bedtime stories, how Daddy used to read out loud. I was saying it’s one of the best things he did for us.”
I raised my eyebrows at her, but she didn’t notice.
“You wouldn’t think it was so important if he let the rain drench your bed,” Justin said.
“I still would’ve thought it. Like you were saying, buckets work well enough.”
“Yeah, long as I have an understanding wife.”
“I got a lighter,” I said, setting the candles on the coffee table. I lit them and sat on the other side of Justin.
Justin sighed and slid an arm around my back. I stiffened.
“This picture just popped into my head,” he said. “Maybe fifty years from now and here we are, old bags, there’s a fire going and the three of us are in the living room listening to the rain, with you guys doing knitting and me doing a crossword.”
“Knitting?” Eve said. “Are you kidding?”
“Sorry, Eve. Okay, you’re planning some exotic trip, or plotting to rule the world.” He squeezed my shoulder. “But Kerry’s knitting.”
Eve snickered but I didn’t care. All that mattered right then was his arm around me, a honey-thickness sinking from my shoulders down through my chest. I blurred my eyes and watched the candles dance in unison right and left. “What’ll we be thinking?” I said.
“Guess it depends what we’ve done with our lives so far. By then if we haven’t done all the important stuff, we’ll probably just be waiting for life to end. But if we’ve done everything we wanted, we’ll be reminiscing.”
“That’s the problem,” Eve said. “These days that’s how I feel, like the important stuff ’s never going to happen.”
Justin pulled his arm away from me, leaned back to look at Eve. “You don’t mean that.”
“I just keep waiting for something to start,” she said. “Even though I know it won’t start on its own, all I can do is wait. Like everything’ll be a blur until it happens, whatever it is, graduating, moving to the mainland, falling in love.”
“I’ve been in love,” Justin said. “Or at least I’ve thought I was in love. And it’s great in its own way, but it’s not everything. Not enough by itself to make you feel like you’ve lived.”
“For me it will be,” I said.
Justin slid his arm back around me, rested his damp head against my shoulder. “Yeah, you’re a romantic,” he said. “For you it probably will be.”
I bit back a smile. There was something primal in it, the sound of the rain, the tickle of his hair against my neck. This stillness, this is how I imagined it would be if Justin and I had just made love.
But then he spoke. “I think there’s two kinds of people,” he said, “contented souls and restless souls. That’s us, Eve, the restless souls, always looking.”
Eve smiled. “And Kerry’ll do her knitting, and she’ll be happy with her sitting-knitting life.”
“But at least she’ll be happy. Whereas us, I’ll be waiting to finish my story and you’ll be trying to conquer the world. And either it won’t happen or it will and we’ll find out it’s not enough. How many people live their lives just waiting?”
Eve touched her finger to a candle drip, lifted it to study the wax-covered print. “If you look more, you find more,” she said. “So maybe we’ll never be complacent. But at least you and me, when we look back on it all, we’ll know we really lived. I’d rather have passion than peace any day.”
Justin was quiet a minute, then said, “Passion’s riskier, but I guess I’m with you. I’d rather have passion than peace.”
I sat in the kitchen, helping Mrs. Caine with dinner. She was the kind of woman who was always smiling faintly, even when she was doing things that did not warrant a smile, like inspecting bread for mold or unclogging the toilet. I watched now how she hummed as she sponged the counters, her hands stubby in their worn rubber gloves, and my heart swelled with longing for what I’d
I raised my eyebrows at her, but she didn’t notice.
“You wouldn’t think it was so important if he let the rain drench your bed,” Justin said.
“I still would’ve thought it. Like you were saying, buckets work well enough.”
“Yeah, long as I have an understanding wife.”
“I got a lighter,” I said, setting the candles on the coffee table. I lit them and sat on the other side of Justin.
Justin sighed and slid an arm around my back. I stiffened.
“This picture just popped into my head,” he said. “Maybe fifty years from now and here we are, old bags, there’s a fire going and the three of us are in the living room listening to the rain, with you guys doing knitting and me doing a crossword.”
“Knitting?” Eve said. “Are you kidding?”
“Sorry, Eve. Okay, you’re planning some exotic trip, or plotting to rule the world.” He squeezed my shoulder. “But Kerry’s knitting.”
Eve snickered but I didn’t care. All that mattered right then was his arm around me, a honey-thickness sinking from my shoulders down through my chest. I blurred my eyes and watched the candles dance in unison right and left. “What’ll we be thinking?” I said.
“Guess it depends what we’ve done with our lives so far. By then if we haven’t done all the important stuff, we’ll probably just be waiting for life to end. But if we’ve done everything we wanted, we’ll be reminiscing.”
“That’s the problem,” Eve said. “These days that’s how I feel, like the important stuff ’s never going to happen.”
Justin pulled his arm away from me, leaned back to look at Eve. “You don’t mean that.”
“I just keep waiting for something to start,” she said. “Even though I know it won’t start on its own, all I can do is wait. Like everything’ll be a blur until it happens, whatever it is, graduating, moving to the mainland, falling in love.”
“I’ve been in love,” Justin said. “Or at least I’ve thought I was in love. And it’s great in its own way, but it’s not everything. Not enough by itself to make you feel like you’ve lived.”
“For me it will be,” I said.
Justin slid his arm back around me, rested his damp head against my shoulder. “Yeah, you’re a romantic,” he said. “For you it probably will be.”
I bit back a smile. There was something primal in it, the sound of the rain, the tickle of his hair against my neck. This stillness, this is how I imagined it would be if Justin and I had just made love.
But then he spoke. “I think there’s two kinds of people,” he said, “contented souls and restless souls. That’s us, Eve, the restless souls, always looking.”
Eve smiled. “And Kerry’ll do her knitting, and she’ll be happy with her sitting-knitting life.”
“But at least she’ll be happy. Whereas us, I’ll be waiting to finish my story and you’ll be trying to conquer the world. And either it won’t happen or it will and we’ll find out it’s not enough. How many people live their lives just waiting?”
Eve touched her finger to a candle drip, lifted it to study the wax-covered print. “If you look more, you find more,” she said. “So maybe we’ll never be complacent. But at least you and me, when we look back on it all, we’ll know we really lived. I’d rather have passion than peace any day.”
Justin was quiet a minute, then said, “Passion’s riskier, but I guess I’m with you. I’d rather have passion than peace.”
I sat in the kitchen, helping Mrs. Caine with dinner. She was the kind of woman who was always smiling faintly, even when she was doing things that did not warrant a smile, like inspecting bread for mold or unclogging the toilet. I watched now how she hummed as she sponged the counters, her hands stubby in their worn rubber gloves, and my heart swelled with longing for what I’d
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