Leftovers: A Novel Read Online Free PDF

“It will calm your nerves.”
    She pulled one out and he lit it for her.
    “Vivian, the records indicate you’ve lost more weight. Have you been eating?”
    “Well, not yet today but . . . ”
    “Hmmm.”
    “What does ‘hmmm’ mean?”
    “The problem may not be you. We need to check your husband’s sperm count.”
    Vivian frowned. “How do you do that? With a blood test?”
    Doctor Moody actually chuckled. “No dear, he . . . supplies us with a . . . sample.”
    She took a puff of her cigarette and then realized what he was alluding to. “Oh, um, no. I don’t think he . . . ah, that’s not an option.”
    “Go home. Talk to him.” Dr. Moody then took a small bottle out of the medicine cabinet. “You need to relax Vivian if you want to get pregnant. When jittery, take one of these.”
    She looked at him, worried.
    “Trust me,” he said as another ash toppled from his cigarette and landed on his potbelly.
    •  •  •
     
    Babs regretted her decision to go to the Tupperware party instead of running over to Doctor Moody’s. Still at the gathering, she took a quick moment to call Vivian from the kitchen of the hostess’s home in hopes that she could reach her. She frantically dialed her number while the women out in the living room chirped away.
    “Burp it again!” shouted one guest.
    Babs looked back towards them nervously. “Pick up, Viv. Pick up.” She let it ring a few more times and then hung up the phone.
    “Sit on it!” screamed another woman from the living room.
    There was a moment and then Babs registered what the woman had said. She made a frightened face and ran out of the kitchen.
    •  •  •
     
    Later that afternoon Vivian stood before a small three-pound prime rib sitting in a roasting pan on top of the Wedgewood. Intimidated, she studied her opened cookbook once again. “Preheat oven to 500.” She looked at the dial on the oven. “Hmm, it only goes to 450.” She looked back at the recipe. “Roast for 15 minutes then reduce to 325 and cook 15 to 17 minutes per pound for medium rare.” Vivian gulped. Math was never her strong suit.
    She glanced up at the wall clock and realized it was just after four. She guessed Paul should be home by 5:30 P.M., which would give the roast plenty of time to be done and for them to enjoy a drink and some hors d'oeuvres before they had dinner. She tentatively opened the oven, shoved the roast in and slammed the door shut as if the meat was going to jump back out at her. Having accomplished that much she wiped her hands together like she had won this round, poured a glass of wine and headed upstairs.
    Vivian was certain that the anniversary dinner she was surprising Paul with was going to make-up for the disastrous breakfast. She walked into her bedroom and fumbled, unbuttoning her dress. She held out one hand and noticed it shaking.
I think this qualifies as jittery.
    She grabbed her handbag and pulled out Doctor Moody’s bottle of pills. Vivian entered the bathroom, popped one into her mouth and washed it down with the wine. And with a little extra time on her hands, she drew herself a well-deserved bubble bath.
    •  •  •
     
    Out to the world, it was Vivian’s own snore that woke her up in the tub. Surprised that she hadn’t drowned, she managed to get out of the now chilly bath feeling as though she had consumed the entire bottle of wine.
    “What the hell was in that pill?”
    She grabbed the bottle and all it said on it was:
    • Moody •
     
    Vivian wrapped herself in a towel and sat down at her vanity. She focused on her face but was literally seeing double. She picked up an eyebrow pencil and although her hands were no longer shaking, they also weren’t obeying her commands. She drew a thin brown line, trying to arch it over her left eye but it was like the hand had a life of its own and it veered off towards her ear.
    “Damn.”
    She smudged the end off and tried doing the right brow but this time