St. Patrick's Bed (Ashland, 3) by Terence M. Green Read Free Book Online Page A

"You'll get no argument from me."
    "Course I won't. It's true."
    "What about Ted and Irma?"
    "What about them?"
    "Aren't they exceptions? They seem pretty happy."
    More thought. Then: "Nah. She's a little bit nuts."
    "Why?"
    "She actually does have a dog. She thinks he needs braces."
    I laughed.
    "Says he has an overbite. God knows what she thinks about Ted."
    "Scratch behind my ears?"
    A smile.
    "Straighten my tail?"
    She crooked her finger, twice, beckoning. "You come over here and I'll rub your belly."
    It was my turn to smile.
    "Women are high maintenance. Men are low maintenance."
    It was true. It was profound. She was a genius.
    Her finger called me twice more, like underwater sea grass, undulating.
    I think I salivated and panted. In fact, I'm sure I did.
     
    Then there was the time—earlier that summer—that she told me that she was a logistical genius—as well as a sexual one, of course.
    "I didn't know you knew the word 'logistical,' " I said.
    "I know a lot of words, smart guy."
    I nodded. "If I turn off the lights, will you whisper some of them in my ear?"
    "That's part of my sexual genius. This is different."
    I waited. "You have my full attention."
    "Adam's car ran out of gas this morning on his way to work."
    Adam had a 1990 Toyota Tercel. It functioned for him much the way my 1960 Chev Impala had for me at his age.
    "He had to leave it on Logan, near Gerrard. He phoned and told me about it after he finally got to work— late—said he couldn't get away from the store. Asked me if I'd do him a favor—take my car and get some gas, put it in his car, because he didn't have a gas can and it was too far to carry it even if he did have one."
    I was trying hard to follow.
    "So I did. Got his spare keys from his room, got a can of gas from the corner. They made me leave a twenty-dollar deposit on the damn thing. Poured the gas into his car, then got to thinking."
    I frowned.
    She smiled slyly.
    "This is where the genius part comes in." I folded my hands.
    "Pure genius," she said.
    "I'm hanging on your every word."
    "So I started thinking," she said, "about how pleased and surprised he'd be if I could get his car to him so that he'd have it right after work. Have it sitting there in the parking lot behind the store."
    "The perfect mother."
    "And wife."
    "And wife. Of course."
    "But I had my own car with me."
    I listened. Smiled. Patient. No idea where this was going.
    "I couldn't drive two cars at the same time."
    "Can't see how," I said.
    "And I didn't want to leave my own car there."
    I sat back then, bemused, crossed my arms.
    "So I drove my car for two blocks, got out, locked it, went back to Adam's, drove it two blocks ahead of mine, got out, locked it, walked back to my car, drove it two blocks ahead of Adam's . . ."
    "You didn't."
    "I did."
    I laughed.
    She beamed. "Took me half an hour."
    "All the way to The Book Cellar."
    "That's right. Put it in the lot behind the store. Went in and told Adam. He told everyone in the store that his mother was a logistical genius."
    "That's where you heard it."
    "From my very own son. One genius begets another."
    "I'm the luckiest guy in town. Surrounded by geniuses." I raised my arms expansively.
    "I know another big word too." She leaned over me, whispered it in my ear.
    She had my full attention again. I was indeed low maintenance. She was incredible.
     
    The leapfrogging car story was a good example of how she'd do anything for her son.
    He was my son too.
    The Bobby Swiss thing was something we were having trouble with, though. Lots of trouble. Jeanne was like I had been originally—hoping it would all go away by itself, afraid to mention it.
    And although we didn't talk about it much, we thought about it a lot. I could see it in her eyes—something new, mixed with something old. There were moments of silence when I'd glance at her. We both knew.
    The more I thought about it—doing dishes in the evening, in the shower in the morning—a strange plan was beginning