An Ornithologist's Guide to Life Read Online Free PDF Page A

believed she would stay married to Peter, have children with him, grow old like that. She believed she would volunteer for good causes, help out in a soup kitchen, have friends over for good vegetarian meals from recipes in Laurel’s Kitchen . In a way, she supposes as she turns down Mary’s street of renovated Victorians, a street that seems to rocket you back in time, she had imagined she’d have a life not unlike Mary’s.
    The thought unsettles her, so that she is awkward again as she climbs the front steps and rings Mary’s doorbell.
    Rachel is surprised when Dan answers the door. She has come to think of the house as just Mary’s. This too tall man with the slightly basset hound face startles her, as if he is the one who doesn’t belong there.
    â€œFinally,” he says.
    â€œAm I late?” Rachel asks, surprised.
    The stained glass window looks ominous in this light. Rachel cannot remember ever being here at night before. She shivers.
    â€œJust twenty minutes,” he says, sounding cheerful. But Rachel recalls how Mary sometimes complains about his what she calls anal retentiveness . Creases in trousers, no crumbs anywhere, that sort of thing. Rachel isn’t certain, but she thinks punctuality is a concern of his too.
    Dan has somehow taken the bottle of wine from her without Rachel noticing. Her arms are still folded into a cradle,but they are empty. She lets them fall stiffly to her side as they enter the formal living room. There he is: her date. She hadn’t expected him to have a goatee. Rachel does not like facial hair. And she’d imagined him to be taller, like Dan. Weren’t they cousins?
    â€œWe’re having Mount Gay and tonics,” Dan says, handing her one.
    Rachel takes it, but frowns. They don’t seem to go together—rum with tonic. She’d rather have gin and tonic. It occurs to her that she might not like Dan. There is music playing, Emmylou Harris, she thinks. Or one of those women that Peter used to call depressed female singers.
    â€œWhere’s Mary?” Rachel asks. The drink actually doesn’t taste too bad. She tries to relax.
    â€œWorking some culinary wonder, as usual,” Dan says.
    Rachel looks at the cousin. “So you’re an architect, Mary tells me?”
    â€œI studied architecture,” he says. He is glum. Probably over the girlfriend. Rachel is certain he was dumped; he has that look about him.
    â€œIt’s fascinating really,” Dan says. “Harry is restoring some buildings in Paris. They were going to be torn down and he’s rescued them, haven’t you?”
    â€œYou live in Paris?” Rachel asks, almost angry. What a waste of time. A date with a man who lives an entire ocean away.
    â€œPart of the time,” Harry says. “I keep a flat there.”
    Rachel finds it pretentious when Americans call apartments flats. She finishes her drink and plays with the ice cubes, letting them knock against each other and clink against the sides of the glass. The glass has a bridge etched on it.
    â€œWe refill without too much commotion here.” It’s Harry who speaks, laughing and standing right in front of her. “A simple, ‘May I have another’ usually does the trick.”
    Rachel blushes. “Well then,” she says, handing him her empty glass. Up close, he’s actually kind of sexy. This surprises her. Not tall, no, but built well. And she likes his shirt. She hadn’t noticed it when she’d come in, but it’s a vintage 1950s Hawaiian shirt, in really awful colors, orange and green and mustard yellow.
    Mary comes in then, all fluttery and silly, with a plate of cheese and crackers.
    â€œHow’s it going in here?” she asks, looking in Rachel’s direction.
    Harry hands Rachel a fresh drink.
    â€œI see you’ve got a drink,” Mary says, happily.
    They all sit back down and Mary tells the same details about