Read Online It Isn't Cheating if He's Dead by Julie Frayn - Free Book Online Page B

Not when
it came to Jem.

She moved about the small kitchen dancing an
awkward music-free waltz with Finn, vying for floor space and counter room.
Hyper-aware of his presence, she did everything she could to keep her distance.
    Finn scooted behind her and reached for the
fridge door.  His leg brushed her dress, shifting it around her rear before the
hem settled at the back of her knees. He reached over her shoulder and plucked
a bulb of garlic from the pot. His whole body invaded her space, subtle cologne
filled her head. He sidled two feet away, snatching a paring knife from the
knife block on the way. He was comfortable in the kitchen. In her kitchen.
    When the pasta was al dente and the
sauce bubbled in the pan, he pulled the garlicky bread from the broiler and set
it on the counter. She tossed pasta with sauce then sprinkled fresh parsley and
shaved parmesan over top. Every time she shot a glance his direction he was
staring at her. When she pulled plates from the overhead cupboard, staring.
When she fumbled with the forks and they clattered to the counter, staring.  
    She tugged her dress down and smoothed her
hair. “Have a seat. Please. More wine?”
    “Sure.” He sat and continued to watch while
she dished up their plates. He slid steaming garlic toast on the side. “Just a
fork?”
    “Sorry, do you want a spoon? I never did
learn to eat it that way. Any time I try, the spoon usually ends up flying in
the air and splashing sauce all over the table.”
    “So how do you roll it?”
    “Like this.” She stabbed the fork into a
shallow pile of pasta until stainless hit the plate. She twirled the fork until
the right amount of noodles clung to the tines, lifted the fork and shoved it
in her mouth. Errant pasta strands were slurped through pursed lips. The tail
end of the noodles whipped up and slapped the tip of her nose.
    He leaned back and laughed. “Very ladylike.
Okay, let me try.” Most of the pasta fell from the fork before it hit his
mouth. He slurped anyway, and ended up with sauce on his nose, one cheek, and
dripping down his chin.
    “Good job, sir. It takes years of practice
to perfect that technique, but you picked it up first try.” Jem reached across
and wiped his chin and nose with her napkin, then froze on the way to his
cheek. Her face warmed. She pulled away and shifted her gaze to her plate.
“Sorry.”
    “It’s all right. That was nice.”
    They ate in silence, discomfort like a Plexiglas
wall between them. Or maybe that barrier was only in front of her. Each time
she glanced up, he was watching her and smiling. He was different since the
night he told her Gerald was dead. Relaxed. Human.
    “So. Now what?”
    She looked up. “Now what, what?”
    “For you, Jem. Now what? He’s gone. You’ve
spent all this time on hold, waiting for him. Waiting for an end. Now what?”
    “I don’t want to think about it. I’m going
to just get up each day and see where life takes me.”
    “Still feeding the homeless every morning?
I get why you started, but he’s not out there anymore. You won’t find him. Why
keep doing it?”
     “Because of the rest of them. It stopped
being about him and became about them. They need me. I can’t abandon them, now
can I?”
    “No, I suppose not.” He broke his bread
over the plate now empty of noodles and sopped up the remaining sauce, shoving a
large piece of toast in his mouth. He was not a dainty eater. He chased the food
with the rest of his wine and filled both of their glasses.
    He cleared his throat. “Are you finding happiness?”
    “Sometimes.” She held his gaze for two
seconds before she had to turn away. She stood and took their plates, turned
her back on him and put the plates on the counter. She squeezed soap and ran
the water until glistening bubbles crested the rim of the sink, then slid the
dishes beneath the suds.
    His chair squeaked against the tiles. One
muscular arm reached around her and placed the pasta bowl at her elbow.
    No, she