How It Ended: New and Collected Stories Read Online Free PDF Page A

Russell's room. Corrine and Russell developed a repertoire of Dino jokes. The day of their wedding, in June, two weeks after graduation, Dino was in a car wreck that landed him in the hospital for three weeks. Two years after graduation they heard that he was working as a representative for a feed and grain distributor in South Dakota.
    The morning after the Memorial Day party, Corrine reminded Russell of their resolution, and for the first time since they'd known each other they had coffee without cigarettes. Russell left his first cup unfinished.
    Corrine was staring wistfully at her blue Trivial Pursuit coffee mug. Somebody had given them a set of four for a wedding present—Russell tried to recall who it was. “Remember that Campbell's soup commercial?” she said. “Soup and sandwich, love and marriage, horse and carriage?”
    Russell nodded. “They forgot caffeine and nicotine.”
    “I've heard it helps to drink a lot of water the first few days,” Corrine said. “Cleans out the system.”
    Russell got half a glass of water down before he had to leave for work. “We've got to buy you some new shirts,” Corrine said, fingering Russell's frayed collar when they were in the elevator.
    “I've got plenty of shirts,” Russell said.
    “We can certainly afford a few more,” Corrine replied.
    One of us can, Russell thought.
    At a little after eleven, Corrine called him at the office.
    “How are you holding up?”
    “All I can think about is cigarettes.”
    “Me, too.”
    Talking about it made it easier. Or else it made it harder. They weren't sure, but they agreed to call each other whenever they were feeling weak. Tracey Wheeler, Russell's intern, came over with a set of galleys she had proofread, smoking a cigarette; she must have seen him looking at it longingly.
    “Do you want one?”
    “No,” he said. “I've quit. At least I'm trying.” He felt sad hearing himself. The words seemed to mark the end of a chapter in his life, and made him feel older, relative to Tracey, in a way he didn't like. It sounded fussy, not at all in keeping with the swashbuckling air he assumed whenever she was around.
    After Corrine hung up the phone, Duane Jones, an analyst who'd gone through training with her, came into the office and sat down. Corrine and Duane had made a habit of stealing a midmorning break together. This ritual had developed in part because they had been the only smokers in the training program. The first day of orientation she had done mental caricatures of the faces around the seminar table. Duane was GQ subscriber, Dartmouth class officer, boxer shorts and jockstraps, lacrosse and skiing . The fact that he smoked made him seem less buttoned-down. Now they often had lunch together, to the point that Russell was a little jealous. Russell always referred to Duane as “Dow Jones, Industrious Average.” Duane called him “the Poet.” This morning Duane sat down on the edge of the armchair across from the desk and adjusted one of his socks.
    “Got any brilliant hunches this morning? Any dreams that might have a bearing on the Exchange?” He took out a new pack of Merits and slapped it against his wrist.
    “Put out a heavy sell call on tobacco issues. We quit smoking.”
    “Say it ain't so. You?”
    “Me and Russell both,” she said, not certain whether she was being loyal or laying off part of the blame on her husband.
    Duane stood up and straightened his yellow tie. “I won't tempt you,” he said. At the door he turned and winked. “But if you change your mind …”
    That night, Corrine cooked a deliberately bland meal of chicken, peas and rice. It was the first time they'd eaten at home in weeks. Corrine had read somewhere that red meat and spicy food aggravated the craving to smoke.
    “I think we should try not to go out so much for a while,” Corrine said as they ate in front of the television. On a rerun of M*A*S*H , Hawkeye was wooing a recalcitrant nurse.
    “Have you noticed that on