Don't Cry: Stories by Mary Gaitskill Read Free Book Online Page A

but—”
    “Oh for crying out loud!” Anna Lee put her hands over her face and turned away. “Just stop. Why don’t you just stop.”
    “But I didn’t mean it to be—”
    “He’s not your enemy now,” said Anna Lee. "He’s dying.”
    Her voice was raw and hard; she thrust it at Laura like a stick. Laura pictured her sister at twelve, yelling at some mean boys who’d cornered a cat. She felt loyalty and love. “I’m sorry,” she said.
    Anna Lee reached back and patted Laura’s stomach with her fingers and half her palm. Then she withdrew into her private curl. Laura lay awake through the night. Anna Lee moved and
    scratched herself and spoke in urgent, slurred monosyllables. Laura thought of their mother, alone upstairs in the heavy sleep brought on by barbiturates. Tomorrow, she would be at the stove, boiling Jell- O in case her husband would eat it. She didn’t really believe he was dying. She knew it, but she didn’t believe it anyway.
    Carefully, Laura got out of bed. She walked through the dark house until she came to her father’s room. She heard him breathing before her eyes adjusted to the light. His breath was like a worn-out moth feebly beating against a surface. She sat in the armchair beside his bed. The electric clock said it was 4:30. A passing car on the street filled the room with a yawning sweep of light. The wallpaper was covered with yellow flowers. Great-Aunt’s old dead clock sat on the dresser. Great-Aunt was her father’s aunt, who had raised him with yet another aunt. Two widowed aunts and a little boy with no father. Laura could see the boy standing in the parlor, all his brand-new life coursing through his small, stout legs and trunk. The dutiful aunts, busy with housekeeping and food, didn’t notice it. In his head was a new solar system, crackling with light as he created the planets, the novas, the sun and the moon and the stars. “Look!” he cried. “Look!” The aunts didn’t see. He was all alone.
    Another car went by. Her father muttered and made noises with his mouth.
    No wonder he hated them, thought Laura. No wonder.
    Behind the reception desk, there were two radios playing different stations for each secretary. One played frenetic electronic songs, the other formula love songs, and both ran together in a gross hash of sorrow and desire. This happened every day by around 1:00 p.m. Faith, who worked behind the desk, said it was easy to separate them, to just concentrate on the one you wanted. Laura, though, always heard both of them jabbering every time she walked by the desk.
    “Alice Dillon?” She spoke the words to the waiting room. A shabby middle-aged man eyed her querulously. A red-haired middle-aged woman put down her magazine and approached Laura with a mild, obedient air. Alice was in for a physical, so Laura had to give her a preliminary before the doctor examined her. First, they stopped at the scale outside the office door; Alice took off her loafers, her socks, and her sweater to shave off some extra ounces. A lot of women did that, and it always seemed stupid to Laura. “Five four, one hundred and twenty-six pounds,” she said loudly.
    “Shit,” muttered Alice.
    “Look at the bright side,” said Laura. “You didn’t gain since last time.”
    Alice didn’t reply, but Laura sensed an annoyed little buzz from her. She was still buzzing slightly as she sat in the office; even though she was small and placid, it struck Laura that she gave off a little buzz all the time. She was forty-three years old, but her face was unlined and her eyes were wide and receptive, like a much younger person’s. Her hair was obviously dyed, like a teenager would do it. You could still tell she was middle-aged, though.
    She didn’t smoke, she exercised three times a week, and she drank twice weekly, wine with dinner. She was single. Her aunt had diabetes and her mother had ovarian cancer. She had never had an operation, or been hospitalized. Her periods were