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Runaway (Excerpt)

Runaway (Excerpt)

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Published by VintageAnchor
The incomparable Alice Munro’s bestselling and rapturously acclaimed Runaway is a book of extraordinary stories about love and its infinite betrayals and surprises, from the title story about a young woman who, though she thinks she wants to, is incapable of leaving her husband, to three stories about a woman named Juliet and the emotions that complicate the luster of her intimate relationships. In Munro’s hands, the people she writes about–women of all ages and circumstances, and their friends, lovers, parents, and children–become as vivid as our own neighbors. It is her miraculous gift to make these stories as real and unforgettable as our own.
The incomparable Alice Munro’s bestselling and rapturously acclaimed Runaway is a book of extraordinary stories about love and its infinite betrayals and surprises, from the title story about a young woman who, though she thinks she wants to, is incapable of leaving her husband, to three stories about a woman named Juliet and the emotions that complicate the luster of her intimate relationships. In Munro’s hands, the people she writes about–women of all ages and circumstances, and their friends, lovers, parents, and children–become as vivid as our own neighbors. It is her miraculous gift to make these stories as real and unforgettable as our own.

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Published by: VintageAnchor on Mar 01, 2011
Copyright:Traditional Copyright: All rights reserved

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09/29/2013

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RUNAWAY 
 
C
arla heard the car coming before it topped the little risein the road that around here they called a hill. It’s her,she thought. Mrs. JamiesonSylviahome from herholiday in Greece. From the barn doorbut far enough insidethat she could not readily be seenshe watched the road Mrs.Jamieson would have to drive by on, her place being half a milefarther along the road than Clark and Carla’s.If it was somebody getting ready to turn in at their gate itwould be slowing down by now. But still Carla hoped.
Let it not be her.
It was. Mrs. Jamieson turned her head once, quicklyshehad all she could do maneuvering her car through the ruts andpuddles the rain had made in the gravelbut she didn’t lift ahand off the wheel to wave, she didn’t spot Carla. Carla gota glimpse of a tanned arm bare to the shoulder, hair bleached a
 
lighter color than it had been before, more white now thansilver-blond, and an expression that was determined and exas-perated and amused at her own exasperationjust the way Mrs.Jamieson would look negotiating such a road. When she turnedher head there was something like a bright flashof inquiry, of hopefulnessthat made Carla shrink back.So.Maybe Clark didn’t know yet. If he was sitting at the com-puter he would have his back to the window and the road.But Mrs. Jamieson might have to make another trip. Driv-ing home from the airport, she might not have stopped forgroceriesnot until she’d been home and figured out what sheneeded. Clark might see her then. And after dark, the lights of her house would show. But this was July, and it didn’t get darktill late. She might be so tired that she wouldn’t bother with thelights, she might go to bed early.On the other hand, she might telephone. Any time now.This was the summer of rain and more rain. You heard it firstthing in the morning, loud on the roof of the mobile home. Thetrails were deep in mud, the long grass soaking, leaves overheadsending down random showers even in those moments whenthere was no actual downpour from the sky and the cloudslooked like clearing. Carla wore a high, wide-brimmed old Aus-tralian felt hat every time she went outside, and tucked her longthick braid down her shirt.Nobody showed up for trail rides, even though Clark andCarla had gone around posting signs in all the camping sites, inthe cafes, and on the tourist office billboard and anywhere elsethey could think of. Only a few pupils were coming for lessonsand those were regulars, not the batches of schoolchildren onvacation, the busloads from summer camps, that had kept them
runaway

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