The Weekend: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page B

he?”
    “Yes,” said John. He sat up on his haunches and pulled his shirt off. He threw it toward the baby. It landed on top of Roland’s head, shrouding him. He stopped crawling. “See if he takes it off,” said John.
    “No,” said Marian. “You frightened him.” She lifted the shirt from Roland’s head. He looked up at her. “There you go,” she said. “Daddy’s shirt.”
    “He’s bringing someone,” said John.
    “Lyle?” asked Marian.
    “Yes,” said John.
    “He’s bringing someone? For the weekend? Who?”
    “He didn’t say. A friend, he said.”
    “He just called up and said he was bringing a friend?”
    “No,” said John. “He asked if it would be all right. And I said of course.”
    “What friend?” asked Marian.
    “He didn’t say.”
    “Did he ask for me to call him back?”
    “No,” said John.
    “He didn’t mention anything about a friend when I spoke to him last Thursday.”
    “Well, maybe it’s a new friend. Maybe he just met him.”
    “It’s a man?”
    “I’m not sure,” said John. “Yes, I think he said he.”
    “Why would he bring some man he just met here? Don’t you think it’s strange?”
    “I didn’t say he just met him. Maybe it’s an old friend.”
    “Yes, you did. You said he just met him.”
    “Well, I got that impression. I could be wrong. It’s probably an old friend.”
    “But we know all of Lyle’s old friends. He wouldn’t refer to an old friend as a friend. And … well, Lyle comes here to get away from his friends. He wouldn’t bring one with him.”
    “Well, he is,” said John. “Tomorrow on the 11:40.”
    “This … this messes everything up.”
    “What does it mess up?”
    “I had invited Laura Ponti to dinner.”
    “Who’s Laura Ponti?”
    “Don’t you remember? That Italian woman we met at Derek and Granger’s. She said she knew your mother.”
    “That old lady?”
    “She wasn’t old,” said Marian. “She was very interesting. And she was eager to meet Lyle, so it was all just perfect.”
    “So what’s the problem now?”
    “Well—now it will be five, instead of four, with this mystery friend of Lyle’s.”
    “And what’s the problem with five? It’s not as if you were trying to set up Lyle with the old lady.”
    “That’s not even funny,” said Marian. “No, it’s just that—well,
there’s a difference between four and five. Four is intimate, and five isn’t. Everyone knows that.”
    “I don’t,” said John. “I really don’t see the problem.”
    “Oh, it’s not a problem. It’s just—odd. It’s very odd. For Lyle to call up like this and say he’s bringing someone. I don’t understand it. I wanted everything to be perfect this weekend, too, because …”
    “Because why?”
    “Because … do you know what this weekend is?”
    “No,” said John.
    “It’s the anniversary. Of Tony’s death.”
    “Oh,” said John.
    “And that’s why I wanted to have Lyle out for a quiet weekend.”
    “Well, I’m sure it will be a quiet weekend. It’s no big deal. Lyle’s just bringing a friend. You should be happy.”
    “Do you think he remembers?”
    “What?”
    “About the anniversary.”
    “Of course,” said John.
    “Why? You didn’t.”
    “Tony wasn’t my lover.”
    “He was your brother,” said Marian.
    “Yes,” said John. “He was.” He inserted his weeder into the ground and stood up. “Let’s eat,” he said. “Did the paper come?”
    “I forgot to check,” said Marian. “I’m going to call him.”
    “Lyle? What about breakfast? You said you were starving.”
    “I am,” said Marian. “I’ll be right back.”
     
     
    “What do you think I should do about beds?” Marian asked John that evening. They were in the living room: John was reading the
newspaper on the sofa; Marian was sitting on the floor, folding laundry. Insects skidded across the ceiling and threw themselves at the lightbulbs.
    “About what?” asked John. He spoke through the scrim of