Read Online Terminal Grill by Rosemary Aubert - Free Book Online Page B

for people who fly-fish …” in an odd tone of voice, just as if he’d never spent a good deal of time on two separate occasions telling me how much he loved this sport.
    My other gift for him was a big photo book of New England scenes. This he smiled at appreciatively, almost laughingly. “I know it’s a bulky present to give somebody who has to carry their stuff home soon, but …”
    He became agitated, childlike. “What do you mean carry home?” he demanded. “It sounds like you’re not coming with me!” He reached for my hands as we sat there face to face.
    â€œMatthew,” I began, “I really care for you, but …”
    But what?
    Immediately, he jumped in to stop whatever it was I was going to say. “This sounds like confrontation politics,” he said, shakily, as though he were scared.
    â€œNo!” I swore, uneasy at his growing distress. I stood and took his head in my hands, holding it against my stomach, a gesture of comfort that never failed to soothe men before. “No …”
    â€œPlease,” he said, standing and leading me toward the bed, “please. I want everything to be exactly the way it was before …”
    We lay down. Soon, Matthew was fast asleep. But I lay in the darkness beside him for a long time. It was as I lay there that I noticed how strange he smelled—there was a strong chemical odor emanating from him as though it were breathing out of the pores of his lean body.
    Out of the pores of my own body seeped the sweat of fear.
    But, as on every other night on which I’d lain with Matthew, fear gave way to the comfort of his body, hard and warm along the planes of my own, and I fell asleep.
    Fell asleep with the sickening realization that I was going to somehow have to begin to reclaim my ordinary life.

CHAPTER TWELVE
    T HE NEXT MORNING WE were as intimate as ever, in fact, more so.
    But after we loved, I was again gripped with the terror that had rocked me to sleep the night before. Fearing Matthew might sense the subtle change in feeling between us, I casually mentioned that I was nervous, and when he said, “About what?” I answered, “About us …”
    As he had often asked me, I now asked him to hold me tight.
    And it occurred to me why a person afraid of cancer will light a cigarette to allay his fears, or a junkie jab himself with a needleful to get away from his terror of junk.
    In a little while, we dressed and left my place. We had time, so I suggested we go out for a coffee. I was so shaky it was hard for me to hide it, and hard for me to talk.
    â€œI’m sorry to be this way …”
    â€œThe problem is,” Matthew answered with a patient smile, “the nervousness is catchy.”
    The comment made me try harder, and before long, our conversation was as natural and warm and friendly and funny as it had always been. As we left the coffee shop and headed for the subway, Matthew mentioned that he was afraid he’dbowled Ruth over by dropping too many names. I couldn’t think of anything to say.
    As if mention of show business stirred memories, he began to talk about his youth, and about his “one hit song.” He told me again how it had affected his life, giving him a taste of fame that was irresistible. I asked him again how old he’d been when this happened, and he said—as he had before— “nineteen,” which put the date at exactly what it was in the book my brother had showed me. I wanted to mention what I’d discovered about the song, but I wasn’t ready for the sort of confrontation I thought would result.
    Matthew said it had been a wonderful idea to go out for coffee, that it had relaxed us both. I smiled and we walked on together, very close.
    We got into the subway, still chatting. I began to tell him about my love for Beethoven. When we got to Yonge and Bloor, he said, “I’d love to