Breakfast with Neruda Read Online Free PDF

realize I have caught her in a lie. Her mother didn’t smoke. What yoga teacher smokes? “Never mind.”
    Shelly dumps her purse on the counter and tries to flip on the TV. The screen does not respond. “Cable must still be out.”
    “Or the power,” I say.
    “Shit. I forgot.” She places the remote back on the counter and picks up her bag. We step out into the garage. It’s the size of a football field. A black Mercedes SL and a blue Miata rest on the sparkling clean concrete. No motor oil stains or power steering fluids here. “Which one do you want to drive?” she asks.
    The Miata is a stick shift, and it’s been awhile since I’ve driven a stick, but I calculate the sports car will cost me less jail time if I total it. “Miata.”
    “Good choice,” she says. She grabs a set of keys from a hook and tosses them to me. “Top down of course.”
    Much of Rooster looks like Rocket Road with trees and power lines lying in or along the road. “It looks like news footage from Kabul,” I say, “not Southeastern Ohio.”
    “It’s like a preview of the end of the world,” Shelly says.
    My phone rings. It’s Mitch. “What?” I say.
    “Is that any way to talk to your boss?” he says. He’s like a year or two older than me, and not at all a bossy type. “Hey, I need you this afternoon if you can make it in,” he says. “I had two people call off because they’re stuck on streets with trees in the road.”
    Hell yes. Air conditioning! “Yeah, okay. Give me an hour or so.” I jam my phone back in my pocket and tell Shelly, “I got called into work, so I need to take you home.”
    I pull the Miata back into its parking space, put it in gear, and shut off the motor. I hand her the keys. “That was fun,” I say. “I like driving a stick.”
    “Listen, if you want to take a shower, you’re welcome to,” Shelly says. “We have hot water. And I can give you some of my brother’s clothes.”
    A shower and fresh clothes sound like heaven. “Won’t he notice a few things missing?”
    “Josh has enough clothes to clothe a small African nation,” she says. “He’s got stuff he’s never worn. And he’s in Europe all summer. He’ll forget what clothes he owns by the time he comes home.”
    “Aren’t you afraid a criminal like me will steal all the silverware?”
    She laughs. “You have nowhere to put it. Besides, we’re partners in crime.”
    I slide off my shoes and leave them in the garage. I had noticed the white carpet in the living room. Those shoes have crawled inside dumpsters. She leads me inside the palatial living room with its whole wall of windows. They overlook a tree-lined lake. “Wow, this place is like something out of a reality show,” I say.
    “It’s just stuff,” she says. “Come on.” She pushes me toward the mosaic-tiled staircase and walks me to a large bedroom with a queen-sized bed. “This is Josh’s room.” The bed is unmade, and tennis balls, golf clubs, and shoes are strewn everywhere. His closet door hangs open, and a mountain of clothes forms a peak on the floor. She pulls a couple brand-new Izod shirts off hangers and hands them to me. “He got these a year ago and has never worn them.”
    “What if he asks about them?”
    “He won’t. Besides, my parents can buy him new ones.”
    Shelly pulls out an armful of clothes from the back of the closet. “He’s got some Dockers and shorts too.” She dumps them all on the bed. “Take what you want. And there are socks and boxers in the drawers.”
    “You have no idea how much I appreciate this.”
    “I’ll make you earn it somehow.” She winks at me, and closes the bedroom door behind her on the way out.
    I grin as I take off my clothes. I mean yeah, she’s not my type, but I’d do her.
    After I shower and dress, I feel like a new person wearing clothes not bought at Goodwill. They fit as if made for me. I look at my reflection in the mirror. The rabid dog who entered this house is replaced by a clean,