Passion and Affect Read Free Page B

from New Caledonia once—feathers and nests and bows, carved boats, that sort of thing. After I got married, it was all nicely on display, and Sara got her baby hands on what hadn’t disintegrated and tore it apart.”
    â€œIt’s a spare life,” Mary said, smiling.
    â€œYou can be my possession. I’d put you in a little nook and lay flowers at your feet.”
    â€œDon’t tease,” said Mary.
    â€œI wish I were teasing,” Roddy said. “God, how glad I am you’re here.”
    He took the wine from the icebox, opened it with a corkscrew, and poured out two water glasses.
    â€œCelebration,” he said.
    â€œCheers,” said Mary. “It’s the beginning of April.”
    They stood in happy silence, drinking wine. The icebox hummed.
    â€œStand over here,” Roddy said. “I’m going to fix that damned thing once and for all.”
    â€œDon’t fix it, Roddy. Talk to me.”
    â€œI’ve got the time now and I might not tomorrow. Besides, I can do both. Hand me that wrench—the smaller one.”
    He took the wrench and a screwdriver and, after taking off the bottom plate, lay on his back, looking into the motor of the icebox.
    â€œThere’s a flashlight in that drawer,” he said. “Can you shine it right above my head so I can see into this?”
    She held it as she was told, flashing the beam from time to time onto his face.
    â€œThis machine is an antique,” Roddy said. “Why do you keep flashing that into my eyes?”
    â€œTo behold you.”
    Half an hour later, the hum diminished, Roddy got up from the floor and took the flashlight from Mary.
    â€œI shouldn’t be doing this,” he said.
    â€œFixing the icebox?”
    â€œAsking you if you’ll stay here tonight.”
    â€œYou know I will,” said Mary.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause it’s the right thing to do.”
    â€œDo you always do things for a reason?” he asked.
    â€œAren’t you doing this for a reason?”
    â€œYour coming up to the finch room was an act of vast good fortune for me,” Roddy said. “You’re the nicest person I think I’ve ever met. You’re the only person I’ve ever met who seems to be prepared for things. Are you prepared for a lot of pain?”
    â€œI have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Mary. “I don’t think you do, either.” She rinsed the glasses, happy to feel the water running over her wrists.
    Every day, they left the museum together, took walks through the park, and had dinner. During the week, they spent nights at Roddy’s, and on the weekends at Mary’s. Often in the middle of dinner or a walk, they would stop and look at each other seraphically.
    â€œI’ve never been this happy,” Roddy said.
    â€œNeither have I,” said Mary.
    â€œI love walking through time with you,” Roddy said frequently.
    They read each other’s books, talked for hours, and planned to write a paper together on the function of song patterns in caged and wild finches. Roddy was astonished at how long Mary liked to sit over dinner. They talked, and quarreled, and kept regular hours. Each day the leaves got rounder. The cherry trees in the museum garden blossomed. The grass was lusher—wet and slick in the evenings. They did not arrive at the museum together in the mornings.
    In the middle of June, they strolled through the park. The earth gave up a cold mist that collected in fuzzy halos under the street lights. The trees had blossomed late and were just shedding their petals, which fell on the grass like spilled paint. They did not walk hand in hand but held themselves in a close orbit, arm against arm. They stopped by a stone wall and studied each other. He had a way of keeping his face in a state of blankness tinged only by worry. When the tightness broke and he smiled, Mary sometimes found herself close to