Read Online Storm Tide by Marge Piercy, Ira Wood - Free Book Online

about most groups in town, and nicknames (should I decide to run) for my potential opponents: Blossom End-Rot, Bird Man, Captain Ahab. We met when we could after work, after dark, and the mere sound of tires on my oyster shell driveway, likethe tip of her tongue on my nipple, gave me goose bumps. The first time she came over, she stayed the night. There was a new moon tide the next morning that would have kept her from getting to court if she returned to the island. I stopped her in the hallway and kissed her eyes, her lips, her fingers. She whispered, “David, David, David,” her cheek against my chest, then took a step back and requested a hanger for her coat.
    She walked though the living room, then the kitchen, disappointed. “You haven’t made supper?”
    It was past eight o’clock. I’d had a sandwich after work. “I can’t cook.”
    “You can’t fry an egg?”
    “Is that what you want right now? An egg?”
    “With a little Parmesan cheese, fresh bread and a decent red wine, why not—as long as you don’t burn it.”
    So saying, she lugged a shopping bag to the kitchen. A bottle of wine. Fresh bread. Parmesan cheese. “You have eggs, don’t you?” (I did.) Apricot preserves. Olive oil. Coffee.
    “You didn’t think I had coffee?”
    In weeks to come she’d arrive with casseroles from home, flower bouquets, a reading lamp, fragrant soaps. Beginning with that first night’s coat hanger, she commandeered half my hall closet and a dresser drawer for her underthings. She opened the wine with her own corkscrew—the truth is, I was a beer drinker and didn’t have one—pulled a wire whisk from the bottom of the bag and started an omelet.
    “Not talking?” she said over her shoulder. “What was your day like? What did you do?”
    As far as I was concerned we could talk on the telephone but had a very small window of time when she didn’t have to go home to her husband, prepare for court, or beat the tide over the bridge back to Squeer Island. I missed her and I wanted to touch her, and I suppose I was hurt that she didn’t want me. She didn’t say a word as she ate, just watched me as if amused and waited me out.
    “I met somebody in the post office who wanted to know my position on school taxes. I don’t think she was pleased.”
    “Why? What did you say?”
    “I told her what I thought.”
    “Wrong. You’re supposed to ask her what she thinks.” Judith cut a slice of bread then dipped it in olive oil and cheese. “You want to leave people with the opinion that you both think the same way.”
    “Maybe we don’t.”
    “You want the best education for the fairest price, right? Same as the woman in the post office, same as everybody. Just ask her how she believes you can go from here to there.” She drew an arrow on my tabletop in bread crumbs. “Nod a lot. Tell her you hear what she’s saying.”
    “Isn’t that deceptive?”
    “Not if you’re listening.”
    “Judith. I’m not sure about this. I’m no politician.”
    “That’s your strong point. Stand up.” She did. “Let’s practice.”
    “Where are you going?”
    She dropped her plate in the sink. “To get my mail.”
    “What do I do?”
    “Come up and ask me for my vote.”
    “Get serious.”
    “Then I won’t vote for you. What are you waiting for? Stand up! I’m going to leave you behind with the junk mail. I don’t have all day.”
    “Hello. I’m David Greene.”
    “Mmmm.” A tip of tongue peaked through her lips.
    “What does that mean?”
    “I’m summing you up. Most women will.” She cocked her head. “Honest face. Great shoulders. Very intense eyes. I’m listening.”
    “Can I have your vote?”
    “Just like that? Don’t you know women like to talk for a while first?”
    “Well, ma’am. I’ve been thinking that things have been the same around here for a long time. I was thinking you might be ready for some new blood.”
    “I like that. Very visceral.”
    “What’s visceral ?”
    “You