Obit by Anne Emery Read Free Book Online Page B

high, made of plywood, and had padlocked doors; I supposed the basketballs and other pieces of equipment were kept in there. Standing beside the farthest closet in the row, we were partially sheltered from the eyes of the other guests. I leaned back against the cabinet, feeling the effectsof the alcohol that was thinning my blood and impairing my judgment. My wife wanted something.
    “Well? What was all that about? The business with the watch.”
    “Just a joke,” I hedged, but the professor of law wasn’t taken in by that, any more than a four-year-old would have been.
    “We’re all in this together, this little New York excursion you and Brennan cooked up. Part of the reason for the visit, aside from the nonsense you told me about Declan and that obituary, was Brennan’s insistence on seeing Sandra again. I guess they’ve patched things up. He does seem a little different tonight. Why are you being so buttoned up about it?”
    “How badly do you want to know?” I asked her. Fuelled partly by the alcohol and partly by the way her blue silk top set off her grey eyes and dusky hair, I put my arms around her and murmured: “You feel so good in this. Is it new?”
    “All my clothes are new to the touch as far as you’re concerned.”
    This wasn’t going to be easy. But, stupidly, I persisted. I moved my hands down her back and pulled her against me. She must have recalled something she still fancied about old Monty because she relaxed against me and put her mouth close to mine. “Tell me what went on,” she urged.
    “Why don’t we talk about it later?”
    “Feels to me as if you’re not going to last till later, Collins.”
    “I don’t have much choice, do I? Considering we’re in a room with three hundred people. Unless you want a quick and furtive encounter in one of these closets here.”
    “Right.” She pulled back. “So tell me. Who made the first move? Did Sandra call Brennan?”
    “I don’t think he heard from Sandra.”
    “What? That was Tuesday; this is Friday. You’re telling me he found someone else between then and now?” Her eyes were wide. The effects of our embrace were wearing off fast.
    “Well, it was at this blues bar we went to —”
    “A bar.”
    “Yeah, and this woman was a singer there. Amazing voice, very sultry, and —”
    “She seduced Brennan with her voice, did she?”
    “No, if anyone was the seducer, it was him.”
    “How do you know that? What did you do, watch?”
    “No, no, by the time he was at the hotel —”
    “The hotel? He was having it off with this woman at the hotel with you sitting there?”
    “No! I wasn’t there.”
    “Where were you?”
    I looked around at the other wedding guests, hoping they couldn’t hear us and wishing to hell I had stayed sober and intelligent for the evening. “Can we discuss this later?”
    “There is no later.” Fortunately, she was keeping her voice low. Low, but deadly. “You were with someone yourself. Less than twenty-four hours ago.”
    “No, it wasn’t like that. I —”
    “And you have the nerve to come on to me as if you sincerely wanted to reconcile! You flaming arsehole. You’ll be singing the blues all right. You’ll be holding a tin cup and singing ‘Buddy, can you spare a dime’ on Spring Garden Road before you get your hands, or any other part of your anatomy, on me again. You and Father Burke, trolling for women in a bar!”
    “Mum!” Saved by our daughter.
“Yes, sweetie?”
    “Can you come here? I need you. I don’t know where to pee!”
    “Right there, angel!” Maura assured her. “As for you, Collins, why don’t you screw yourself all up tight, and burrow down through this floor till you get to hell!”
    Why not indeed? I stood there for a few minutes trying to recover from my latest marital disaster, then straightened my clothes, yanked my tie into alignment and rejoined the party.
    I stood with Brennan, Patrick and Teresa Burke; they pointed out various relatives and told me