Aurora 04 - The Julius House Read Online Free PDF Page A

realized my blouse wasn’t tucked into my skirt any longer. I scooted across the room quickly, catching just a glimpse of the dark-complected man waiting to see Martin; a man with a heavy, piratical mustache, thick black hair, and ropelike arm muscles.
    He looked more like a nightclub bouncer than a job applicant.
    I called my mother from the townhouse to tell her I was home, and learned what had happened in town in the few days I was gone.
    “Thanks for the flowers, Aurora. I don’t know what the occasion was, but they were lovely.”
    I started. I’d forgotten all about sending the flowers from Ohio. I mumbled something deprecating.

    “Have you seen Martin yet?” Mother was asking. She sounded as if the question were loaded.
    I could see her at her desk at Select Realty, thin and elegant and self-possessed, remarkably like Lauren Bacall.
    “Yes. I stopped by the plant. But he didn’t have much time. We’re going out tonight.” If I’d had antennae, they would have been pointing in Mother’s direction. Something was afoot.
    “How’s John?” I asked.
    “He’s just fine,” she said fondly. “He’s been planting a garden.”
    “In the backyard?”
    “Yes, something wrong with that?”
    “No, no,” I said hastily. If I’d ever doubted my mother adored her recently acquired second spouse, I knew differently now. I could not imagine in a million years my mother allowing someone to dig up her carefully groomed backyard to plant tomatoes.
    I hung up shaking my head, decided to put off retrieving Madeleine from the vet until the next day, and carried my bag upstairs to unpack, happily, in my own bedroom.

    I scrubbed my out-of-state trip away in my own shower. I dried my hair. I took a nap. After I woke up, I went down to my basement to pop a load of clothes into the washer. The neighbor who’d been collecting my mail brought it over. I thanked her and she left. I stood by the kitchen counter leafing through the assorted junk. Suddenly, I let all the pleas from new resort areas and all the sweepstakes offers slip through my fingers to land in a heap on the beige formica.
    Perhaps because I was tired, or shaken out of my usual routine ... I don’t know why. Suddenly I was asking myself, Why am I marrying Martin? There were gaps in his history. He was more than he seemed. There were moments when I found him a man of frightening capabilities. He could be tough and ruthless and hard.
    But not with me.
    I was getting maudlin, silly. I shrugged physically and mentally, shaking off the dramatic notions I’d entertained. I sounded like the heroine of one of those romance novels, the gals who think with their vaginas. I tried to imagine Martin and me posing for one of those covers, me with my bodice artfully slipping, him with his “poet shirt” strategically ripped. Then to complete the picture I added my favorite glasses in their bright red frames, and the half-glasses Martin wore when he read. I laughed. By the time I had put on makeup and chosen a dress, one Martin had bought me and made me promise to wear with no one but him, I felt better.
    Actually, he’d said, “Never wear that unless you’re with me, because you look so good I’d be afraid someone would try to lure you away.”
    Maybe that was the reason I was marrying Martin.

    He arrived at seven on the dot. I had the deed tucked in my purse. I was determined we wouldn’t give in to our hormones, but would actually make it to the restaurant, because I’d had this movie in my head of us swapping wedding presents in a restaurant, and I couldn’t get rid of it. I think we were supposed to wait until the rehearsal dinner, but I knew I couldn’t keep a secret from him until then, even a short three weeks.
    We went to the Carriage House, because it was the fanciest place in Lawrenceton, and our reunion was a fancy occasion.
    We ordered drinks, and then our food.
    “It’s early to do this, Roe,” and Martin reached across the table to take my hand,