Other People We Married Read Online Free PDF

preferred running straight down Court Street and over the Brooklyn Bridge. From her house, it was only three miles there and back. There were some women she passed who always ran with their strollers, the ones shaped like boomerangs, pushing their babies in front of them like so many carrots on so many sticks. Claire preferred to run alone. She liked it when her breathing evened out into a shallow pant, and her thigh bones felt hollow. Maybe that’s where Rosemary had gone, inside. When she was pregnant with Sebastian, that internalconnection had been her favorite part. She could feel him in ways that no one else could. His elbows, his feet. His hunger. It was better than having Matt around, or any of her girlfriends. Sebastian—they’d had the name from the very beginning—was closer. She imagined the cord between them as wide as the woven rope bracelets she’d worn as a teenager, inches thick, and heavy. When Sebastian actually arrived, they hung a sheet at her midsection so that she couldn’t watch them cut into her flesh and pull him out. Matt, on the other side of the sheet, had been surprised by the amount of blood, the surgical nature of what followed. Claire was only surprised at how empty she felt with no one inside her, no one but herself.
    When she first started to run, Claire would notice small aches—her shins, a hip. After a couple of miles, though, the aches would soften and vanish, leaving her body with a warm hum. It wasn’t as if the pain had never been there at all, it was just as if the pain had changed shape, or gone slightly out of focus. Her sneakers would continue to hit the ground, one after the other, until the rest of her body seemed to float there, inches above the gray concrete. Some days, Claire would hit the Manhattan side of the bridge and just keep running. Once she made it all the way to Union Square before catching sight of the time outside a bank and turning around.
    The doorbell rang and Claire was in the kitchen—too far to get there first. Matt beat her to it.
    “Can I help you?” he asked, in the voice he used for homelesspeople and Jehovah’s Witnesses. Matt had the square look of a hockey player, his jaw and shoulders both straight, thick lines. Next to him, Vivian herself looked like a skittish cat.
    “I’m Vivian,” she said, walking toward the doorframe. Behind Matt, in the dark of the house, Claire and Sebastian moved toward the door. Matt blinked; he clearly didn’t recognize the name. “The psychic.”
    “The what?” Matt’s voice was almost a laugh. He thought that she was joking. Claire’s pace quickened; she barreled down the hall, Sebastian’s legs bobbing up and down. She looked at Vivian and shook her head.
No
. Claire was now right behind Matt, peering over her shoulder. He turned to face her.
    “Did you hire a psychic?” He was amused, not angry, but his voice was loud. Vivian saw Claire glance up toward the street, clearly worried that passersby would hear. “Is that what you do with your days? Ha!” Only parts of his face were smiling.
    “She costs less than the reward, which you already agreed to, so I don’t know what your problem is.” Claire was hissing. She cupped a hand to her forehead and pushed her hair back. It was warmer with their three bodies so close together, Sebastian between them like a beach ball with arms and legs.
    “What, Rosemary? Is that what this is all about? The fucking cat?” Matt’s voice got even louder and roused Sebastian out of his half sleep. His mouth widened, and at first nothing came out. The noise grew from nothing until it spilled out into the air: a siren. “Give me the baby,” Matt said, and pulledSebastian out of Claire’s arms. He roared past her ear, and she winced, as if struck.
    Empty-handed, the women walked back outside and sat on the front stoop. Half a block down, a single daffodil had raised its yellow head. Vivian pointed it out, and Claire nodded.
    “I almost feel sorry for him,”