Carousel Court Read Online Free PDF Page B

Nick, who had climbed back up the stairs, looking shorter than his six-foot frame when set against the sixteen-foot ceilings.
    â€œYou feel good,” he said as he gently massaged one of her breasts even though she held their son between them. “Really fucking good.”
    She closed her eyes and rested her chin on his shoulder and exhaled. “Tired,” she said.
    â€œWhen do you leave in the morning?”
    â€œEarly,” she said. “Maybe seven.”
    â€œWe’ll miss each other.”
    â€œAgain,” she said.
    â€¢ •
    Dirty dishes top off the kitchen sink, wet laundry clings to the inside walls of the washer, musty from neglect, forgotten last night or the night before. The landline never rings. They turned it off because all the calls are from lenders or collections and there’s no point in answering. The days are tough and grinding, long needles scraping bone.
    It’s just past one A.M . In the upstairs bathroom, Phoebe swallows her last five milligrams of Klonopin because even curled up next to Jackson’s crib under her old comforter with his night-lights and hushed breathing, she couldn’t sleep. The pillbox she keeps in the Explorer (they drove to North Hollywood to pick it up the day before, a new battery installed) is empty. So, too, is the bottle in the bathroom vanity.
    Did you take my klonopin? That’s the text she sends Nick.
    There’s no immediate response.
    She studies herself in their sweeping vintage Astoria pivot mirror, finds a single long silver hair, and pulls it from her scalp. Nick’s right: She’s too thin. And the thinner she gets, the older she looks. She runs her fingers lightly along her collarbone, then smiles weakly at herself, full dry lips and almond-shaped eyes and eyebrows that Nick traces with his thumb when they’re getting along.
    The vibration is her iPhone.
    No. You finished them. You just lost track. You’re not paying attention.
    While she tries to think of a response, he writes:
    Again, Phoebe.
    She possesses an ability now, since the move, if not months before, to tune him out. Nick playing the role of concerned, engaged husband, her partner, looking out for her well-being: Watch yourself, careful, keep an eye on this because these are serious drugs. Want another reason why? Run your finger along the raised pink scar on Jackson’s scalp.
    What Nick doesn’t know, what he can’t possibly grasp, is the interaction with the second glass of wine or the Maker’s Mark she sneaks in the afternoons when she finds herself home, skipping appointments while he works, wandering their bloated new-­construction house, considering picking up Jackson’s toys, then deciding that their presence, scattered across the plush carpet and glass coffee table, gives the place warmth. She lazily undresses, runs a bath, places the bottle of Maker’s Mark on the cool tile floor.
    And tonight, even with the low dosage, she has enough in her system to effectively complement the Maker’s Mark. She wipes condensation from the face of her iPhone, taps out another message to Nick after sliding into hot water.
    Do you know how comfortable I am right now, Nick? This very instant?
    Klonopin cocktails don’t go well with warm late-night baths.
    I’m not trying to hide it.
    As evidenced by the empty little MM bottles in the recycling bin.
    Eco-friendly ;)
    Careful Phoebe
    Afraid I’ll go under?
    Afraid you’ll want to.
    Nick is also right when he prods her about work. She is slipping. The allergy and anxiety products she’s been selling for GSK are the same she sold for four years back east. Now she follows the GPS directions to medical office campuses and hospitals from Santa Ana to North Hollywood. She’s been back at it since they arrived, makes onlysome of her appointments, rarely tends to her cold-call list, occasionally dropping in to the doctor’s offices with her sample case