The Judas Glass by Michael Cadnum Read Free Book Online Page A

understanding.
    I made coffee, poured whole beans into the electric grinder, set the coffee filter in place, the deliberate steps a boy would take when asked to make fresh coffee for his parents.
    When I had a nice steaming cup of French roast I strode into the living room and said the words I had planned. They came out pretty well, without preamble. “I’ll go stay in one of Steve’s apartments.”
    She took her time turning to look at me. I could see her debating whether or not to have that important conversation now. “We’ll have plenty of time to talk,” she said. “I do have some regard for your feelings. You’re upset.”
    The living room was not as cluttered as it had appeared last night. The cello-like shape against the wall was what it appeared to be, a stringed instrument, and the Easter-Island profile was a carved Polynesian idol, grimacing, showing its teeth made of cowries. Connie made money in her shop, but she spent the cash on new imports and paid a crushing insurance premium every six months. Every now and then our home became a temporary showroom, when her shop was crowded and someone had driven up from Carmel to pick up a five-thousand-year-old Cycladic figurine that would match their new sofa.
    â€œI know it’s a little like having a spat right after Pearl Harbor, but I feel like finishing everything.” I sounded like a man who would torch his own home.
    â€œShut up, Richard. I want to have a nice long talk. We can both air out our feelings. This isn’t the time.”
    â€œAsk me. Anything you want to know.”
    Connie looked away, gazing at the fierce mouth of the wooden idol.
    I told her everything, with some soft-focus over the sex, the other, spoken intimacies. But I held nothing else back. Rebecca’s music, her blindness, her fondness for scrambled egg sandwiches. It didn’t even take very long. This secret love, this wonderful, departed woman, and I could summarize my love for her in the same amount of time it took a cup of coffee to go from hot to warm.
    Connie straightened the wrinkles out of her skirt, smoothing them with one hand. “I know how much you need me,” she said.
    â€œConnie, you don’t grasp this essential point. Give Stella a call. She’s smart. She’s fair. She wouldn’t mind giving you a little legal advice. It’s time we both woke up.”
    â€œYou think it’s that simple. We’ll file some papers and end what we have together.”
    â€œIt’s already over.”
    â€œI won’t forget how you treated me, Richard. You have torn something out of me.” She was at the front door, years of television causing me to expect the parting zinger, the exit punchline. For the moment, she had power over me, and she knew it.
    This was her chance, a crippling parting shot. She stood at the door, looked at me, and said, “Our marriage may be over. I’m not conceding that it is. But I’m going to see you through this crisis. Before I can help you, though, I do think I’ll need some time to myself, to prioritize.” Prioritize was one of Connie’s pet words. She liked to make lists, what had to be done and when. My name would move to the top of her list.
    Once again I felt sorry for Connie. I stood there watching her back down the driveway in her Volvo. She caught my eye from the driver’s seat, just before she steered the car up the street.
    Neither of us waved.

8
    They were in the phone book, Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Pennant. I called them, and Simon answered. I asked how Rebecca’s parents were bearing up, and I heard the young man take a shaky breath and let it out again before he answered. “Not so good,” he said.
    â€œMaybe if there was something I could say to them—”
    â€œThe minister is here,” said Simon.
    There was a voice in the background, Rebecca’s father. I couldn’t make out what he was saying. There