Another Marvelous Thing by Laurie Colwin Read Free Book Online Page A

to Scotland to visit Grey’s sister and her family.
    These recollections were not sweet to Billy, although that time had been one of the sweetest in Billy’s life. It was disconcerting to be dreaming of a lovely time spent with your husband when you were, as Billy was, waiting for your lover.
    Francis Clemens had taken his wife, Vera, to the airport, and now Billy was tracking his probable progress back into the city. Vera was consulting on the construction of a library for handicapped citizens in Seattle. By this time, Billy figured, Francis would be driving through the Midtown Tunnel and soon enough would be cruising her block for a parking space.
    Billy’s previously safe, organized, and tidy life had been transformed, by the presence of this extraordinary irritant, into something resembling one of those oddly shaped freshwater pearls—Billy knew about these because of an interest in zoology, not jewelry.
    As wool prices reached their zenith between 1450 and 1550, farmland was worth more as pasturage, and farm laborers were suddenly out of work. This simple switch destroyed entire hamlets. It was the history of one such hamlet Billy was describing. The topic of her dissertation turned Francis glassy-eyed: his passion for Billy did not mitigate his indifference to the medieval wool trade. The business of money, which held no charm for Billy at all, was Francis’s meat and drink. He loved to put together a complicated transaction. This left Billy cold. Economics was a science, an art, an approach to things. Francis, on the other hand, delighted in making money. What were they doing together? Billy wondered.
    The doorbell rang. The extraordinary irritant had arrived. He hung his dripping raincoat on a hook in the hall and surveyed Billy. She stood before him wearing a football jersey, a pair of faded trousers, and socks.
    â€œA vision of radiant loveliness,” Francis said.
    â€œI’m so sorry,” Billy said. “The laundry ruined my filmy peignoir.”
    â€œGet me a towel,” said Francis. “I’m soaked.”
    He followed her upstairs to the bathroom and permitted a towel to be hung around his neck. The bathroom was at the top of the stairs. Next to it was Billy’s study, where, on Billy’s hard, ratty couch, she and Francis had been lovers many times.
    Francis was tall and slender. His hair was turning gray on the sides. He looked down at Billy and she looked up at him. In an instant they were in each other’s arms and very soon thereafter they found themselves on Billy’s couch. Meanwhile, a thunderstorm moved overhead, accompanied by dangerous lightning as Francis and Billy lay on Billy’s couch covered by the limp, faded quilt.
    â€œYou look happy,” Billy said.
    â€œOf course I look happy,” said Francis. “Aren’t you happy?”
    He was answered by one of Billy’s long silences.
    â€œAren’t you?” he said again.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œYou’re never happy with me?”
    â€œNo,” said Billy.
    Francis sat up. The quilt slipped off his somewhat bony shoulder. He turned to her.
    â€œIs that true?” he said.
    â€œYes,” said Billy. “That doesn’t mean I don’t want to be with you. It just means that I’m not very happy about these circumstances. It doesn’t seem very appropriate to be happy.”
    This time Francis was silent.
    â€œI’m starving,” he said after a while.
    â€œUmm,” said Billy. She had drifted away. Outside the rain beat down and the thunder was so loud it made the windows rattle.
    â€œReally starving,” Francis said. “I don’t suppose you have as much as a moldy piece of bread in your so-called pantry.”
    â€œNot so much as,” said Billy, yawning. Francis could count on the fingers of one hand the meals she had given him, mostly canned soup.
    â€œLet’s go to my house,” Francis said.
    â€œNever,”