I Thought You Were Dead Read Free

voice.” The dog tolerated it. Better than some people, Paul always said.
    When they got home, he carried her up the front steps and set her down on the porch. Inside, she took a drink of water in the kitchen, sniffed her food bowl for recent additions, and then went to her bed by the radiator. L.L. Bean, red plaid, down filled, only the finest, she told the other dogs in the neighborhood, though Chester, her boyfriend, swore it was poly fill, but then, he was a golden — in other words, no rocket scientist. She let out a grunt as she lowered her weight to the floor, then appeared satisfied. Paul threw his coat over a chair and sat on the couch.
    He took the TV remote control in hand and began at the top, channel 98, surfing down slowly, pausing just long enough at each channel to pass judgment. No, he did not want to invest in real estate, or car polishes, or stain removers, or hair or skin care products endorsed by aging actors and actresses. He could remember back when cable TV was first introduced in the seventies. “People will pay a monthly fee to watch the shows, so there will be no need for commercials — it will be
commercial-free television,
” they’d said.
    Paul turned the TV off. And Karen said he had no self-control. She never did like to watch television. He’d known that about her from the start and married her anyway. He had onlyhimself to blame. It was a mistake he wouldn’t make again, assuming he’d ever have the opportunity to repeat it.
    He was tired and wanted to go to bed. Flying made him anxious, which meant he was going to have a rough night sleeping. He realized only as he locked the back door that he’d forgotten to check messages on his answering machine. There were two.
    The first was from Tamsen, the woman he’d been seeing for the past three months, not exactly a true romance, more a strange but mutually satisfying exchange of courtesies, a benevolent closeness that allowed for physical contact, which it made him slightly tumescent merely to recall. Yet to qualify as a true romance, the relationship would have to hold promise for both the near and the distant future, and as far as Paul could tell, the long-term prognosis was poor.
“Hi, Paul
—
it’s me. Just calling because I had a terrible day. It’s not looking good at WebVan. Everybody around here is freshening their résumés and stealing office supplies, and here’s a bad sign — Derek had his favorite pinball machine taken out for ‘repairs,’ or so he said, but I’ll bet you anything he’s hiding it somewhere so they don’t repossess it when the whole thing goes belly-up. So anyway, I just wanted to talk to you because I miss you and I need to hear the sound of your voice. It’s eleven now but you can call me and wake me up if you want. Have a good flight tomorrow if I don’t hear from you, and call me when you get to your parents’ house. I know it’s going to be hard for you but you can do it. I know you can do it. Okay? Your dad’s going to be okay. So call me.”
    She had a sexy voice, slightly smoky and tinged with a Northeast Corridor Boston-Rhode Island-New York accent that made her seem tougher than she really was. It was far too late to return her call.
    The second message was from his mother, who always began her messages, “Hi, Paul — it’s your mom,” as if he wasn’t going to recognize her voice.
    â€œHi, Paul — it’s your mom,”
she said.
“It’s about eleven o’clock here, and I’m at Mercy Hospital. Your father is still resting comfortably and your sister is here and I’m going back just as soon as I get some coffee. Pastor Rolander was here visiting but he’s left too. I think Bits will meet you at the airport, and she has your flight number and all that, so don’t worry. I’m looking forward to seeing my little boy. Love you lots.