Spiderman 3 by Peter David Read Free Book Online Page A

that it was given to her by Ben probably made it huge in her eyes. "This ring, dazzling, in front of me. I thought it was the sun." She looked at it with a trace of sadness. "We'd be married fifty years come August if… if someone hadn't been…" Her voice dropped, and in a husky tone, clearly trying to compose herself, she sighed, "Oh, God," as if annoyed with her own weakness. She clenched her hand into a fist, then let out a soft sigh like a cleansing breath. "So," she said, "make it very special for that lovely girl. Do something she'll never forget." She hesitated only for an instant, then she pulled the engagement ring from her finger and held it out to Peter. "And give her this."
    Peter was stunned by the generosity. His instinct was to protest, to say that he couldn't. How could he possibly take one of her fondest memories of Uncle Ben? Then he realized that, with or without the ring on her finger, the memory would remain intact. Furthermore, if Peter had learned one thing in his life, it was never to argue with May Parker when she had a particular determined look on her face—as she did now.
    Giving in to the inevitable, he took the ring from her with great care and in a hushed tone said, "Thank you, Aunt May."
    She nodded once, the deal sealed, and then her eyes sagged slightly. She pulled herself back from fatigue and said, "It's late. You better go on home."
    Peter gathered up his things as May cleared the china from the kitchen table.
    As he headed for the front door, Peter's gaze fell upon the old, small upright piano on the near wall. He remembered with great amusement all the times that, in his youth, Aunt May had sat with him and forced him to practice. She had disdained the need for a piano teacher. "Why spend good money to have someone teach him something that I already know," she had sniffed whenever Ben had suggested someone else be brought in to show Peter the ropes. Peter had come to despise the instrument, far preferring to stay up in his room and read his books since he knew he was good at that. Now, though, as an adult, he had come to appreciate May's intentions in widening his horizons.
    As a gesture of appreciation, he slid onto the piano bench, sat with his fingers poised over the keys, called up the strains of Debussy's "Clair de Lune" from those long-ago lessons, and started to play.
    It was… uninspiring.
    Frighteningly enough, Peter remembered "Clair de Lune" as one of his stronger pieces, so he shuddered to think what the
William Tell
overture must have sounded like to adult ears. As it was, he stumbled through the first few bars as best he could. Aunt May kept a smile plastered on her face, but he could see her eyes wincing with every misplayed note, of which there were more than a few.
    Peter's musical effort was mercifully cut short by an irritated banging on the floor from the poor devil living underneath, who didn't apparently feel like being serenaded, badly, at whatever time in the morning
it
was. Pulling his hands away from the keyboard as if
it
had caught fire, Peter said in a lame attempt at self-defense, "Needs tuning."
    Aunt May grinned as she held the door open for him. Peter pulled his helmet on and she patted him on the arm as he passed. "After you're married, feel free to visit me. Only come a little earlier."
    He hugged his beloved aunt, the woman who had raised him, and headed out the door, feeling far lighter in spirit than he had in weeks.
    The feeling stayed with him all the way back to his Manhattan apartment. Although naturally he was paying attention to the road the entire ride, he was still unaware of the passage of time. His mind was awhirl with images of Mary Jane accepting his proposal, of their marriage, honeymooning, having children, growing old together. He savored every one.
    Life was good.
    Almost too good
, his ever-sour subconscious warned him, bur he dismissed that sort of thinking. As he pulled his bike up to his apartment building, killing the motor, he