A Wife of Noble Character Read Free Page B

behind her shoulders, and fidgeted it over her legs.
    â€œMy grandmother made that quilt.” He set his coffee aside and knelt beside her, to show her the embroidery: To Preston, God Loves You.
    Vivienne narrowed her eyes on him. “I’ve always liked you,” she said.
    He wasn’t sure whether to be disappointed—knowing such sincere declarations were probably reserved for guys with no chance of getting any—or happy because it was a nice thing to hear. So, this being Vivienne, he felt something like ambivalently flattered. “But I’m not a Republican,” he said lightly.
    She flicked his shoulder. Preston admired her remarkably soft-seeming arms. And her wrists—such fragile mechanisms they were. It was pleasant to be near a beautiful woman.
    â€œI’ve always liked you too,” he said.
    â€œI like that you don’t think I’m trying to, you know, marry you.” She squeezed the quilt to her chest.
    This prompted Preston to stand and unconsciously dust off his khakis as if they were in urgent need of dusting off. “No, I definitely don’t think that.” He said it with a smile, but he felt hurt. She liked him because she knew she’d never like him.
    â€œYou’re not the type of guy to get married, or at least not for a long time. People in graduate school”—here she gestured fancily—“think marriage is a joke. They look down on people their age who get married. If a woman really wanted to marry you, you’d run away.” She lowered her voice. “My friends think the only thing that can keep me safe is a husband.”
    â€œSafe from what?”
    She paused, her eyes beyond the room. “I don’t know. From being alone?”
    Preston disagreed with her on so many fundamental levels that he wished she would keep talking so he could come up with a response. And he felt badly for her. She underestimated herself. It was hard to get sentimental about Vivienne, though, when you thought of the money and all that money could do.
    He shouldn’t have said anything to begin with. He was in no position to discuss marriage, but it was fun, sometimes, to pretend he was as grown-up as he should be by now. Like Vivienne, he’d always imagined that at thirty he’d already be married. Certainly not living on loans, alone in a garage apartment. But thoughts like these never ruined his day. He could trace the fact that he was single to a cause. He’d made the choice not to get serious with anyone yet. He’d always known he wanted to be an architect and that he’d have to be broke in order to do it. He wondered about Vivienne, though—why hadn’t she married yet? Sitting across from him, tugging at a loose thread in the quilt, she looked a little lost.
    â€œWant to share a cigarette?” he said. “I promise I only smoke when I have guests.” Vivienne glanced at him with a moment’s reluctance in her eyes and then, just as quickly, composed her face into a picture of gladness. The transformation was strange but unsurprising. Wasn’t it her job, in a way, to adapt to the various scenarios life presented and, by her loveliness, make those scenarios pleasant for the other people involved? She did it well, but Preston detected a flicker of effort, which he attributed to himself. He’d stuck a fork in her gears.
    He found the cigarettes in his kitchenette junk drawer. He kept them to share with girls, but he hadn’t brought a girl home in so long that the pack had yet to be opened.
    They went to the open window. Vivienne rested her back against the frame and peered down the driveway. Somewhere in the neighborhood a car alarm was going off. Farther away, ambulance sirens. When the car alarm stopped, a pair of mourning doves could be heard cooing in the oaks.
    â€œThe Blanks’ Memorial Day party is in two weeks,” she said, taking the cigarette he offered.
    â€œThe