Read Online Close to the Bone by William G. Tapply - Free Book Online
Authors: William G. Tapply
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those diagnoses being predominantly male.”
“Exclusively male back then, I believe,” I said.
She rolled onto her side and kissed my shoulder. “I’ll have to move,” she said softly. “I’ll need a quiet place. In the country, probably. Maine, maybe, or Vermont. Someplace cheaper. I’ll have to get a leave from the paper, and I’ll have to live on the advance for two years, and anyway, I want to move. But…”
“I understand,” I said.
“Do you? It’ll be someplace not—not so near to you.”
“We’ll work it out.”
“I’ve been thinking,” she said.
“What have you been thinking?”
“You could come with me. It wouldn’t be Montana, but…”
“It’s something to think about,” I said quietly.
We lay there in silence for a few minutes. Then Alex said, “Brady?”
“What, hon?”
“You’re more important to me than a book, you know?”
I didn’t say anything.
“Hey?”
“Mmm?”
“Did I say something wrong?”
I hugged her against me. “Sometimes you think too much,” I said.
“I want you to be happy.”
“Me, too,” I said. “I want both of us to be happy.”
When both of my sons fled the East Coast for Western time zones, I stopped being frightened when the phone awakened me in the middle of the night. Billy liked to tell me about the trout he was catching in Idaho. Rubbing it in, I called it, but I was always happy to hear from him, even if it did interrupt my sleep. Joey called less often and less spontaneously than his brother, but as smart as he was, he always seemed surprised when I reminded him that eleven o’clock in the evening in California was 2:00 A.M. in Boston.
So when the telephone shrilled in the dark that night, it didn’t jar me upright in bed the way it used to when the boys were still teenagers living with Gloria and my first waking thought was of automobile accidents.
I fumbled for the phone, got it after the second ring, and held it to my ear. “H’lo?”
“Brady?” It was neither of my sons. Billy calls me Pop and Joey calls me Dad, and both of them generally call me collect. Anyway, this voice was female.
“Yes, this is Brady,” I mumbled.
“It’s Olivia.”
“Oh…?”
“Olivia Cizek. You were the first person I thought of to call. I’m sorry to wake you up.”
“It’s okay.” I bunched my pillow behind me and pushed myself into a semi-sitting position. Beside me Alex twitched and groaned. “What’s the matter?” I said softly into the phone.
“It’s very strange. It’s…”
“Olivia, are you okay?”
“I don’t know. I—the Coast Guard just called. They found Paul’s boat.”
“What do you mean?”
I heard her exhale a loud breath. “His boat. It was drifting somewhere out around the Merrimack River. They towed it in, and then they called me, and—”
“Where’s Paul?”
“I don’t know.” She hesitated, then said, “Oh. You probably don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?”
I heard her take a breath. “Paul and I separated a couple months ago, Brady.”
“I didn’t know,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“He’s been living up there. On Plum Island. Since we—we split. Up there in that—he calls it a shack. They called here for him. They got the numbers off the boat and this was the address, but—”
“Olivia, listen,” I said. “We’ve had a big storm tonight. Paul’s boat broke away from its moorings, that’s all. Call him and tell him what happened. He’s pretty lucky they found it in this storm. It could’ve been sunk or gone halfway to Labrador.”
“I tried calling him. There was no answer.” She paused. “You don’t get it,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“He doesn’t keep his boat moored. He trailers it. Do you understand?”
Alex mumbled something and rolled toward me. I reached for her and pulled her against me.
“Brady?” said Olivia.
“I understand,” I said quietly. If Paul trailered his boat, he did not keep it moored at any marina.
“Exclusively male back then, I believe,” I said.
She rolled onto her side and kissed my shoulder. “I’ll have to move,” she said softly. “I’ll need a quiet place. In the country, probably. Maine, maybe, or Vermont. Someplace cheaper. I’ll have to get a leave from the paper, and I’ll have to live on the advance for two years, and anyway, I want to move. But…”
“I understand,” I said.
“Do you? It’ll be someplace not—not so near to you.”
“We’ll work it out.”
“I’ve been thinking,” she said.
“What have you been thinking?”
“You could come with me. It wouldn’t be Montana, but…”
“It’s something to think about,” I said quietly.
We lay there in silence for a few minutes. Then Alex said, “Brady?”
“What, hon?”
“You’re more important to me than a book, you know?”
I didn’t say anything.
“Hey?”
“Mmm?”
“Did I say something wrong?”
I hugged her against me. “Sometimes you think too much,” I said.
“I want you to be happy.”
“Me, too,” I said. “I want both of us to be happy.”
When both of my sons fled the East Coast for Western time zones, I stopped being frightened when the phone awakened me in the middle of the night. Billy liked to tell me about the trout he was catching in Idaho. Rubbing it in, I called it, but I was always happy to hear from him, even if it did interrupt my sleep. Joey called less often and less spontaneously than his brother, but as smart as he was, he always seemed surprised when I reminded him that eleven o’clock in the evening in California was 2:00 A.M. in Boston.
So when the telephone shrilled in the dark that night, it didn’t jar me upright in bed the way it used to when the boys were still teenagers living with Gloria and my first waking thought was of automobile accidents.
I fumbled for the phone, got it after the second ring, and held it to my ear. “H’lo?”
“Brady?” It was neither of my sons. Billy calls me Pop and Joey calls me Dad, and both of them generally call me collect. Anyway, this voice was female.
“Yes, this is Brady,” I mumbled.
“It’s Olivia.”
“Oh…?”
“Olivia Cizek. You were the first person I thought of to call. I’m sorry to wake you up.”
“It’s okay.” I bunched my pillow behind me and pushed myself into a semi-sitting position. Beside me Alex twitched and groaned. “What’s the matter?” I said softly into the phone.
“It’s very strange. It’s…”
“Olivia, are you okay?”
“I don’t know. I—the Coast Guard just called. They found Paul’s boat.”
“What do you mean?”
I heard her exhale a loud breath. “His boat. It was drifting somewhere out around the Merrimack River. They towed it in, and then they called me, and—”
“Where’s Paul?”
“I don’t know.” She hesitated, then said, “Oh. You probably don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?”
I heard her take a breath. “Paul and I separated a couple months ago, Brady.”
“I didn’t know,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“He’s been living up there. On Plum Island. Since we—we split. Up there in that—he calls it a shack. They called here for him. They got the numbers off the boat and this was the address, but—”
“Olivia, listen,” I said. “We’ve had a big storm tonight. Paul’s boat broke away from its moorings, that’s all. Call him and tell him what happened. He’s pretty lucky they found it in this storm. It could’ve been sunk or gone halfway to Labrador.”
“I tried calling him. There was no answer.” She paused. “You don’t get it,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“He doesn’t keep his boat moored. He trailers it. Do you understand?”
Alex mumbled something and rolled toward me. I reached for her and pulled her against me.
“Brady?” said Olivia.
“I understand,” I said quietly. If Paul trailered his boat, he did not keep it moored at any marina.
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