Пятьдесят оттенков серого
Chapter 22
MymomiswaitingwithBob,anditissogoodtoseethem.Idon’tknowifit’sbecauseofexhaustion,thelongjourney,orthewholeChristiansituation,butassoonasI’minmymother’sarms,Iburstintotears.
“Oh,Ana,honey.Youmustbesotired.”SheglancesanxiouslyatBob.
“No,Mom,it’sjust—I’msopleasedtoseeyou.”Ihughertightly.
Shefeelssogoodandwelcoming,likehome.Reluctantly,Irelinquishher,andBobgivesmeanawkwardone-armedhug.Heseemsunsteadyonhisfeet,andIrememberthathe’shurthisleg.
“Welcomeback,Ana.Whyyoucryin’?”heasks.
“Aw,Bob,I’mjustpleasedtoseeyou,too.”Istareupintohishandsomesquare-jawedfaceandhistwinklingblueeyesthatgazeatmefondly.Ilikethishusband,Mom.Youcankeephim.Hetakesmybackpack.
“Jeez,Ana,whathaveyougotinhere?”
ThatwouldbetheMac,andtheybothputtheirarmsaroundmeasweheadfortheparkinglot.
IalwaysforgethowunbearablyhotitisinSavannah.Leavingthecoolair-conditionedconfinesofthearrivalterminal,westepintotheGeorgiaheatlikewe’rewearingit.Whoa!Itsapseverything.IhavetostruggleoutofMomandBob’sembracesoIcanremovemyhoodie.IamsogladIpackedshorts.ImissthedryheatofLasVegassometimes,whereIlivedwithMomandBobwhenIwasseventeen,butthiswetheat,evenat8:30inthemorning,takessomegettingusedto.BythetimeI’minthebackofBob’swonderfullyair-conditionedTahoeSUV,Ifeellimp,andmyhairhasstartedafrizzyprotestattheheat.
