A Life Transparent Read Free Page B

stood and walked to the fridge to examine their cat-themed calendar. A kitten-shaped magnet held it to the refrigerator door.
    “We could go early next month,” she offered, “before the tourists start to arrive.”
    He flipped back and forth between the current month and the next, frowning. “Honey, I—” he began, but then interrupted himself. “Oh hell.”
    “What?”
    He held out the calendar page and pointed to a circled date. “Today’s the 16th.”
    Donna shrugged. “So?”
    “It’s Michael’s birthday.”
    Before she could say anything else, he reaffixed the calendar to the fridge door and reached for the wall-mounted phone. He lifted the receiver from its cradle and dialed. Donna sighed and mumbled something. He turned away just as she rose from her seat to begin clearing the table. By the time his brother answered the phone, she was already running water in the sink.
    “Hello?”
    Donna clanged dishes into the sink basin.
    “Mike,” Donovan said. “Happy birthday.”
    Michael Candle chuckled. “Oh. Damn, already?”
    “Wasn’t sure I’d catch you at home. Figured you’d be out chasing crooks and the like.”
    “Ah well, you know me. Always busy.”
    Although Donovan grew up reading the work of Raymond Chandler, he never fashioned himself as much of a detective. His brother, on the other hand, eschewed the fiction of their youth and chose to make detective work his career. Donovan admired Michael’s dedication to hard-boiled facts, so it didn’t surprise him when Michael struck out on his own as a licensed private investigator.
    Whenever Donovan spoke about his brother, he was always sure to mention Michael’s career as a Private Eye.
    Donna turned off the faucet. Dishes clanked together in the sink.
    “So ...” his brother said. The lingering tension in his voice made Donovan uncomfortable. “What’s up, Don? How’s life?”
    He sucked in his breath. He pictured his brother on the other end of the line, his arms crossed, with a contrived smirk on his face. Their conversations, however innocent, always shifted focus to Donovan’s quality of life. It could only get worse. He cleared his throat and tried to redirect the conversation’s flow.
    “Same as usual. Say, have you spoken to the folks lately?”
    “Nah. You?”
    “A couple weeks ago. They called from Rio.”
    “Rio de Janeiro?”
    “Yeah. Crazy, isn’t it?”
    Their parents always spoke of seeing the world after they retired. Now, with their father’s pension paid out, they decided to make good on their dream. Their travel agent booked a month-long continent hop. Imagining his folks reclining on some white-sanded beach along the Equator made him smile. He glanced over at Donna. He hoped they would be able to travel someday.
    His face fell when he remembered her request for a weekend vacation. Maybe they could, but not in the near future. They had to save their money for the baby.
    “Don? You there?”
    “Huh? Yeah. Sorry, just spaced out for a sec.”
    “I asked how the wife’s doing?”
    He looked at Donna. He could see the rigid frown on her face as she finished the dishes.
    “Donna’s just fine. Feisty as ever.”
    She paused for a moment, shot him a quick glance, then splashed her hands back into the dishwater.
    “How’s—how’s
your
girl? Jennifer, right? Any kids yet?”
    It was laughable, the thought of Michael having children. He was too wrapped up in his own life to focus on kids. It was astounding that he even had time to date. Donovan hadn’t met Michael’s new girlfriend, but he hoped to soon. From what his brother told him, she seemed lovely, a perfect match.
    Michael said, “No, no kids yet.”
    “You know, Donna and I are trying. You might be an u—”
    “You still a phone jockey?”
    Donovan closed his mouth.
Uncle
, he finished. Thick pockets of heat collected around his face, accenting his shame. The phone’s plastic casing popped, and he realized he was gripping it too hard. That