Death Benefits Read Online Free PDF Page B

paws on my shoulders and licked me on the cheek.
    Ozzie squeezed past me as the door opened, and I followed him into my apartment, kicking off my shoes in the entranceway and dropping my briefcase and purse onto the couch in the living room. I went into the bedroom, undressed, slipped on my purple and gold boxing robe, and padded barefoot back into the living room. I clicked on the light and reached over to turn on the stereo. My favorite Marvin Gaye cassette was in the tape player, and I settled back in the couch to the opening notes of “Mercy, Mercy Me.”
    The mail included bills, the usual junk mail solicitations, this week’s issue of Sports Illustrated , this month’s issue of Gourmet , and what had to be a birthday card from my sister, Ann. It was. Signed by Ann, her husband-the-orthodontist Richie, and my niece and nephew. I smiled at the thought that I would be seeing them soon.
    â€œI’m going to have to leave you for a couple days, Ozzie,” I said as I rewound the telephone answering machine and pressed the play button.
    I smiled as I listened to my parents, all the way from Israel, singing an atonal and totally wonderful rendition of “Happy Birthday.”
    â€œWe love you, Rachel,” my mother said at the end of the song. “Your father is fine, and my elbow is better. Well, it still hurts a little. You know who I saw at the King David yesterday? Harriet Eichler. Bob Eichler’s mother.”
    I groaned as I listened, knowing what was coming.
    â€œShe said her Bobby hasn’t stopped talking about you since he saw you at the Kimmelman wedding in June. I told Harriet you were dying to see him again.”
    â€œMother!”
    â€œNow don’t get upset, Rachel. He’s a doctor, and a nice Jewish boy. It wouldn’t kill you to see him at Rosh Hashonah. I told Harriet to tell her son to drop by after services.”
    â€œCan you believe this?” I said to Ozzie, who nuzzled his head against my stomach.
    â€œWe love you, Rachel. We’ll come visit to Chicago when we get back. Here, Seymour, say happy birthday to your daughter. Quick, this is costing a fortune.”
    But the tape ran out before my father was able to say anything.
    ***
    My departure for St. Louis was delayed by several hours, first at the office by a seemingly endless string of telephone calls and minor client crises, and then at home by a flat tire. Actually two flats, including the spare—a going-away present I remembered after I had removed the left front tire and reached into the trunk for the spare.
    I had hoped to beat the rush hour traffic out of Chicago; instead, the rush hour traffic beat me…by several hours. I called my sister Ann just before I left my apartment at eight o’clock; I told her not to wait up.
    Thirty miles south of Springfield I pulled off I-55 for some gasoline and to stretch my legs. It was almost midnight, and I still had more than an hour of driving ahead of me.
    After paying for my gas, I bought a Diet Coke from the vending machine and walked the perimeter of the station, out where the huge moths zipped and dived around the overhead lights, like manic electrons in one of those elementary school movies on the atom. Standing at the edge of the asphalt, I popped the tab on the can and took a sip. The gas station was just off an overpass. Three trucks rumbled by, heading south. I watched the red tail lights fade into the distance.
    A gas station off an interstate highway, especially at night, seems to exist in limbo between the beginning and end of journeys. Stand near the pumps at any one of them and wait for the memories to seep through. As I stood there, I remembered driving home to St. Louis from law school, twenty hours straight, drinking black coffee and smoking cigarettes to stay awake. I remembered driving to Florida with three girlfriends in college over spring break. I remembered driving to Champaign, Illinois, back in high school for a