No Way Back by Matthew Klein Read Free Book Online Page A

she can’t ignore me any longer, she rises, finally, brushes mud from her gloves, cocks her head. I step into soft loamy soil – brown earth and
manure and peat – and walk through the vegetable garden. There are neatly-staked tomatoes tied to bamboo poles with green string, orderly rows of lettuce, sprigs of herbs.
    I say: ‘Still mad at me?’
    ‘For what?’ she asks.
    My wife’s question is a good one. There is so much to choose from. I shrug.
    ‘Of course not,’ she says.
    ‘How about a kiss then?’
    She hugs me awkwardly. She tilts her face up, and I kiss her. She wraps leather gardening gloves around my head, and I feel brittle dead animal skin on my neck, and pieces of dirt dropping into
my collar.
    We break the kiss.
    ‘You’re sweaty,’ she says.
    ‘I love you too.’
    ‘Want to see the house?’
    The house is faux Southern Genteel, an old white colonial, with a shaded portico and two wicker rocking chairs out front. There’s a big live oak shading the north
side.
    Inside it is tastefully decorated the way rentals usually are, with furniture chosen for sturdiness, not style. Colours are muted, designed not to offend. There’s a tall foyer in the
front, and a semicircular staircase leading up to the upper floor and, presumably, the bedrooms. The living room is off to the side, the kitchen in back. In the rear of the living room is a sliding
glass door leading to a patio, where I see a swimming pool among a grove of spiky palmettos.
    ‘What do you think?’ Libby asks.
    ‘Nice.’
    ‘I didn’t have much time to look, you know – just a week. There weren’t a lot of options.’ She sounds nervous, defensive.
    ‘It’s OK, Libby,’ I say. I squeeze her shoulder. ‘You done good.’
    She laughs. She sounds oddly anxious. ‘I didn’t think you’d like it. It seems a bit... ’ she searches for the word. ‘
Fake
.’
    I peer into the living room. The couch is canvas, dark brown, the colour of chocolate that has been left in a cupboard too long. A grandfather clock stands in the corner, encased in glass and
walnut. It ticks loudly. I don’t disagree with her
fake
comment, but I say: ‘We’re only here for twelve months. It’ll be our little adventure. Right?’
    ‘Right,’ Libby says, not sounding particularly adventurous.
    I met Libby eleven years ago, when I was Director of Sales at Lantek, the now-defunct Ethernet networking company. Those were the days when Lantek could sell as much gear as it could
manufacture, and I was pulling down more money in commissions than I ever imagined earning as the son of a San Jose cop. I was just one more idiotic sales executive speeding around the Valley in
his Porsche, attributing my success to talent rather than luck, hitting on waitresses, and generally enjoying life far too much.
    Libby was one of those waitresses. She worked at The Goose, a Lantek watering hole. Most of The Goose’s customers hit on her – often giving new meaning to the establishment’s
name – and so my own advances, which consisted merely of words, didn’t seem particularly egregious.
    But they were persistent. Relentlessly persistent.
    I asked out the woman who would become my wife four times before she finally agreed to be alone in a room with me.
    The first time I asked Libby out, she told me very calmly to go to hell. I still remember the way she said those words,
Go to hell.
Even today, I remember. They weren’t angry
words, which is what surprised me. They were gentle. She said
Go to hell
, and she pointed her finger, as if to indicate helpfully which way to start walking.
    The second time I asked Libby out, two days later, she threw her head back, and laughed, as if I had said something hilarious. ‘Very funny, Jimmy!’ she told me, when she recovered.
‘Me and you on a date!’ Then she walked off, laughing still.
    That took a little wind out of my sails, I have to admit, and so I didn’t dare a third attempt until a few months later. It happened