Читать книгу The Dells - Michael Blair - Страница 13

“Goddamnit, Hal,” Maureen said, bracing herself against the dashboard as Hal braked suddenly. “What the hell is going on with you? And slow down, for god’s sake. Or pull over and let me drive.” She immediately regretted the offer, hoped he wouldn’t take her up on it; she’d had a couple of glasses of wine too many herself.

“I’m not drunk,” he snapped, mashing the horn button because the car in front of them had slowed to make a right turn without signalling.

“I didn’t say you were drunk,” Maureen said with a sigh. Sometimes talking to Hal was like talking to a fiveyear-old. “I wish you’d tell me what’s bothering you.”

“Nothing’s bothering me,” he growled.

“Oh, for god’s sake, Hal, it’s obvious something is bothering you. What is it? Is it work? Is it me? Have I done something to piss you off?”

“What were you and my brother talking about?”

“He was telling me about Marvin Cartwright, the man who was killed in the woods.”

“I know who Marvin Cartwright was, for Christ’s sake. What did he tell you?”

“He didn’t get a chance to tell me very much at all before you came barging out and practically accused him of trying to fuck me. Frankly, it was bloody embarrassing.”

“Not half as embarrassing as watching you fawn all over him like he was some kind of rock star or something.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Hal, don’t be ridiculous. I was not fawning all over him. I was just being polite. What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing’s the matter with me,” he barked. “What’s the matter with you? Look at you. You’re a forty-fiveyear-old woman dressed like a goddamned teenager. You’re practically falling out of that shirt. And it’s so thin I can see your nipples right through it, for god’s sake.”

“If I was dressed like a teenager, Hal, you’d see a lot more than my nipples. I’d have jeans so low I’d have to shave my pubic hair, tattoos, and a stud through my tongue. Maybe one in my clitoris, too. How’s that, Hal? Maybe I should get a clitoral ring. I’m told it makes cunnilingus a lot more interesting.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“What’s disgusting, Hal, is that just because I’m forty-five you think I should dress like your mother.”

“What’s wrong with the way my mother dresses?”

“Oh, for god’s sake, Hal, it was just a figure of speech.”

Hal lapsed into a sullen silence. Did he really think she was interested in Shoe? Maureen wondered, staring out the passenger side window. Or, if she was, that she’d do anything about it? If she was honest with herself, and she tended to be, she’d be the first to admit that she found Shoe attractive. What was not to be attracted to? Well, lots, actually. He wasn’t exactly handsome. His jaw was crooked, his nose was bent, and there was something oddly asymmetrical about his cheekbones. In fact, he looked as though someone had taken a baseball bat to his face. But he seemed to be in great shape, didn’t drink much, didn’t smoke, and, most refreshing, did not litter his speech with profanity, whereas she had a vocabulary that would make Tony Soprano blush. He wasn’t a prude. Swearing just wasn’t a habit he’d acquired. She wondered what his views were on cunnilingus.

“What’s funny?” Hal asked tartly.

“Eh?”

“You laughed.”

“Did I?”

“Yes, you did.”

“Sorry.”

Poor Hal. He was as unlike his brother as a man could be. He was overweight, drank too much, smoked (although he didn’t know she knew), swore, albeit not as much as she did, and seemed to think that oral sex of any variety was disgusting. A man who doesn’t like fellatio, her friend Dinah had said to her once, was as rare as a duck that doesn’t like water. “Not that I’m especially keen on it,” she’d added, “but I don’t mind doing it if I know I can expect something in return. Fortunately, Clark is as happy to give as to receive.” Maureen’s experience with either was sadly limited.

Nor was Hal the same man she’d married twentyfive years ago. Maybe what she found so attractive and exciting about Shoe was that he reminded her a little of Hal when he’d been younger. Or maybe she was just making excuses for herself. There was an element of danger about Shoe that Hal had never possessed. There was also an odd, almost contradictory vulnerability about him. Shoe brought out the protective side of her that Hal never had, but at the same time he brought out her submissive side as well. Although she had never been a fan of the adventure romance novels Dinah consumed like air, Maureen laughed at the sudden and completely ridiculous image of herself on the heaving deck of a stormtossed sailing ship, bodice of her gown ripped, clinging to Shoe’s sinewy arm as he steered the ship between treacherous shoals to the safety of a sheltered bay, where they made tender passionate love on a white sand beach.

“What’s funny now?” Hal demanded as he turned the car into the driveway of their house in Oakville and shut down the engine.

“You don’t want to know,” Maureen muttered, half under her breath.