Miracle Beach Read Online Free PDF

big drinker. And Magda could say with absolute certainty that he never seriously considered taking up with another woman. Once in a while she’d catch him gawking, but that was fine. She’d give him a look, and he’d smile and laugh and say, “I can still look at the menu, Magda.” And she’d wink and say to him, “Just don’t order anything.”
    He was solid, practical, dedicated. But even on the best days, it felt to Magda as if she merely had a great roommate, not a husband. Other days, it felt like they hardly knew each other.
    Like tonight. Tonight she was obviously upset, and Jack hadn’t said anything even mildly comforting to her. He hadn’t said anything at all, actually, even after she had apologized. He had nodded and kissed her on the cheek before heading to the back deck with a Miller Lite in one hand and a cigar in the other.
    Magda ran her fingers back and forth over his shoulder, light enough so she could say she just wanted to touch him, but hard enough so he’d definitely wake up. He brushed her hand off his shoulder. She stopped for a second, and then started up again.
    “Magda, knock it off.”
    “Are you sleeping?” she whispered.
    “Was.”
    “Oh.” She started rubbing his shoulder again, harder this time.
    “Magda, enough. Go to sleep.”
    “I can’t sleep. I’m all wound up, Jack. I need to talk.” Although she was trying to whisper, Magda knew she wasn’t. It was one of those womanly traits God had for some inexplicable reason denied her. It never failed: At brunch after Mass, in the church’s basement, Magda would try to contribute something to the group’s gossip—about how Sally Pierce had once again signed up to bring a dish and failed to do so, or why the Van Antwerps and their six children couldn’t once—just once—be on time for services instead of marching up the aisle right behind the priest—and she’d be promptly shushed by all the other women. Magda had eventually learned to hold her tongue and stay silent, since she sure as Pete couldn’t manage to be quiet about things.
    Jack rolled over, sighing. “And I need to be up in four hours. Come on, can’t we just do this tomorrow?”
    He was patronizing her now. More than anything, Magda hated when Jack talked to her like this, as if she were a child. “Fine,” she said. She rolled away from him and glared at the wall.
    “Listen, Magda, you need to knock this shit off.” He rarely ever swore around her. At least she knew she was getting to him.
    “Knock what off? I just want to talk.”
    “About what? Let me guess. About how you’re having a tough time? About how no one is being supportive enough of you? It’s always about you , Magda.”
    “That’s not fair.”
    “Oh, no? Then tell me, just what is it you so desperately need to talk about at one thirty in the goddamn morning?”
    Magda kept staring at the wall. She wasn’t going to help him mock her.
    “For Christ’s sake, Magda. You woke me up—now you’re going to lie there and sulk. Tell me what’s wrong.”
    “Lord’s name, Jack.”
    “Oh, for crying out loud. Good night, Magda.”
    Magda breathed as loudly as she could, and when that didn’t get Jack’s attention, she started sniffling.
    Still no response.
    “Jack?”
    “What?”
    “It’s this thing with Macy.”
    She was greeted only by silence from Jack’s side of the bed, but she could feel him listening.
    “It didn’t go well this afternoon,” she admitted.
    “I know it didn’t, Magda.”
    “Well, then, why didn’t you ask me about it?”
    “Because I knew.”
    Magda felt Jack’s hand on her shoulder, rolling her toward him. He made Magda look him in the eye. “Magda, there’s something that you’ve somehow gotten through life without knowing that you need to learn pretty quickly.”
    “What?”
    “How to say, ‘I’m sorry.’ ”
    “I said I was sorry to you,” she said.
    “Any other time, Magda? To anyone else?”
    “All the time. What, you want me to