Brick by Brick by Maryn Blackburn Read Free Book Online Page B

was I now?
    “We don’t have to. But I know exactly what you mean. We made Joel during a period like that. All of a sudden we were like adulterers, grabbing every opportunity. Which meant every night.”
    Something about Cynthia engendered trust, as if I’d known her for years. “That’s us. I’m insatiable.”
    Cynthia laughed too loudly, then covered her mouth again. “Doesn’t he bring the, you know, the book to a satisfying conclusion?”
    “Two or three times, usually.”
    She leaned confidentially close. “Oh, my, he’s good for three? You’re married to Superman.”
    “No, he’s just the once. I’m Superwoman. Is there a Superwoman?”
    “Not that I recall, unless she keeps the superhouse superspotless. Jacob hadn’t learned to climb out of his crib in our bedroom yet, so Doug and I were all over the house with it, everywhere but the bedroom. There was always something digging into my back.”
    “And his knees.” I wouldn’t tell her how dirty the cab of James’s truck was, or how public the carport felt even though none of the neighbors’ lights were on so early in the morning. “Although we did find my pearl earring that way.” I’d been afraid to vacuum until it turned up.
    “Be glad you didn’t lose a needle, huh?” Cynthia grinned. “I remember walking around knowing that every man who saw me wanted me, never mind that I needed to shave my legs and get a haircut.”
    It was my turn to laugh too loud. “Right. The most casual glance and I just know.”
    “Well, in your case it’s probably true. It’s fun to feel like some earthy fertility goddess. For real, I guess. Joel’s the proof of that.”
    “Not us. We’ve tried for years. The doctor says there’s nothing wrong with me, but James—” I covered my mouth, aware I was giving way too much personal information.
    “Refuses to make his deposit in a cup, right? Men. So, what are you reading?”
    * * * *
    James presented the heating pad, hot tea, and remote control when my period came.
    “I need alcohol, not tea.”
    “There’s still some Michelob.”
    “Ugh, not beer. Let’s open the last bottle of red.”
    I might as well have slapped him; he looked that startled and a bit stung. “No. If you need wine, I’ll get you some.”
    “He isn’t going to call, James. Just open it. I hurt.”
    “We’re not opening Gage’s bottle.”
    “What, he matters more than I do? Then marry him.”
    James slammed the door on the way out, and it pleased me that his old truck didn’t want to start right away. I should just open the wine anyway, and the hell with him and Gage both.
    Before I heard his tires spit gravel, I’d turned up the volume and was stabbing the remote, like some engrossing cop show or murder mystery would make me forget that James didn’t much care how I felt.
    I settled for something with explosions and fake perspiration, but it didn’t hold my attention. Neither could the book Cynthia had loaned me. I’d have liked to fall asleep over one or the other, but between the cramps and the agitation from our argument, I couldn’t.
    Nearly two hours later James returned. He poured me warm sauvignon blanc without saying a word. I sipped dutifully and pretended not to notice the shreds of cork floating in the glass or the smell of beer floating on his breath.
    I clicked the TV off. “We need to talk.”
    “What for? You got your wine.”
    “Because I feel terrible, but hey, I’m just your wife. He’s movie star Gage Strickland. The way you’re hoarding a one-night-stand bottle of wine makes me feel like his ‘do me’ matters more than my ‘I do.’” Tears filled my eyes. I turned my face away, cursing hormones.
    “What? Jesus.” James sighed. “Natalie, it’s a memento. We’ve got a drawerful of programs and ticket stubs, the shells from Mexico, your rocks from Cape Cod, even that damned pillow.”
    I couldn’t help smiling, remembering all my triumphant one-sided pillow fights armed with I Spit a