Moondogs Read Online Free PDF

3
RAINY SEASON
    Monique woke to the sputter and hum of her air conditioner—a tremendous window unit that she and her husband bought last year, just two days after moving to the Philippines. It sounded like a minivan idling in a covered garage, but there was no sleeping without it. She blinked in the darkness and slid her hand toward Joseph’s half of the bed. It was cool. He wasn’t there. What a lousy way to start the day. For both of them.
    Monique propped herself up on her elbows and looked around. The wall facing her was mostly glass, and from the fifteenth story she had an incredible view. Filmy dawn lit the horizon, bleeding into the fluorescent nightglow of the city. Joseph stood there, a lean silhouette among the towers. He wore silk pajama bottoms and pressed one hand against the glass, as though for balance. His other hand massaged his own long neck. Pale light brightened wisps of gray hair about his ears. “Don’t tell me.” Monique was too sleepy to hide the frustration in her voice.
    “Morning.” Joseph turned around. His eyes were so bleary she couldn’t tell if he was looking right at her or not.
    “All night, again?”
    “Not quite. I got an hour or so on the couch in the den.”
    She pulled back the undisturbed blankets on his half and beckoned him over. Joseph climbed in, threw an arm across her chest and pressed his face into her. His insomnia had never been this bad before.
    “We should talk to the doctor again.” She felt his lashes against her neck. “It can’t be good for you. I’ll set something up at Seafront today.”
    He shook his head, which tickled a little. Just two weeks ago he’d given up on his fifth prescription. The embassy doctor insisted it was the last reliable brand you could get locally, and their hopes were high when he rode the first dose almost to dawn. But it didn’t last, and by the third night he was pacing again. He got so mad he took the nearly full bottle up to the rooftop helipad and chucked it off. Monique told himit was a stupid thing to do, but she didn’t needle him about it. She was angry, too.
    “Early shuttle today?” he asked. She nodded, letting him change the subject. Every day the American Embassy sent a light armored van to pick her up and ferry her to the walled-off chancery by the bay. It always arrived at a different time and always took a slightly different route. Monique had this month’s schedule pasted over last month’s schedule on the inside of her closet. The variation was supposed to make her unpredictable, which was supposed to make her hard to follow, which was supposed to make her safe. But Monique didn’t feel unpredictable. Having no routine was sort of a routine in and of itself. Every weekday morning she got up
x
number of minutes earlier or later than the day before, hid her access badges under her beaded blouse and snuck out the side exit like an unfaithful spouse.
    “Hey.” Joseph’s voice was suddenly animated, and too loud in her ear. Monique pulled back. “Do you know what today is?”
    “Wednesday.”
    “That is true. But this morning is also the twelve-day mark. Just twelve more mornings like this and we will be out of this hot, disgusting, traffic-congested city and on our way back home.” Mandatory leave was just around the corner—five whole weeks of vacation back in D.C. He already had the suitcases laid out on the bedroom floor, open and ready for packing. “Just twelve more mornings until the end of soot on the windowsills. No more ‘sorry sir, out of stock.’ No more spoiled brats treating the kids like pets. No more food that is cooked in vinegar and soy sauce. No more spaghetti with sugar and hotdogs. No more crowds at the mall and on the street and at the movies and in the—”
    “So we’re doing this every morning, now?”
    Joseph sat up and looked old as he closed his bloodshot eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know you are as eager as I am.”
    Monique put a hand on his cool,