Read Online The Instant When Everything is Perfect by Jessica Barksdale Inclan - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jessica Barksdale Inclan
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title is ridiculous. The Daisy Plate Incident? But then he remembers the romance novel, turning the book over. Maybe the title is weird, but there are all sorts of accolades on the back, “Riveting,” “A thoughtful take on the excruciating joy of childhood,” “A must read,” and “An author to watch.” Famous authors and reviewers have said these things about Mia and her work, and when he looks at the bottom of the back cover, he sees her picture.
She’s done something to her hair since this photo was taken, chopped it off because here, it’s long and flowing over her shoulders. She’s leaning over, her chin in her hand, and sh e looks happy, pretty, sexy in her recline.
Mia Alden , the bio reads, is the author of Sacramento by Train and Beat . A professor of literature at the University of California, Berkeley, she lives in Northern California with her family.
He can’t help it, but his body tingles at the thought of her academic job. He’s a snob, and he’s always known it, sometimes unable to understand how anyone can live being a pizza delivery person or a ticket taker or a cashier. He wants to feel that they—just like him—take pride in what they do, wake up knowing that it’s possible they will make a difference in something or for someone. But he doesn’t believe they do. No matter how he thinks about it, he can feel their despair as they mop floors and collect bedpans and take his two dollars as he crosses the Bay Bridge. Like the poor kid behind the counter, who works here at night and dreams of what? Being a rock star? A famous poet? An astronaut? Robert can feel the kid’s impatience and irritation all the way across the bookstore.
But here is what he knows so far: Mia Alden is a professor and a novelist. She’s also married and has a drug addict child. Her mother has cancer. Her sister is a pathologist. Her breasts are hers, natural, large, pushing up out of her sweater. Somewhere on her body, her skin itches. Her eyes make him taste caramel. And there was something in her words and ferocious blush that makes him feel weak now, in the knees, just like the clichés he read in that long-ago romance novel.
Robert pulls Mia’s two other novels off the shelf and stacks them in his hands, walking toward the young man at the desk. He’s going to read tonight, even though he has surgery in the morning. He’s going to start with her first novel, the better-titled Sacramento by Train . He’s going to find out about Mia Alden the only way he honestly can.
Because his parents died in successive years when Robert was in college, he was well off early, long before he’d finished his residency and begun his practice. In fact, unlike Jack and most of Robert’s other colleagues, Robert was able to complete his course work and extra training without worrying about repaying student loans. He had no loans. He was free and clear from the start.
So when he was hired by Inland, he bought this house in Walnut Creek, an old adobe rancher on the historical registry with a ceramic tile roof. Built in the traditional Mexican style, the house has an expansive courtyard in the middle, filled with ferns and hibiscus, a fountain, and Spanish tile. The adobe bricks are so thick and dense that in the dead heat of summer, his house stays cool—when the winter fog pulses over the hills and fills in the valleys with chill, his house stays warm. He knows that at least four of his former girlfriends didn’t want to break up with him because of the house, staying with him despite silent evenings and separate beds.
He’d come home from work to see Margaret smoothing her hand over the granite counters in the kitchen or Joy sitting in the overstuffed leather chair, reading in the warm yellow light of his Tiffany lamps. Dara would be in the courtyard, planting a princess flower bush, and Leslie—just last week—would be at his large oak desk, surfing the
She’s done something to her hair since this photo was taken, chopped it off because here, it’s long and flowing over her shoulders. She’s leaning over, her chin in her hand, and sh e looks happy, pretty, sexy in her recline.
Mia Alden , the bio reads, is the author of Sacramento by Train and Beat . A professor of literature at the University of California, Berkeley, she lives in Northern California with her family.
He can’t help it, but his body tingles at the thought of her academic job. He’s a snob, and he’s always known it, sometimes unable to understand how anyone can live being a pizza delivery person or a ticket taker or a cashier. He wants to feel that they—just like him—take pride in what they do, wake up knowing that it’s possible they will make a difference in something or for someone. But he doesn’t believe they do. No matter how he thinks about it, he can feel their despair as they mop floors and collect bedpans and take his two dollars as he crosses the Bay Bridge. Like the poor kid behind the counter, who works here at night and dreams of what? Being a rock star? A famous poet? An astronaut? Robert can feel the kid’s impatience and irritation all the way across the bookstore.
But here is what he knows so far: Mia Alden is a professor and a novelist. She’s also married and has a drug addict child. Her mother has cancer. Her sister is a pathologist. Her breasts are hers, natural, large, pushing up out of her sweater. Somewhere on her body, her skin itches. Her eyes make him taste caramel. And there was something in her words and ferocious blush that makes him feel weak now, in the knees, just like the clichés he read in that long-ago romance novel.
Robert pulls Mia’s two other novels off the shelf and stacks them in his hands, walking toward the young man at the desk. He’s going to read tonight, even though he has surgery in the morning. He’s going to start with her first novel, the better-titled Sacramento by Train . He’s going to find out about Mia Alden the only way he honestly can.
Because his parents died in successive years when Robert was in college, he was well off early, long before he’d finished his residency and begun his practice. In fact, unlike Jack and most of Robert’s other colleagues, Robert was able to complete his course work and extra training without worrying about repaying student loans. He had no loans. He was free and clear from the start.
So when he was hired by Inland, he bought this house in Walnut Creek, an old adobe rancher on the historical registry with a ceramic tile roof. Built in the traditional Mexican style, the house has an expansive courtyard in the middle, filled with ferns and hibiscus, a fountain, and Spanish tile. The adobe bricks are so thick and dense that in the dead heat of summer, his house stays cool—when the winter fog pulses over the hills and fills in the valleys with chill, his house stays warm. He knows that at least four of his former girlfriends didn’t want to break up with him because of the house, staying with him despite silent evenings and separate beds.
He’d come home from work to see Margaret smoothing her hand over the granite counters in the kitchen or Joy sitting in the overstuffed leather chair, reading in the warm yellow light of his Tiffany lamps. Dara would be in the courtyard, planting a princess flower bush, and Leslie—just last week—would be at his large oak desk, surfing the
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