Read Online Knockout Mouse by James Calder - Free Book Online Page B

like nothing was wrong.”
    “I don’t really like the idea, but we ought to read the diary. It might explain some things.”
    Her other hand slid under the back of my shirt, then down into my pants. “Let’s forget about it for a minute.”
    I didn’t object. Her head rose and she pressed her mouth into mine. Her fingers kept working the buttons. When she got the shirt off, she went for the belt. Pretty soon she was doing things to me that she hadn’t done since we first got together.
    She shed her clothes and pulled me on top of her. One long leg draped over the back of the couch and the other rested on the coffee table. With her musky wine breath hot on my face and her slender hips pushing up to meet me, everything else melted away.
    As we lay entwined on the sofa, darkness crept over us through the bay window. Jenny stroked the back of my head. Her face glowed gently.
    “Bill, I’m so happy to be here.”
    “Me, too.” The statement felt true in both big and small ways. I was happy to have my limbs entangled here on the couch withhers. But I was even more happy to be here in my house, here on this planet. To have the fabric of an old sofa scraping my skin. To wiggle my toes. The keenness of the feeling was a little disturbing, given that I’d been gazing at Sheila’s cold corpse just yesterday. It seemed wrong for us to revel so carnally.
    “I feel so alive,” she said.
    “Alive,” I agreed, “and a little guilty.”
    “We have to carry on, Bill. Celebrate life.” Jenny rolled over on top of me and cupped my cheeks. Her eyes were full, a swirl of pearly blue at each center. “Let’s have a baby.”
    A thrill fluttered through my stomach, as if the universe was focused on us at this moment with just that in mind: creating a new life. But an imp of rationality still scratched in the corner of my brain. Jenny and I were reacting to the stress of a death. The impulse to procreate right now was the most natural thing in the world. But we should wait and see what other emotions followed this one.
    I just smiled at her and said, “Do you want something to eat?”
    Disappointment clouded her face. “You don’t have to feel bad about Sheila all the time. We’re still here.”
    I stood, and Jenny started to get up with me.
    “Stay,” I said. “I’ll whip up something for dinner.” I wanted to be alone for a minute.
    I started some water boiling and some oil heating in the kitchen. After taking Jenny a new glass of wine, I went back to the stove. There were three or four dishes in my repertoire. I had some shrimp in the freezer. I sautéed them with some red peppers and chili flakes, and put them on noodles.
    We sat on the couch without talking, still naked, in the dark. Passing headlights slid up and away through the blinds. Now and then a car door slammed outside. The freeway hummedfaintly in the distance. Before me, on the coffee table, was a bowl of shrimp that I knew would taste good. Jenny certainly seemed to be enjoying hers. I speared a shrimp on my fork, but couldn’t bring it to my lips. Instead I just stared at it. This could have killed Sheila, I kept thinking. One little shrimp. It didn’t, and yet Sheila was still dead, without having eaten a single bite.

9
    If Potrero Hill had a center, it was Scoby’s Cafe on 18th Street. After sleeping in the next day, Jenny and I walked up three blocks to the cafe. I brought Sheila’s diary with me.
    You could see the strata of history in the clientele. The newest stratum was the laid-off dot-com kids, in fleece and sandals, drinking coffee to no point, itemizing their severance deals and the hardship of living on unemployment. Just below that layer were the ones still plugged in by various gadgets on their belts, gulping coffee to propel them through a day of coding, milestones, delivery of deliverables, and the general job of monetizing the Internet. Then there were the artists, ambitiously scruffy in drab browns and greens. I’d moved in seven