Another You Read Free Page B

surveyed the mess she’d have to maneuver through. She’d walked a straight line as perfectly as a tightrope performer by the time he caught up with her—he’d forgotten to lock the car and had to go back—and when he did catch up, he took her elbow, though she was already maneuvering with no trouble. Her parka was so thick he could barely feel her elbow beneath the padding.
    He steered her to a table away from the jukebox. The table was round, small, covered with a red-and-white-checked cloth. Salt was sprinkled around the salt and pepper shakers. He put his thumb into the salt spill and shifted it into a straight line, then brushed it into the palm of his hand. He dropped it on the floor, and as if he’d rung the dinner bell, a large waitress with dyed yellow hair appeared,her hair clipped back with a butterfly barrette, the butterfly motif echoed by a silver butterfly pin above her name tag, which said MYRTIS .
    “Let me have a Jack Daniel’s on the rocks,” he said.
    “A Heineken, please,” Cheryl said.
    The waitress was preoccupied; she didn’t register Cheryl’s age. Marshall wished that Cheryl had ordered a double, in case the waitress eventually snapped to and noticed. But how could you do that? How could you order a double beer? He called after her, “Let me have a draft as a chaser.” Myrtis nodded and kept going.
    “You know,” Cheryl said, “when I was in your office the other day and you were recommending poems to read in that anthology? It took me a minute to realize that sometimes you were telling me the title of a poem, and other times you were saying the poet’s name. When you said ‘Orr,’ I thought you were contradicting yourself about my reading Roethke. Or someone else, I thought you were saying. And ‘Wright.’ I thought you were, you know, corroborating what you’d just said—that you’d given a title correctly. That you were right .”
    “You’re avoiding the subject,” he said.
    “I don’t even feel good about telling you what I’ve told you,” she said.
    “Let me make a phone call,” he said. “Take a look at the menu. Let’s go ahead and order.” He pulled the plastic menu out from between the napkin holder and a bottle of ketchup and put it in front of her as he got up to call Sonja. There was someone on the phone, so he went into the men’s room and peed, standing next to a balding man in a black motorcycle jacket and blue-and-green-striped pants. As the man zipped his fly, Marshall heard the man humming “Rock of Ages.” Outside again, the phone was available, and he reached in his pocket for a coin, then dialled his number.
    “I’m glad you’re okay,” Sonja said.
    “I’m listening to some kid’s problem,” he said. “I’m giving him a ride back to his dorm, but the weather’s gotten so bad, we’re going to have coffee and sit it out for a while. You didn’t have to go out in this, did you?”
    “No,” she said. “I’ve been home all afternoon.”
    “Good,” he said. “I’ll see you soon.” Then: “Love you.”
    “I love you, too,” she said.
    “I’m actually with a girl, not a guy. We’re drinking. She’s tellingme about her roommate’s problems, which I’m about as interested in as reading random names in the phone book.”
    “Marshall,” Sonja sighed. “Why do you make fun of me for being paranoid when I’m not paranoid?”
    “I love to tease.”
    “Well, so do girls love to tease, so be sure it’s her roommate she’s talking about while you drink, not herself.”
    It had never occurred to him. What Sonja had just said was absolutely correct: she might be having such trouble talking to him because she was making a personal confession. There might not even be a roommate.
    “Marshall?” Sonja said. “Has my brilliant warning struck you dumb, or do you have something else to say before you go back to your boozing and flirtation?”
    “I love you,” he said. It seemed the simplest thing to say.
    “What’s the