Odnośniki
- Indeks
- Frederick Marshall Brown [Ravaging Myths 01] Ravaging Myths (pdf)(1)
- Anita Philmar [Black Dragon 03] Black Dragon's Heart (pdf)
- Donita K Paul [DragonKeeper Chronicles 04] DragonFire (pdf)
- Beverly Connor [Diane Fallon Forensic Investigation 07] Dust To Dust (pdf)
- Charles R Cross Room Full of Mirrors A Biography of Jimi Hendrix (pdf)
- Bailey Bradford [Love in Xxchange 04] What Matters Most [TEB MM] (pdf)
- Alan Burt Akers [Dray Prescot 14] Krozar of Kregen (pdf)
- Bailey Bradford [Southwestern Shifters 03] Reckless [TEB MM] (pdf)
- Janrae Frank Lycan Blood 03 If Truth Dies [pdf]
- Diana Castilleja [Aiza Clan 02] A Trust Earned (pdf)
- zanotowane.pl
- doc.pisz.pl
- pdf.pisz.pl
- szostka.htw.pl
Mike leaves his son herding plastic farm animals up
the ladder of the toy fire truck, and checks again the slow
progress of his wife s dressing. The babysitter is fifteen min-
utes late and Rachel is still half-dressed, sifting through a
heap of panty hose on the bed. She runs her hand through
each leg and holds it up to the light, appraising the nylon
with the concentration of a jeweler looking for flaws.
She is wearing a lace bra and matching panties, less fa-
miliar than the cotton underthings she usually wears. Her
breasts and buttocks billow out of the skimpy lace, and Mike
can almost feel in his fingertips the swells and hollows of her
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flesh. It feels like the itch of a missing limb. Now s a bad time
for this train of thought, he tells himself. Now usually is.
They had a hard time conceiving Noah, and the three years
of calendars and thermometers and injections left the hard-
ened imprint of obligation on their lovemaking. Even after
the triumph of their son s birth, they approach each other
measuredly.
Mike checks his watch: 2:35.
Why don t you throw them out if they have runs in
them?
Not runs, snags. If I threw out a pair of panty hose every
time they had a snag, I d wear them once.
Then wear them once, he snaps. He snatches a pair off
the bed and lobs them into the wastebasket.
Mike, those are four-fifty a pair. What s with you today?
I m going crazy, he thinks. He s not, but he wants to. What
he would give for one day, just one, when he could blow it
through the roof, get drunk, sleep with a stranger, and not live
with the consequences. One day, and then he d come back.
Happily. It s not that he doesn t love Rachel and Noah. He
would crawl over glass for them. But just one day.
He can t tell Rachel all this, though: the price of being given
a second chance is that for the rest of his life he will weigh his
words and be careful not to do anything irrevocable.
He retrieves the stockings, but she s already found a
pair to her liking and is stretching the filmy material up the
length of each calf.
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debra dean
I m sorry. I m feeling squirrelly today.
Rachel bounces on her toes, tugging the waistband up
over her buttocks. You re nervous about seeing your old
girlfriend. She says this as calmly as stating the time of day.
Even as he is denying it, Mike realizes that his mind is as
familiar to Rachel as her body is to him.
The babysitter finally shows. Mike watches his son gal-
lop down the hall and thrust the toy fire truck into the girl s
hands. The boy s eyes are round and hopeful, like an eager
suitor s. He tugs at her knee, trying to scale the leg of her
jeans, until she absently scoops him up. Mike tries to imagine
what is different about her from a string of rejected sitters,
but there is nothing he can see that might account for his
son s violent adoration. That s the way of it, he thinks. It s
just there, inexplicable as electricity. He wonders again how
it will be to see Caitlin.
While Rachel gives the sitter a few last-minute instruc-
tions about naps and fruit and phone numbers, Noah croons
the girl s name and tries to seduce her away with Curious
George videos. Mike wants to kiss his son good-bye, but he
is clearly a fifth wheel. He remembers the tearful scenes that
used to precede every exit. He s surprised to find he misses
them.
We ll bring you back a piece of cake, he offers.
Don t push your luck, his wife whispers, and they slip
out the door.
* * *
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the best man
The Sunday afternoon traffic is stop-and-go. Mike pulls
out around some moron trying to make a left turn on Flat-
bush and has to lie on the horn and gun the sluggish engine
just to get back into the left lane before he gets nailed. For
all that, they get stuck at the light. He still misses his old
Fiat, a spry little gem sacrificed on the altar of adulthood.
Rachel hated it, insisted it made him drive like a maniac,
but you have to drive aggressively in this city or you get
crushed. Still, there was no arguing with the fact that a
Fiat has no place for a car seat. He couldn t bring himself
to trade it in, so for months after they bought the sedan
with the four-wheel drive and the good safety rating, he
continued to rise at dawn every other day and move his
old love to the alternate side of the street. It came down to
the fact that at sixteen he had thought a sports car would
complete his life, and twenty-plus years later it was hard to
let go of the idea.
They inch up the ramp onto the bridge. Sunlight flashes
through the cable webbing of the spans, and Mike admires a
ketch on the bay below. The sails arch taut, the boat heeled
flat against the glittering water. He watches the boat skid to-
ward the Verrazano Bridge, out to sea, and imagines the feel
of lines pulling through his palms.
Mike double-parks in front of the restaurant, and Rachel
comes around and burrows into the driver s seat, readjusting
the mirrors.
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debra dean
You sure you don t want to come in and watch the re-
hearsal? he asks.
No, Macy s is having a sale on OshKosh. Noah s out-
growing his old ones. I ll be back before six.
When Rachel pulls out into traffic, he turns and checks
his reflection in the plateglass window. His face is still ruddy,
a little tan left over from a weekend spent out at Montauk.
Behind his glasses, pale lines splinter out from the edges of
his eyes, like cracked glaze on pottery. There s also a little
silvering at the temples that wasn t there when Caitlin last
saw him. You could make a case that the gray hairs go with
the suit and the tan. Makes him look successful, he decides.
All in all, looking pretty good at thirty-eight, one of the last
of his crowd who hasn t gotten thin on top or thick in the
middle. The thought that Caitlin must also have changed
snags at the edge of his mind, but he brushes it away, tucks
his glasses into his breast pocket, and strides through the
front door.
The restaurant is cavernous and cool, a former USO hall
refurbished with yellow walls and large unframed canvases.
Mike steps quickly through the bar and up into the main
room. The tables have been cleared away and replaced with
rows of chairs leading to a low platform swagged with rib-
bon and greens. A ponytailed man in leather jeans is standing
on the platform, squinting up into the balcony over Mike s
head. Suddenly music crashes through the room, a screech-
ing burst of violins and then silence.
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the best man [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]