The Law of Similars by Chris Bohjalian Read Free Book Online

meant you."
    "You mean, do I have friends?"
    "Yes. You."
    "Of course I do. I just never see them. Sometimes I talk to them on the phone. Mostly I send them E-mail."
    "But isn't there someone you, I don't know, play squash with during lunch?"
    "When I actually have a free lunch hour, it's usually spent buying Pocahontas underpants and little tiny socks. Or grocery shopping for nonperishables so Abby and I don't have to ruin a Saturday stocking up on cereal and toilet paper for the week. Recently I tried squeezing in visits to the health club, but it didn't last. And that really wasn't about bonding, anyway. It was about not dying any sooner than I have to."
    "Who do you talk to--or E-mail--most?"
    "Probably Steve Wagner."
    "I know that name."
    "He's the Chief Medical Examiner for the state of Vermont."
    "And he's your best friend...."
    "It's not as ghoulish as it sounds," I said, but I nevertheless found myself thinking back on what I'd told her so far. I wondered if I sounded pathetic.
    "You said you don't date much because of Abby. If Elizabeth had died before you two had any children, do you think you'd be dating now?"
    "Meaning?"
    She shrugged. "Do you think your libido survived Elizabeth's death?"
    Well, I thought, there's my answer: I do sound pathetic. And ridiculous. Downright ridiculous.
    And yet, usually, I didn't view myself as either pathetic or ridiculous. Just overweight. Just a slightly overweight guy with a cold.
    "Oh, God," I asked, "must I do this?"
    "It helps me," she said, her voice even. "But no, you don't have to." She stared at me and then scribbled another note.
    "Oh, what the heck. I've never been to a therapist."
    "Even after the accident?"
    "Even then."
    "So my professional advice is to go for it. You've already shared a very great deal with me."
    And so I was off and running once more, telling her that my libido--a word I wasn't sure I'd ever verbalized in my life until then--was just fine. Teenage boys, I heard myself saying, spent less time surfing the Internet for smut than I did, and were certainly less creative about it. After all, how many fifteen-year-olds would think to search linking the words female and ejaculation?
    "But you have so little time to begin with," she said.
    "Oh, you know, just the morning routine: Shave, shower. See what the Web has to say about cunnilingus while sipping my coffee."
    I watched Carissa think for a brief moment, then jot a quick note. Abruptly I became aware of the sorts of things she might or might not read into my body language, and so I spread my arms like an eagle's wings across the back of the couch and uncrossed my legs.
    "Let's talk a little bit about your digestion," she said.
    "My digestion."
    "How is it?"
    "It works. Given the five--okay, ten--pounds I should drop, my appetite seems fine."
    "Do you lean toward constipation? Or diarrhea?"
    "I don't have a preference. Neither, in my experience, is especially pleasant."
    "You know what I mean. 'Fess up."
    "I think I tend toward the...the solid end of the spectrum. I guess I get a lot of iron in my diet."
    "Once a day? Twice a day?"
    "Every other day."
    She reached for the hardcover book without a dust jacket on the table beside her chair and glanced at a page. The cloth cover reminded me of her jeans: once entirely blue, now faded in parts to white.
    "Any aversions?"
    "Aside from talking about my stools?"
    "Right."
    "Let's see. Dates--the food, not the male-female go-to-a-movie thing. There's another attorney in my office who must live on them. She's eating them constantly, and they've always looked to me like big Palmetto bugs. Roaches. Once she insisted I try one, and it only reinforced my disgust. It was exactly like eating a bug--or what I've always imagined eating a bug would be like."
    "Do all bugs make you a little squeamish?"
    "I hope not."
    "How do you feel about spiders?"
    "Oh, I guess I hate them. Especially mother spiders, late summer and early fall. They hang out like gigantic marbles with