The Empire of the Dead by Tracy Daugherty Read Free Book Online

smiled but her mood had slipped. “Wally?”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œDo you think we’ll ever get over it?”
    He searched her eyes.
    â€œYou know.”
    He had splattered soup on his shirt. He dabbed the spot with his napkin. “Naturally, certain individuals will never get over it,” he said. “But it seems to me that—except for the site itself—the city has moved on, for the most part. Doesn’t it seem so to you?”
    â€œYes. I guess. But—
should
we move on? Maybe
that’s
what I’m asking.”
    â€œAh.”
    â€œI mean, I know we have to. Sort of. But your hut—isn’t it …”
    Bern slid his hand toward hers—aware of the stain on his shirt, of the sweet smell of roses in the room. “Kate. By any chance, is this about New Orleans?”
    â€œI don’t know,” she said. “I—”
    â€œMaybe you should go back and see it. You still have friends there, right? Places that meant a lot to you.”
    â€œYes. My friends the Lindahls have … well, they lost …” She shook her head.
    â€œI’m not a believer in ‘closure,’” Bern said. “But I do trust reconnecting. Grounding oneself. When you told me you hadn’t been back since the storm, I confess I was shocked.”
    â€œFirst principles.”
    â€œYes.”
    She removed her hand from his. “Well, this is awfully gloomy talk for such a lovely evening. I’m sorry. How did we get into all that? I was telling you about my family, my trip to Ireland.” She refilled his wine glass.
    â€œWill you join me?” Bern said. “I can’t drink the whole bottle.”
    â€œI shouldn’t.” She wrinkled her nose. A little girl’s face: an attempt to pass off as trivial something quite serious. Bern sensed this immediately. “It’s annoying, and I can’t believe myself,” Kate said rapidly, her eyes full of reflected candle flames. The room’s low light and its shadows made her face fluid, her nose and lips resembling tips of underwater reeds, now foreshortened, now elongated as the candles flickered. “This morning I realized … I think I’m pregnant,” she said. “Pure carelessness. I haven’t told Gary, not until I’m absolutely certain, and he’s going to … Wally? Wally, what is it?”
    She stared at him as though she feared his heart had exploded. And his heartbeat
did
quicken, surprising him.
    â€œIt’s nothing, really. Just a little morning sickness,” Kate said. “That’s why I’m avoiding the alcohol.”
    Bern wiped his mouth and stood. He walked over to the bookshelves. Dizzy. The wine. The roses. He studied the face of a saint on one of the tall glass candleholders: an androgynous, childlike figure in a blue-plumed hat, with brown curly hair, dark eyes, and a rose-petal mouth. The saint, seated on a wooden throne, held a basket and a golden staff. “The Holy Child of Atocha,” said a paper label on the glass. “Purify our hearts by the example of your meekness.”
    He turned to Kate. Though she sat in shadow, he saw she had registered what surely marked his face. Sexual jealousy. A man of his age! Yes, yes: he was a pathetic gag gift at someone else’s party. A trick can of peanuts … pop the lid … the fake, ungainly snake.
    â€œOh shit,” Kate said.
    Bern stared at his shoes: smeared with the dirt of the streets.
    Kate carried the yellow soup bowls to her tiny kitchen sink. Death Cab shook the room. The flowers trembled. “I thought we … I thought you understood,” Kate said.
    â€œYes,” Bern said.
    â€œBut?”
    â€œBut.”
    She whirled to face him, her wet, soapy hands on her hips. “Can we get around this, Wally? I really enjoy our friendship.”
    Her words sent heat through his arms and caused an amorous swelling. Kate glanced at his