Читать книгу Heathcliff Redux - Lily Tuck - Страница 44

One afternoon when the weather—heavy rain and predicted thunderstorms—kept them from flying, Charlie brought Cliff home. The two men sat in the living room drinking bourbon and smoking cigars. (Charlie had a cache of contraband Cuban cigars.) The cigar smoke drove me out. Upstairs, I could hear the twins running from room to room, playing a noisy game, and I longed for something else—something different.

Cliff came to the door of the kitchen and stood watching me as I was starting to fix dinner.

“What are you cooking?” he asked.

“Beef bourguignon,” I replied without looking up.

“A French dish,” he said.

I didn’t answer.

“Smells good,” he said, before he turned around and left.