Read Online Disposition of Remains by Laura T. Emery - Free Book Online
Authors: Laura T. Emery
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I was no longer in possession of my phone. And while the absence of my irritating ring tone had been nice, I became preoccupied with wondering whether Evan was still out there trying to find me.
“You know, Paul, I think I may have left my cell phone at your house. Do you think that we could stop by and get it?”
“Sure, no problem,” Paul replied easily. “Wilbur’s car is at my house anyway.”
The four of us sat around Paul’s makeshift campfire and talked for the next few hours. We discussed benign topics such as the weather and the scenery. We chatted about my three companions’ past travel adventures, something involving pygmies and blowguns. It was as if we were all old friends. It was nice to have a lighthearted conversation; it made me feel normal. Normal was good.
CHAPTER 7
It was Christmas in my dream, and I had spent days creating the perfect Yuletide home experience for Evan and myself. The tree was decorated to perfection and the ham and accompaniments smelled divine. “Angels We Have Heard on High” was playing over the sound of the roaring fireplace. I was feeling all warm and fuzzy inside, and was eager to defrost our relationship. I couldn’t wait to give Evan his gift. I had planned so meticulously for the moment, so my disappointment was almost palpable when he opened the small, cheerfully decorated foil envelope I had given him, and his face turned to stone.
“Why the hell would I want to go to Italy?” he demanded in the sternest voice he could muster. “Isn’t that where you were supposed to go with that moron you were dating before me?”
I was completely caught off guard. I’d never imagined there would be anyone in the world who would actually not want to go to Italy. I had managed to marry the lone holdout.
“Yes, I was supposed to go with Michael,…but it’s Italy—one of the most romantic places on Earth.”
“So you thought that because you had all those childish dreams of wasting productive time bumming around Europe with that dope, you could just shoehorn me in as a replacement for him? Is that what you thought?”
At that point, I wasn’t just disappointed by his reaction; he was actually starting to scare me.
“It’s not like that, baby. I thought we could make some memories of our own there. I saw Italy as a fresh start for us, not as a way to recapture some old dream of mine. If you want, we can trade the tickets in for—”
“Just get your money back. I don’t want these,” he barked as he thrust the envelope back into my hand and shook his head as though I’d given him a pink tutu.
I stood there with my face furrowed, ready to give him what for, when he started in again.
“As if it wasn’t bad enough that I’d agreed to this whole Christmas thing to begin with. Do you know how much crap my mother’s given me? And, on top of it, you made a fucking ham!”
Paul’s truck came to a halt at a stoplight and I was jolted awake. The four of us were making the short drive back to Flagstaff from Sedona. It wasn’t a dream I was having; it was a nightmare I was reliving. That nightmare was my life.
It was our first Christmas together, and it had turned out to be our last. Evan, being a Jew, had only reluctantly agreed to allow me to celebrate Christmas. I had committed the cardinal sin of preparing a non-kosher meal—among other things. He spent the next several days punishing me with his snide remarks and cold manner. I think I knew there and then that I had made a horrible mistake, but I’d wanted so much to please him, to make things work, and I couldn’t figure out where I’d gone wrong.
Italy was an expansive nation. Evan’s cruel ban on the whole country couldn’t just be about the fact that Michael and I had wanted to live in Florence once upon a time. There were any number of other cities, villages, provincial pockets, islands, vineyards, and monasteries we could visit instead. I was even willing to take my top off at one of the
“You know, Paul, I think I may have left my cell phone at your house. Do you think that we could stop by and get it?”
“Sure, no problem,” Paul replied easily. “Wilbur’s car is at my house anyway.”
The four of us sat around Paul’s makeshift campfire and talked for the next few hours. We discussed benign topics such as the weather and the scenery. We chatted about my three companions’ past travel adventures, something involving pygmies and blowguns. It was as if we were all old friends. It was nice to have a lighthearted conversation; it made me feel normal. Normal was good.
CHAPTER 7
It was Christmas in my dream, and I had spent days creating the perfect Yuletide home experience for Evan and myself. The tree was decorated to perfection and the ham and accompaniments smelled divine. “Angels We Have Heard on High” was playing over the sound of the roaring fireplace. I was feeling all warm and fuzzy inside, and was eager to defrost our relationship. I couldn’t wait to give Evan his gift. I had planned so meticulously for the moment, so my disappointment was almost palpable when he opened the small, cheerfully decorated foil envelope I had given him, and his face turned to stone.
“Why the hell would I want to go to Italy?” he demanded in the sternest voice he could muster. “Isn’t that where you were supposed to go with that moron you were dating before me?”
I was completely caught off guard. I’d never imagined there would be anyone in the world who would actually not want to go to Italy. I had managed to marry the lone holdout.
“Yes, I was supposed to go with Michael,…but it’s Italy—one of the most romantic places on Earth.”
“So you thought that because you had all those childish dreams of wasting productive time bumming around Europe with that dope, you could just shoehorn me in as a replacement for him? Is that what you thought?”
At that point, I wasn’t just disappointed by his reaction; he was actually starting to scare me.
“It’s not like that, baby. I thought we could make some memories of our own there. I saw Italy as a fresh start for us, not as a way to recapture some old dream of mine. If you want, we can trade the tickets in for—”
“Just get your money back. I don’t want these,” he barked as he thrust the envelope back into my hand and shook his head as though I’d given him a pink tutu.
I stood there with my face furrowed, ready to give him what for, when he started in again.
“As if it wasn’t bad enough that I’d agreed to this whole Christmas thing to begin with. Do you know how much crap my mother’s given me? And, on top of it, you made a fucking ham!”
Paul’s truck came to a halt at a stoplight and I was jolted awake. The four of us were making the short drive back to Flagstaff from Sedona. It wasn’t a dream I was having; it was a nightmare I was reliving. That nightmare was my life.
It was our first Christmas together, and it had turned out to be our last. Evan, being a Jew, had only reluctantly agreed to allow me to celebrate Christmas. I had committed the cardinal sin of preparing a non-kosher meal—among other things. He spent the next several days punishing me with his snide remarks and cold manner. I think I knew there and then that I had made a horrible mistake, but I’d wanted so much to please him, to make things work, and I couldn’t figure out where I’d gone wrong.
Italy was an expansive nation. Evan’s cruel ban on the whole country couldn’t just be about the fact that Michael and I had wanted to live in Florence once upon a time. There were any number of other cities, villages, provincial pockets, islands, vineyards, and monasteries we could visit instead. I was even willing to take my top off at one of the
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