A Wife of Noble Character Read Free

need?”
    â€œFor now.” He turned around and leaned against the counter, drying the mugs. Vivienne was standing at his father’s old mahogany shelf, scanning his books. She took one from the shelf, an old Agee first edition, also his father’s. She didn’t open the book, just held it, admiring its exterior.
    â€œI’d like to have more than one room, though, sooner than later,” Preston said.
    Vivienne slid the book back in place. “Do architects do well?” she said, turning her focus on him.
    Preston smiled. “Territory you haven’t thought to explore?”
    â€œThat’s not what I mean.”
    He shook his head mirthfully and went back to the coffee. “Then why ask?”
    She came over to his corner, arms akimbo. “Just because I asked if architects do well doesn’t mean I’m on the hunt for an architect husband. You always needle me.”
    â€œSlow down,” Preston said. He enjoyed riling her up like this; she was all pink in the cheeks. “Who said anything about hunting for husbands?”
    â€œNever mind,” she said.
    He laughed. “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you,” he said, even though he kind of was. He plunged the French press and poured the coffee, gave her the mug with the most crème on the top. She took it without saying anything, immediately closing her hands around it and bringing it to her face as if it were wintertime, and curled up in the armchair. She appeared to be pouting. Preston opened a window to let in some air. He sat at the edge of the bed, holding his mug on his knee.
    â€œArchitects can do very well later in their careers,” he said. “Entry-level positions in firms are slogs, though. In the beginning you’re a draftsman for the principal’s designs. It’s rare if you get to do your own design work, especially if you’re at a bigger firm. It’s a trade-off. At a bigger firm you do less design, but the salaries are better. At a smaller firm you get a pittance, but you get to design.”
    â€œYou’d rather get a pittance and design,” Vivienne said.
    â€œI would.”
    She blew on her coffee. “I don’t really drink coffee.”
    â€œSaid the girl drinking coffee.”
    She raised her eyes and smiled. It brightened the whole room.
    â€œI survive on coffee,” he said. As he said this, he realized how tired he was. His eyes felt dry; his head droned. Vivienne was so pretty that when he looked at her, he woke up a little.
    â€œI’d love to have my own place,” Vivienne said. “I’m living with my aunt. The neighborhood is too expensive.”
    â€œThis neighborhood is pretty cheap,” he offered, realizing as the words left him that she was nodding in an over-polite way, probably to conceal her displeasure at the idea of ever moving here.
    â€œMost of my friends live over there,” she said. “It’s home to me.” Over there meaning West—where the money was, where the yards were green and lawnmowers and leaf blowers roared all day long.
    â€œIt’s too seedy here?”
    â€œIt’s not seedy here,” she said. “It’s cute. It’s just that—if I lived here, it would be depressing.”
    Preston laughed. “Why is that?”
    â€œNot for you, for me. If I lived here, people would feel sad for me because I was alone in a studio apartment,” she said. “For you, it’s a bachelor pad.”
    â€œI think that’s a convenient exaggeration of reality,” he said, testing his coffee with the tip of his free thumb. It was now the perfect too-hot-for-most-people temperature. This was one of Preston’s favorite moments in life, right up there with walking the streets of a foreign city at sunrise, reading McMurtry, and completing a difficult design: the first sip. He liked to draw it out.
    He wanted to tell her to look on Craigslist for a