Douse (Book One: At the Edge of a Hurricane) Read Online Free PDF Page B

the background.
    Most
clear in the dream is us. Standing together, we entwine our hands, and cut the
cake. The ceremony hasn’t even begun yet, but we’re cutting the
cake anyway. This is how we run our wedding regardless of opinions.
    The
sole other family I have—Caddy, and yes, Piranha—wave at us from
the front row. Both of them cry into each other’s shoulders, even though
this might be the most unrealistic ceremonies ever.
    The
cake floats away above our heads. I face Bishop, my veil already lifted. His
own desire is palpable, hazy in the air. He takes my hands.
    “I
love you,” he says.
    An
organ chimes and boasts its croaky music across the wedding hall.
    “I
love you,” I say.
    And
the organ chimes higher, creaking to the highest note.
    There
is nothing better than knowing someone loves you. Nothing.
    The
dream breaks apart, seam by seam, splitting Bishop’s face in face first,
then mine.
    I
wake on a mound of sweaty bed sheets.
    It’s
true that what you cannot have you wish for even more. There are no sour grapes
in my garden, only acknowledgement of my troubles.
    I
wish to be loved.
    I
want Bishop.
    My
head resting against his body released an enumerable amount of endorphins. A
crazy high assaults me every time I think of him.
    Date
two. We’re going on date two tomorrow.
     
    The
Star Spangled Banner plays. Another orchestra version, but this time with an
operatic twist: two woman joining their voices in screechy unison. I clasp my
ears and roll over.
    One
benefit to Piranha’s kookiness is her cooking. Scents of rosemary waft
through the halls. Fresh cookies sit in the oven. You don’t even have to
ask her to do anything of these things, she just does them.
    “America, America,” Piranha sings, “America…”
    Sometimes
I wonder if she even really knows the lyrics or just likes the beat.
    “You’re
pretty today,” she says. “Not that you’re not on all the
other days of the year. But today, you’re exquisite.”
    “Thank
you. Can you pass me—”
    Piranha
sets a plate of omelets and ketchup and chocolate chip cookies. She pours three
glasses of orange juice and makes two more plates of the same stuff.
    Caddy
lumbers out from the hallway. He jams food into his mouth and sings along to
the tune of God Bless America, Piranha’s other favorite song.
    “Looking
like a hooch,” he says.
    “Oh,
shut up.”
    “I’m
kidding. You’re beautiful, darling.”
    “You’re
patronizing. Anyway, I know I look good.”
    “Cocky
are we?”
    “You
need to be if you want to get some.”
    Caddy
shakes his head. “And I thought you liked this guy for more than a
lay.”
    “I
do. But he’s hot too. Besides, there isn’t much to go off a person
the first couple times you spend with them. There’s just basic info and
how he dresses.”
    “And
my dossiers.”
    “You
couldn’t have that much about him.”
    “Eh.”
Caddy swishes orange juice between his cheeks. “I might. You want to
see?”
    “I’d
feel like that’s cheating.”
    Piranha
looses a wicked laugh from the kitchen. “That’s funny of you to
say!”
    “She’s
got a point. You’re not exactly the prime example of not cheating.”
    “Whatever.”
I dig into the omelet so I don’t have to speak to them both for a while.
Then I finish up the cookie immediately and dust off my hands, grabbing myself
a glass of water.
    “She’s
not angry. Is she?”
    “Nah.
She’s thick.”
    “Violet,
I’m sorry,” Piranha says.
    “You
didn’t offend,” I say. She’s always aware where to strike, waiting
for the right moment to cast her barbs at me. Or perhaps I’ve grown to be
too sensitive to the realities of my job. “I can handle myself on the
date without your dossiers.”
    “I
promise you, you’ll want to see.”
    “No.”
I grab my coat. “I don’t. I’ll be back in a couple hours if
you want to bug me.”
    They’re
still chattering as to whether or not they’ve offended me as I cross the front
door threshold.

CHAPTER