The Ninth Wife by Amy Stolls Read Free Book Online Page B

had it been her cause, but she understood my need for a better life and immigration laws being what they were, she wanted to do her part. I didn’t tell her I wasn’t from the North; I just let her talk until what she was saying sounded fishy to me and I told her as much, to which she admitted that, additionally, her parents had been trying to marry her off to their neighbor’s son and she wanted them off her back once and for all. Still, you’re only in your second year of study, says I to her, wouldn’t they wait until you graduate? Let them get used to it, she says. Won’t they be mad? They’ll get over it, she says. She had an answer like that for everything and a way of making you feel like she was fully in control and you needn’t worry your not-so-clever brain about it any further. And anyway, she said if we were married she could move out of the dorm and we could split the rent on an apartment.
    So really, it was all sounding good, but even so I said I had to think about it and she reminded me that I didn’t have a lot of time, and what time we did have we should spend getting to know each other, taking photographs by way of documenting our courtship so as not to raise any eyebrows at the immigration offices. She approached our impending marriage like a class, asking me questions, taking notes, studying and memorizing. I tried to keep up, but she liked to smoke dope while we studied and it just always made me forgetful and sleepy. But not Carol, she could multitask. I can picture her even now, leaning against her big red satin pillows on the floor blowing smoke, repeating back to me the names of my teachers.
    And yet we pulled it off, the whole thing. We got married by a local justice of the peace and she told her parents over the phone. I didn’t hear their initial reaction, but weeks later they came for dinner at our new empty, echoing apartment in Somerville and they were actually pleasant to me. That Carol invited them in the first place was a surprise given how much she said she hated them. They were uptight and snooty, that was all true—you couldn’t get more awkward-looking than they did sitting on the floor eating stir-fry with chopsticks—but they never complained and when they left they hugged me and said welcome to the family, we’re glad to have you. I asked Carol about it later, but she dismissed me, saying it was my charm that won them over, but I’ll tell you the truth, I hadn’t developed any charm yet, not at all.
    Anyway, I let it be and Carol and I slipped into a routine. She had the bedroom because she paid more of the rent. I slept in the living room on the sofa. She continued her classes and even went away for some volunteer job in South America much of the summer. I took out a loan with her help and enrolled in classes at a community college, though I continued to work construction and play at the bar for cash. Given our schedules that first year, we hardly saw each other, and if I did see her at home she was with her friends who were a motley group, I’ll tell you. Nice people, if eccentric. Seemed like the guys wore the girls’ clothes and vice versa, her girlfriends all in baggy pants and tweed jackets and ties. But her friends didn’t bother me and I didn’t bother them.
    Now I know you’re wondering: Did we ever sleep together? I tell you no, we didn’t. Carol didn’t flirt with me. She teased me like I was her little brother, and in the way of teenage siblings she was careful never to let me see her nude. So you’re wondering again: Did I sleep with other girls during my marriage to Carol? Yes. Can you blame me? I didn’t do it all the time and I didn’t flaunt it. I can say it was the age and place for sexual freedom and see if you know what I mean, but it wasn’t that. I was lonely. Carol and I hardly ever touched, not even a hug or a pat on the back, and I missed Maggie. I didn’t even want just sex from these girls, I wanted to stay and talk and do things