Cockfighter Read Free Book Online Page A

dinner?” she asked.
    â€œWe had a little something in Saint Cloud,” Ed admitted.
    â€œRestaurants!” she said. “Why didn’t you bring Frank on home to dinner when you were that close?” she scolded. “Sit down, Frank! How’ve you been? Could you eat a piece of key lime pie? Of course you can. I know you both want coffee.”
    As we sat down at the breakfast nook together, Ed said in a loud stage whisper, “I’m going to eat a piece even though I hate it.”
    â€œHa!” Martha said from beside the stove. “You hate it all right!”
    After we were served and eating our pie, there was nothing else Mrs. Middleton could do for us. She stood beside the table with her hands clasped beneath her apron, working her pursed lips in and out. I had the feeling that she wanted to ask me questions, but out of consideration for my so-called affliction, she wanted to phrase her questions so that I could answer them yes or no—and yet she couldn’t manage any questions of that kind. I hadn’t seen Mrs. Middleton or talked to her for at least four years. As I recalled, the last time I had seen her was at a banquet held following the International Cockfighting Tournament in Saint Petersburg. My “dumbness” had been a subject that she and her husband had undoubtedly discussed between them.
    â€œSit down, Martha,” Ed said. “Have a cup of coffee with us.”
    â€œAnd stay awake all night? No thanks.” She sat beside her husband, however, and smiled across the table. “Do you like the pie, Frank?”
    I kissed my fingertips and rolled my eyes toward the ceiling.
    â€œLime is Ed’s favorite.” She put a hand on her husband’s sleeve. “How was the trip, Ed?”
    Ed Middleton put his fork crosswise on his empty plate, wiped his lips with a napkin, and looked steadily at his wife. “The trip doesn’t matter, Martha,” he said, “because it was the last, the very last.”
    For a long time, a very long time it seemed to me, the elderly couple looked into each other’s eyes. Mr. Middleton smiled and nodded his head, and Martha’s lower lip began to tremble and her eyes were humid. An instant later she was crying. She hurriedly left the table, put her apron to her face and, still crying, ran out of the room.
    Mr. Middleton crumpled the square of linen and tossed it toward the stove. The napkin fluttered to the floor, and he smiled and shook his head.
    â€œShe’s crying because she’s happy,” he said. “Well, dammit, I promised to give up cockfighting, and a promise is a promise!” He got up from the table, doubled his right fist and punched me hard on the shoulder. “Pour yourself some more coffee, eat another piece of pie. I’ll be back in a minute.”
    He pushed through the swinging door and disappeared.
    The lime pie was tart and tasty, with a wonderful two-inch topping of snow white, frothy meringue. I ate two more pieces, drank two more cups of coffee. I smoked two cigarettes. Just as I was beginning to wonder whether Ed was going to come back to the kitchen or not, he pushed through the door.
    â€œCome on, Frank,” he snapped his fingers, “let’s go get your suitcase.
    We went out to his Caddy, and after he unlocked the doors, I got my suitcase out of the back. When we returned to the kitchen, he switched off the patio lights. I followed him through the living room and into his study.
    â€œThis was supposed to be a third bedroom,” he explained, “and it’s a lot larger than the other two bedrooms in the back. But Martha and I decided to each take a small bedroom apiece so our snoring wouldn’t bother each other. And besides, I needed a large room like this as an office. A big man needs a big room.” He opened the door leading to the bathroom. “Here’s the can, Frank. Take a shower if you want to. There’s always