable degree of craftiness and charm to get that much out of him.
She picked up a framed photograph of the two of them standing on a pier at Kittery
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