Read Online Man in The Woods by Scott Spencer - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Scott Spencer
Tags: Fiction, General, Humorous, Fiction - General, Romance, Dogs, American Contemporary Fiction - Individual Authors +, Spencer, Carpenters, Scott - Prose & Criticism, Guilt, Gui< Fiction
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“I’m not, I’m not, I’m not.” And her eyes well up.
How is she able to do that? Surely, she is not that upset, she can’t be. But she can imitate any of the surface emotions. She can do a credible gaiety, with a tinkling, convincing laugh, she can do fear, and she is particularly expert at remorse. All these thespian wiles are self-taught; though Ruby has frequently asked to be given acting lessons, Kate resists, on the (unspoken) grounds that any more proficiency in manufacturing emotions and her skills will have to be registered with the police, just as professional boxers are said to register their fists. Still, Kate cannot help but be amazed at how realistic Ruby’s performance is. Those sea-green eyes blurring with tears, the little trembling hand against the heaving chest—it’s like double-jointedness, at once astonishing and nauseating.
The phone rings, Kate’s recently installed private line to which only Paul has the number. Her pulse quickens. He still has that effect on her. “Are you using your phone!” Kate asks, with unalloyed delight. The snazzy little Nokia was a present to him a few months ago, and since then it has seen little else but the inside of his glove compartment.
“I’m a ways,” Paul says, his voice mixed with the hum of the road and the wind. Also, he doesn’t seem to be aiming his voice at the phone’s little triad of speaker holes. Kate feels a weirdly erotic twist of annoyance. He could very well be doing this on purpose, as a demonstration of the technology’s deficiencies. Yet the frequent but fleeting moments of irritation Kate feels around Paul are cool air that only oxygenates the fire.
“Where exactly are you?” Kate says.
“I’ll be there in a half hour or an hour, something in there,” Paul says. He never really answers the questions she asks. And how can he not know the difference between being thirty and sixty minutes away? It’s not as if he needs to make an allowance for traffic. There is no traffic at this hour. Does he intend to make a stop?
“I’m supposed to be at an AA meeting at seven,” Kate says. “Will you be here in time for me to go?”
“I don’t know,” Paul says.
She waits for the explanation or the apology that should follow but it does not come. She’s always a little off-rhythm with him; it’s how they dance.
“Well, I guess I’ll take Ruby with me,” Kate says.
“Okay, but I’d like to see her. I’ve got a surprise for her.”
“Really?”
Not a sound from Paul’s end. Perhaps he has gone out of range. Kate waits for another few moments, and then, acknowledging the lost connection, hangs up her phone.
Ruby has poured the contents of her backpack onto the floor and now paws through the jumble of books, notebooks, crumpled-up papers, pencils and pens and hair clips, looking for a juice box.
“Paul’s coming home soon,” Kate says. “And he’s got a wonderful surprise for you.” She instantly regrets saying this. What if it’s not a wonderful surprise, what if it’s just a passing everyday surprise, like a toy ring from a vending machine, or a book of puzzles, and now, because it has been overhyped, Ruby will feel let down. Kate feels she has committed an act of social gracelessness reminiscent of what her ex-husband, Ruby’s long-absent father, used to do to her at dinner parties. He always managed to step on Kate’s best lines; he had an uncanny instinct for coughing or offering to refill someone’s wineglass just when Kate was getting to the punch line of a story. And if he wasn’t wrong-footing her like that, he was up to some alternate form of sabotage, like announcing to a table of guests, Oh, you’ve got to hear this, Kate has just had the most amazing experience of her life , and all eyes would be on her, and all she could do was tell her story about how the man who came to fix the refrigerator turned out to be an old patient of her father’s.
Kate sits on the floor, and commences to put
How is she able to do that? Surely, she is not that upset, she can’t be. But she can imitate any of the surface emotions. She can do a credible gaiety, with a tinkling, convincing laugh, she can do fear, and she is particularly expert at remorse. All these thespian wiles are self-taught; though Ruby has frequently asked to be given acting lessons, Kate resists, on the (unspoken) grounds that any more proficiency in manufacturing emotions and her skills will have to be registered with the police, just as professional boxers are said to register their fists. Still, Kate cannot help but be amazed at how realistic Ruby’s performance is. Those sea-green eyes blurring with tears, the little trembling hand against the heaving chest—it’s like double-jointedness, at once astonishing and nauseating.
The phone rings, Kate’s recently installed private line to which only Paul has the number. Her pulse quickens. He still has that effect on her. “Are you using your phone!” Kate asks, with unalloyed delight. The snazzy little Nokia was a present to him a few months ago, and since then it has seen little else but the inside of his glove compartment.
“I’m a ways,” Paul says, his voice mixed with the hum of the road and the wind. Also, he doesn’t seem to be aiming his voice at the phone’s little triad of speaker holes. Kate feels a weirdly erotic twist of annoyance. He could very well be doing this on purpose, as a demonstration of the technology’s deficiencies. Yet the frequent but fleeting moments of irritation Kate feels around Paul are cool air that only oxygenates the fire.
“Where exactly are you?” Kate says.
“I’ll be there in a half hour or an hour, something in there,” Paul says. He never really answers the questions she asks. And how can he not know the difference between being thirty and sixty minutes away? It’s not as if he needs to make an allowance for traffic. There is no traffic at this hour. Does he intend to make a stop?
“I’m supposed to be at an AA meeting at seven,” Kate says. “Will you be here in time for me to go?”
“I don’t know,” Paul says.
She waits for the explanation or the apology that should follow but it does not come. She’s always a little off-rhythm with him; it’s how they dance.
“Well, I guess I’ll take Ruby with me,” Kate says.
“Okay, but I’d like to see her. I’ve got a surprise for her.”
“Really?”
Not a sound from Paul’s end. Perhaps he has gone out of range. Kate waits for another few moments, and then, acknowledging the lost connection, hangs up her phone.
Ruby has poured the contents of her backpack onto the floor and now paws through the jumble of books, notebooks, crumpled-up papers, pencils and pens and hair clips, looking for a juice box.
“Paul’s coming home soon,” Kate says. “And he’s got a wonderful surprise for you.” She instantly regrets saying this. What if it’s not a wonderful surprise, what if it’s just a passing everyday surprise, like a toy ring from a vending machine, or a book of puzzles, and now, because it has been overhyped, Ruby will feel let down. Kate feels she has committed an act of social gracelessness reminiscent of what her ex-husband, Ruby’s long-absent father, used to do to her at dinner parties. He always managed to step on Kate’s best lines; he had an uncanny instinct for coughing or offering to refill someone’s wineglass just when Kate was getting to the punch line of a story. And if he wasn’t wrong-footing her like that, he was up to some alternate form of sabotage, like announcing to a table of guests, Oh, you’ve got to hear this, Kate has just had the most amazing experience of her life , and all eyes would be on her, and all she could do was tell her story about how the man who came to fix the refrigerator turned out to be an old patient of her father’s.
Kate sits on the floor, and commences to put
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