Bird in Hand Read Online Free PDF

these kinds of events was the sort of thing the two couples always did for each other, expected of each other. It was Claire’s first, perhaps only, book, as important to her as the births of Alison and Charlie’s children (and hadn’t Ben and Claire come to the hospital as soon as they could, hadn’t they brought flowers and gifts even as Ben’s heart was aching with longing for a child of his own as he held the astonishingly light bundle in his arms, looking down at its curranty face?). Clearly it had something to do with that falling-out between Claire and Alison, which Claire refused to discuss with Ben in any kind of rational way but also refused to get past. What was that all about, anyway? It was so unlike Claire to hold a grudge. Ben attributed it to prepublication jitters and maybe some unresolved childhood issues. It did make things awkward for the four of them. Ben didn’t feel that he could call to make plans, and even his friendship with Charlie—which he’d thought of, perhaps näively, as separate from the couples’ friendship—had suffered; Charlie stopped calling. Ben picked up the phone several times to dial Charlie’s number at work and then … put it down.
    Ben and Charlie used to meet for lunch twice a month at least, at the Harvard Club (if Ben was paying) or a hole-in-the-wall Chinese place called Kung Pao (if Charlie was). More often they’d send each other e-mail arcana—a funny video clip, an absurd real-news story, a link to someone’s noteworthy blog or an obscure band’s Web site. Sometimes they’d get together to listen to live music in the Village. Over the past few years, what with Charlie having kids and moving out to the suburbs, it had gotten harder to see each other, particularly without spouses. Their jobs were demanding; their interests had diverged. Amiable, affable Charlie had become a bit tense and distracted. He spent weekends, now, changing diapers and puttering around the house. His life had taken on the gravity of responsibility, which trumped petty outside interests. When Ben talked about a play he’d seen or a book he’d read or even an article in The New Yorker —anything more taxing than the sports page—Charlie would shake his head. “I’m living under a rock,” he said once. “I can’t think of the last time I went to a show or finished a book. It’s all-work, all-kids these days.”
    Not that there was anything wrong with that. Ben envied Charlie’s transition to parenthood, the way he talked about his children with wonder and puzzlement and something verging on awe.
    Ben caught Claire’s eye across the room and raised his empty glass in a tacit offer to refill hers. She smiled and shook her head, almost imperceptibly, then gave him a playful grimace no one else could see— Here I am, soldiering through.
    “You and Claire simply must get down to Bluestone to visit,” Martha Belle was saying. “I know y’all have a lot going on, but it has been a while, hasn’t it?” She nudged him with her elbow. “And Lucinda is dying to have some grandchildren. She says she doesn’t want to put pressure on you, but I think a little pressure can do wonders.”
    “Martha Belle, you are too much,” Ben said. “But you don’t have to convince me. Claire is going down there on her book tour, so you might raise it with her then.”
    “Well, maybe I will,” she said, raising her eyebrows with a significant pause, as if all had become clear.
    Ben clasped her hand. “It’s been a pleasure. I want to see those dioramas one of these days.”
    “I look forward to showing them to you,” she said, beaming. “I know you need to mingle. Go, go!” She shooed him away with plump, fluttering fingers.
    Ben made his way over to the bar, in search of the elusive blue martini and the ill-at-ease Alison Granville. He found both.
    “Oh, Ben!” Alison said, with obvious relief. “It’s lovely to see you.”
    He took a martini from the bartender and kissed Alison