Odds : A Love Story (9781101554357) Read Online Free PDF Page A

bathroom.
    Art, as always, offered to trade with her. Already he was reaching his heavy plate over their wineglasses, his other hand open to take hers.
    “Are you sure? You love tuna.”
    “I can get tuna anytime.”
    “Thank you,” she said. “That’s very giving of you.”
    “That’s because I’m a giving person.”
    “That is true, you are.” Sometimes too giving. Passive himself, he took up the causes of others with a tireless determination, whether it meant acting as treasurer for the parents’ association trying to raise money for a new track at the high school or helping Mrs. Khalifa put together her satellite dish. Marion used this willingness against him to get things done around the house. Left to himself, he’d lie on the couch and watch football allweekend, but once motivated, he couldn’t stop until the job, no matter how large, was done. He was more compulsive than impulsive, a plodder and a planner, not at all spontaneous, which was at least partly why she’d been so surprised he’d cheated on her, and why, though she hated him for it, deep inside she mostly blamed Wendy. He would have never done something like that on his own.
    The tuna was perfectly cooked, the center the color of watermelon, with the jellied consistency of aspic. The wasabi–black pepper crust added a sinus-tingling bite she quelled with a slug of wine. “You sure you don’t want this back? It’s delicious—nice and rare.”
    “This is good too. It’s a nice place.” He gestured to the Falls across the gorge, endlessly pouring. “I’m surprised it’s so empty.”
    “That might have something to do with the prices.”
    “This is the cheap one! This is like Burger King compared to the one on Sunday.”
    “After Sunday, Burger King’s about all we’ll be able to afford.”
    “After Sunday, Burger King is where we’ll be working.”
    “To Burger King,” she proposed.
    “To Burger King.” They clinked and drank. “You know, I don’t think Burger King is hiring.”
    “Okay,” she said, “let’s talk about something else.”
    “Tomorrow night we’ve got Heart.”
    “You’ve gotta have Heart. When is that?”
    “That’s at eight, so dinner’s early, at six. I was thinking we might do the fun stuff in the afternoon, depending what the weather’s like. I don’t know if Clifton Hill is open Sunday.”
    “I haven’t seen a forecast.”
    “We definitely want to see the Ripley’s Museum.”
    “
We
,” she said.
    “What, you don’t?”
    “I’d rather see a real museum.”
    “This is Niagara Falls, nothing’s real here.”
    The waiter came over to check on them, restoring decorum. Did they want another bottle of the Chardonnay?
    Art looked to her.
    “I just want another glass.” She’d already had three and was feeling them.
    “Two glasses,” Art said.
    He rarely drank with her. It was nice. He could be attentive when he wanted to, and intimate, giving her his full concentration, turning their exchanges into flirty wordplay. The first intimation that things had gone wrong between them was the sudden absence of that easy, dancelike banter. He’d come home from work and be pleasant with the children and helpful in the kitchen, would read or watch TV like usual, but with her he was impersonal and bland, afraid to say anything in their private language for fear of lying. Later, she was the same way when she was carrying Karen around in her head, except that he never noticed. Or was it that she’d known Karen wasn’t serious, that they’d been wrong from the start, the assumptions that brought them together—as Celia suggested—false at bottom, whereas he and Wendy Daigle were meant to be together?
    “Damn it,” she said.
    “What?”
    “Nothing.”
    “You’re making your uh‑oh face.”
    “I’m having bad thoughts.”
    “Don’t have bad thoughts.”
    “I’m not trying to, I can’t help it.”
    “Are you still going to have bad thoughts when we’re divorced?”
    “Why