The End of the Book by Porter Shreve Read Free Book Online

interruption.
    â€œThere’s no such thing as an innocent ex,” she continued.
    â€œI haven’t a clue why she’d be calling,” I said.
    I had rarely seen this side of her—jealousy over someone from so long ago. Perhaps I had reason for insecurity, but not Dhara. I wondered if she’d had too much to drink. But her eyes were sharp as pins.
    When we first met, she was still grieving her mother, who had died of ovarian cancer in her fifties, and she was furious with her father for marrying a receptionist at the motel two years after burying his wife. Dhara and I had both lost our mothers and were baffled by our fathers, and she knew that just as I’d been around for her when it mattered, Lucy had been around for me. Could that explain the outburst?
    â€œYou once told me that Lucy was the love of your life,” Dhara said.
    â€œI don’t remember saying that. When?” I asked.
    â€œBefore we were dating, during the confessional stage of the mating dance.”
    â€œWell, if I ever said such a thing, I was wrong, because you are the love of my life. Isn’t it obvious?”
    â€œShould you have to ask?”
    â€œDhara, listen to me: We’re in one of the finest restaurants in the world, in the city where we met. It’s New Year’s Day 2009, the year of Hope ,” I said. “And it’s the first anniversary of our marriage, which was the best decision I ever made in my life.”
    â€œWas it your decision?”
    â€œIt was our decision.”
    â€œDo you ever wonder if it was the right decision?”
    â€œWhat’s gotten into you? We shouldn’t be talking about a meaningless phone call. We should be talking about our wedding. Remember after the ceremony when we played that game?”
    â€œYou don’t even know what it’s called.”
    â€œGive me a minute.” I hesitated. The name wasn’t coming to me.
    â€œ Aeki-Baki ,” she said.
    We’d limited the number of rituals and games at the wedding, but this one got a great laugh and had become a running joke with her family. One of the bridesmaids mixed a pot of water with milk and vermilion and threw a ring and some coins into the cloudy broth. Dhara and I were told that the first of us to fish out the ring four times would be the dominant one, ruler of the roost. While I kept coming up empty or with a useless coin, Dhara plucked out the ring four times in a row.
    â€œYou’re the empress and I’m the serf,” I said. “So why are you acting like this?”
    But she’d lapsed into silence. She slid a palate cleanser onto her tongue. I sipped my wine, and my ears filled with the sound of the businessmen ordering single-estate cognac. More courses came by and we finished them without a word, and since the spell had been broken, the evening lost—all of this, I was quick to assure myself, through no fault of my own—I said, “My father’s moving in with us.”
    She sat back in her chair.
    â€œIt’s only temporary. I need more time to get him situated. A month. Maybe two.”
    She plunked down her glass of dry salted caramel, a space-age confection that expanded and softened in the mouth.
    â€œWe can’t afford a nursing home,” I continued. “But these last few days have made me realize he needs a nurse, or at least someone to make sure he’s taking his Coumadin.”
    â€œ We can’t afford one of those homes?” Dhara’s bottom lip was quivering. “You want to move him into my apartment?”
    â€œYes, we . We’re married. Not your apartment. Ours .”
    I went on, trying to make my case. I said he was the only family I had and she of all people should understand that no matter what a thorn in the side he’d been, he was my father, and I couldn’t allow him to waste away because that’s what he’d do if I put him in some transient apartment in Normal. When