Read Online I'll Sing for my Dinner by BR Kingsolver - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: BR Kingsolver
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knew how black my sins were. I knew he was going to heaven, and I was going to hell. My whole life with him was a lie.
He was talking about taking me to Hawaii for Christmas. But he would ask questions when I told him I couldn’t get on an airplane. You needed identification to do that. I wondered how long it would be until he offered me a ring. I didn’t care if he never did, as long as I had him. But he was an honorable man, and he would probably try to do what he thought was the honorable thing. In his world, two people married when they were in love.
As far as I was concerned, he could hide me under the bed and deny he even knew me, as long as he let me hold him and make love to him every night. I wasn’t important, but he was my world. Would he throw me out if I told him the truth?
I asked Jake to drop me off downtown the next day, telling him I would take the bus to work. Going to the library, I entered a search for Cecille Buchanan. I found a lot of entries on the internet, but nothing in the past year and a half. The last flurry of activity was when I cancelled the tour. Probably the worst decision of my life.
I entered Eddie’s name, and got a lot of hits. That also faded out, with nothing in the news during the past three months. In an earlier story, I found a reference to ‘a mystery girl’ that was connected to him, but not my name.
Relieved, I bought some ice cream and took the bus to the Roadhouse.
I managed to talk Jake and Jared into letting me clean out Mary’s closet and her other belongings. I also cleared their parents’ clothing and other personal items out of the attic. We donated it all to the church they attended when they were growing up.
Gradually, I turned the house into a home for Jake and me, not just a place to sleep. Jared only stayed there a couple of nights a week.
I had never done housework in my life. The vacuum cleaner was a complete mystery, but I found the instructions for it stuffed away in the ‘junk drawer’ and read them. Dusting, oiling the woodwork, cleaning the oven, all those sorts of thing I had seen people do. I learned to do them, and because I was doing it for Jake, I loved it.
Cooking was another story. I knew how to make a simple breakfast and sandwiches, but I had never cooked a real meal. Since Jake bought groceries, and had a freezer full of meat, I assumed that he did. I found a couple of cookbooks in a drawer in the kitchen that were older than Jake, so I assumed they were his mother’s. By following the directions exactly, and looking up every term I didn’t understand, I managed to avoid any disasters.
One morning, when Jake went into town on business and to pick up some groceries, I stayed at home, cleaning and doing laundry. His CD collection was a marvel. Next to the Grateful Dead was Gustav Holst’s The Planets symphony. And he had opera. I hadn’t even heard an opera in two years before he brought me home.
Mozart’s Magic Flute was playing at a volume where I could hear it throughout the house and I was singing along with it. Standing in the kitchen, I was singing ‘Hell's vengeance boils in my heart’, the Queen of the Night’s aria from act three. It felt so good to stretch my voice and hit the notes of the soprano coloratura part, and I was lost in the music.
I took a breath to ready myself for the next lines, and realized he was standing at the edge of the kitchen, watching me. The woman on the CD sang on alone.
“Hi, I didn’t hear you come in,” I said.
“My God, Cecily,” he said, “your voice is phenomenal.”
“I listened to a lot of opera when I was growing up,” I said, turning to continue wiping the top of the stove with the dishcloth I was holding.
“That’s bullshit,” he said, and I flinched. “I can understand you not wanting to tell me some parts of your life, but do you have to completely shut me out of all of it? No one can sing an aria like that unless they’ve been trained for it. Especially that
He was talking about taking me to Hawaii for Christmas. But he would ask questions when I told him I couldn’t get on an airplane. You needed identification to do that. I wondered how long it would be until he offered me a ring. I didn’t care if he never did, as long as I had him. But he was an honorable man, and he would probably try to do what he thought was the honorable thing. In his world, two people married when they were in love.
As far as I was concerned, he could hide me under the bed and deny he even knew me, as long as he let me hold him and make love to him every night. I wasn’t important, but he was my world. Would he throw me out if I told him the truth?
I asked Jake to drop me off downtown the next day, telling him I would take the bus to work. Going to the library, I entered a search for Cecille Buchanan. I found a lot of entries on the internet, but nothing in the past year and a half. The last flurry of activity was when I cancelled the tour. Probably the worst decision of my life.
I entered Eddie’s name, and got a lot of hits. That also faded out, with nothing in the news during the past three months. In an earlier story, I found a reference to ‘a mystery girl’ that was connected to him, but not my name.
Relieved, I bought some ice cream and took the bus to the Roadhouse.
I managed to talk Jake and Jared into letting me clean out Mary’s closet and her other belongings. I also cleared their parents’ clothing and other personal items out of the attic. We donated it all to the church they attended when they were growing up.
Gradually, I turned the house into a home for Jake and me, not just a place to sleep. Jared only stayed there a couple of nights a week.
I had never done housework in my life. The vacuum cleaner was a complete mystery, but I found the instructions for it stuffed away in the ‘junk drawer’ and read them. Dusting, oiling the woodwork, cleaning the oven, all those sorts of thing I had seen people do. I learned to do them, and because I was doing it for Jake, I loved it.
Cooking was another story. I knew how to make a simple breakfast and sandwiches, but I had never cooked a real meal. Since Jake bought groceries, and had a freezer full of meat, I assumed that he did. I found a couple of cookbooks in a drawer in the kitchen that were older than Jake, so I assumed they were his mother’s. By following the directions exactly, and looking up every term I didn’t understand, I managed to avoid any disasters.
One morning, when Jake went into town on business and to pick up some groceries, I stayed at home, cleaning and doing laundry. His CD collection was a marvel. Next to the Grateful Dead was Gustav Holst’s The Planets symphony. And he had opera. I hadn’t even heard an opera in two years before he brought me home.
Mozart’s Magic Flute was playing at a volume where I could hear it throughout the house and I was singing along with it. Standing in the kitchen, I was singing ‘Hell's vengeance boils in my heart’, the Queen of the Night’s aria from act three. It felt so good to stretch my voice and hit the notes of the soprano coloratura part, and I was lost in the music.
I took a breath to ready myself for the next lines, and realized he was standing at the edge of the kitchen, watching me. The woman on the CD sang on alone.
“Hi, I didn’t hear you come in,” I said.
“My God, Cecily,” he said, “your voice is phenomenal.”
“I listened to a lot of opera when I was growing up,” I said, turning to continue wiping the top of the stove with the dishcloth I was holding.
“That’s bullshit,” he said, and I flinched. “I can understand you not wanting to tell me some parts of your life, but do you have to completely shut me out of all of it? No one can sing an aria like that unless they’ve been trained for it. Especially that
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