Read Online How to Talk to a Widower by Jonathan Tropper - Free Book Online Page B

meatloaf babe,” she says, starting to laugh. “That is just too funny.”
    “Hysterical.”
    Her laugh tapers off and she rests her head on my shoulder, which means she has something to tell me. Whenever she’s stressing, that’s what she does, and over the years, her head has carved out its own little spot there, like water dripping onto a rock for a hundred years. I always imagine that we must have floated that way in the uterus, and in times of stress it’s our version of the fetal position. “Good for you,” she says softly, rubbing the fleshy part of my hand between her thumb and forefinger. “I think it’s a big step.”
    “It’s adultery.”
    “You’re not married.”
    “She is.”
    “With all of your problems, you’re going to start worrying about hers now?” She licks her finger and wipes something, probably some of Laney’s lipstick, off my cheek.
    “It’s my problem too.”
    “Wrong. Your problem is that you stopped living when Hailey died. An emerging sex drive is the first positive sign we’ve seen in a long time. It’s not a problem, it’s cause for celebration, is what it is. I can’t wait to tell Mom.”
    I laugh, but then quickly say, “You’re joking, right?” If there’s one thing you can be sure of with Claire, it’s that you can never be too sure.
    “We’ll see how nice you are to me,” she says with a shrug. “So how was it?”
    “I don’t know. I think I’m still in shock.”
    “Dougie, Dougie, Dougie. When will you learn to keep your brain out of your bone?” She sighs. “Sometimes I think I should have been the boy.”
    “Sometimes I think you are.”
    “Which actually provides a convenient segue to our next topic.”
    “Which is?”
    “I’m pregnant.”
    That puts some lift in my eyelids. “That’s great, Claire. Congratulations.”
    She nods against my shoulder. “Thanks.”
    Then she says nothing, but I can feel her muscles flexing like springs under her skin, her breath short and quick. We just sit there for a few minutes, staring into the yard. There’s a gray rabbit nibbling on the grass in the shadow of the hedges. Out of range. “There’s more,” I say.
    “Yup.”
    I think about it for a minute. “Stephen.”
    She looks up at me, smiling even as a lone tear emerges from the corner of her eye and slides across the bridge of her nose. “And you said we don’t have telepathy.”
    Then she stands up, shaking it off, and heads for the front door. “Do you have anything to eat in here? I’m starving.”
    I get up to follow her in, but then, out of the corner of my eye, I notice that the gray rabbit has wandered within striking distance of the porch. “Hello, Bugs,” I say under my breath, keeping one eye on him as I reach for the rock pile. My throw goes too high, sailing a foot over Bugs’s head, and bouncing soundlessly across the lawn in front of him. The rabbit looks up at me, and something in his dumb, unthreatened expression enrages me, so I make a show of charging noisily down the steps. That gets him moving, and he zips away to the side of the lawn, stopping at the hedges to flash me a pitying look. I’m all out of rocks, so I run at him, waving my arms and screaming like a banshee until he flees into the underbrush. When I turn back to the porch, Claire is giving me a strange look from the doorway.
    “I just like to keep them on their toes,” I say sheepishly, coming up the stairs.
    “Little brother,” she says, throwing her arm over my shoulders as we head into the house. “You really need to get out more.”

    “So what happened?”
    “It’s a long story.”
    “You said you have time.”
    “I can’t talk on an empty stomach.”
    I follow her into the kitchen. “Did you cheat on him?”
    “Nice. Adultery loves company, is that it?”
    “Did he?”
    “I wish.”
    “So what happened?”
    “Why are all the magnets on the floor?” she says, heading over to the fridge. “Oh! Shit. I don’t want to