The Art of Mending by Elizabeth Berg Read Free Book Online

the sound of a toilet flushing. “I’m going back to bed,” Caroline said quickly. The hall light turned on, and she disappeared into the living room, where she was bedded down on the sofa.
    Then the overhead kitchen light turned on and my mother was standing there, squinting against the brightness. “Is everything all right?”
    “Yes, I was just hungry. I had a little snack.”
    “Are you the only one up? I thought I heard talking.”
    “Caroline was up. But she went back to sleep.”
    “Oh?” She looked back toward the living room, then expectantly at me.
    “She was just up for a minute. You didn’t miss a thing. Go back to bed.”
    I started for the basement steps and she said, “Are you comfortable down there? Cool enough?”
    “We’re fine.”
    “Because I’ve got another fan if you need it.”
    “We’re all right.”
    “Maybe that little revolving one. You could put it on the night table.”
    “Mom!”
    She raised her hands in surrender. Then she turned to exit the room, that old runway spin.
    “Mom?”
    She turned back.
    “Thanks, though.”
    “You’re welcome.”
    Pete awakened as I climbed back into bed. “Hi,” he said sleepily, pulling me close to him. He kissed my neck, started caressing my breast.
    “Don’t,” I whispered.
    “Why?”
    “It’s my
parents’
house.”
    “And?”
    “Come on. I can’t do it in my parents’ house.”
    “I can,” Pete said. I kissed him quickly, then turned away from him, saying, “Go to sleep.” But then, after a moment, I reached back and put my hand on his thigh, and we both stayed up awhile longer. Sometimes it embarrassed me, how happy we were. Sometimes it seemed like I was making it up.

6
    I WAS UP EARLY, STARTING COFFEE IN THE KITCHEN, when my mother appeared. “I don’t think I slept more than three hours last night,” she said.
    I turned, coffee measure in my hand, midair. “Why?”
    She sat heavily at the table. “Your father. He said he felt dizzy last night, and then early this morning he said his arm felt numb.”
    “Oh, my God, it’s his heart!”
    “No, no, it’s not. It’s nothing like that. He just had a checkup. I think he slept on it wrong.”
    “Let me take a look at him,” I said. As if I’d know anything. But I was the oldest, so I acted like I did.
    “He’s asleep again. I’m sure it’s no emergency. Let him be.”
    “You’re sure?” I looked toward their bedroom.
    “Yes. Believe me, this is not the first time he’s kept me up half the night with one complaint or another that turns out to be absolutely nothing. He’s beginning to become a bit of a hypochondriac. It’s hard not to, at our age, when so many of our friends . . .” She stood, took the coffee measure from me. “Anyway. I’ll do this. And then let me make your breakfast. What would you like, French toast? Pancakes?”
    I sat back down at the kitchen table. “Just coffee. The kids will be up soon, and then we’re going right over to the fair.”
    “Are you all going together?” She flipped the switch for the coffee and sat down with me. Almost instantly, the satisfying aroma of brewing coffee filled the air. “Are Steve and Caroline going with you too?”
    “Yes. And you and Dad are coming too, right?”
    “Maybe you should go on ahead of us—he was awake so much last night. Call me in a couple of hours. I’m sure he’ll be up by then, and we’ll figure out a place to meet.”
    “Are you’re really sure he’s all right?”
    “I’m sure. When he wakes up, he’ll be in better shape than
I
am.”
    Caroline came into the kitchen, yawning. “Is the coffee done?”
    “In a minute,” my mother said.
    “Yeah, but I need a cup right now. Don’t you have one of those coffee interruptus things?”
    “It’ll be done in a minute, Caroline.”
    Caroline sat at the table with us. “I suppose you’ll be wanting to go on the roller coaster again,” she told me.
    “Don’t I always?”
    “Aren’t we too old now? It’ll