Read Online The Unlikely Romance of Kate Bjorkman by Louise Plummer - Free Book Online Page B

Bjorn decided it was time for Russian tea again and heated some up, ranting the whole time. If I’d had a stake, I would have thrust it through his heart and called it a mercy killing. Sure must be fun to be a newlywed at Christmastime.
    We went to bed early. “I think I’d like to be thoroughly unconscious now,” Fleur said. Amen and amen.
    I awoke to voices. At first I thought it must be Mother and Dad coming home, but soon realized that it was Bjorn and Trish arguing. “Not so loud!” Bjorn was saying. “Do you want everyone in the house to hear you?”
    “I don’t care who hears me.” Trish’s voice rose hysterically. “The only time you ever listen to me is when I yell. You never listen! You never ask my opinion about anything.”
    I reached for my glasses, sat up, and peered across the room at Fleur. She was sleeping soundly. I wondered if she’d taken a sleeping pill.
    “I will not be rational!” Trish’s voice filled the house.
    I searched for my robe at the end of the bed and stepped quietly into the hall.
    “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t know it was such a big deal.” Bjorn’s voice was lower, but not low enough. I didn’t want to hear any of this. I wanted them to be likethey were last summer on Maui: affectionate, humorous. I wanted them to be the prince and princess again: Trish with orchids in her hair, her bare shoulders glittering, Bjorn weighed down with leis around his neck. Was this just a few months later, this living happily ever after?
    I crept down the stairs, remembering what Midgely had said last year in junior English: “Comedies end in marriage, but tragedies frequently begin with marriage.” He was already sick then, already bald, already too thin. “But”—he had smirked good-naturedly at us—“it’s the tragedy that makes life rich—” His voice had caught slightly. “Worth living.”
    The falling snow combined with the streetlamp outside lit the living room enough so that I could see a figure sitting in the window seat. I turned to go back, feeling too awkward to disturb him. “Boo?” he called.
    “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “I just wanted to get away from—”
    “I know. Me too. Come over. It’s quiet here.”
    I sat, my back against the window frame, facing him. He wore a white T-shirt, gray sweats, and white socks. No shoes. I suppose if I were following the phrase book’s lead, I’d have to admit that I was aware of the “muscles rippling under his white shirt” and also admit that it “quickened” my pulse a little. I’d never been alone with Richard before. Never sat in the half-light of the window seat with him. It felt intimate. So intimate that I was afraid to speak and watched the snow instead. When I turned my head, he was watching me. I swallowed hard. “So,” I said, “what’s your tree of choice?” Isuddenly knew how Bjorn felt. I needed to hear noise even if I had to make it myself.
    He smiled. “Spruce, but I hope I’m open to other suggestions. You?”
    “Well”—I thought for a second—“I’m quite partial to those aluminum trees with the fluorescent pink balls and pink lights—ones that spin slowly on a pedestal.”
    “I guess you’ll decorate your living room to look like McDonald’s.”
    “I’m very fond of orange vinyl seating, as a matter of fact—with matching oak veneer.”
    “Remind me not to marry
you
,” he said.
    “Don’t marry me,” I said.
    “And don’t have my children,” he said.
    “Don’t have a rich and satisfying life with me,” I said.
    “Don’t ever kiss me,” he said.
    “Never,” I said.
    “Shake on it.” We held hands longer than was necessary to solidify our pact. Or maybe it was a pact of its own.
    His gaze returned to the street. “I saw Midgely today. I wouldn’t have recognized him.”
    I enjoyed his face in profile. “He isn’t teaching this year, you know.”
    “Your mother told me, but I’m not surprised. I’ve never seen anyone look so sick—didn’t