Read Alligators in the Trees for Free Online Page A

appealing. Once in a while she would get nostalgic for the boyfriends she’d had over the years who were fond of cooking, but as soon as the images of their tempting specialties popped into her head, so did the memories of why exactly those various chefs weren’t in her kitchen anymore.
    She had just put the last box of macaroni and cheese in her cupboard when she heard a knock at her door. Wishfully thinking she’d find old Mildred Saunders, Priscilla opened the door without bothering to look through her peephole. Instead of finding her diminutive neighbor bearing freshly baked goodies—one of the few perks of living in that building—she found the not so welcome sight of Brawny, her second-to-last boyfriend.
    Appropriately nicknamed, Brawny was six-foot-something, depending on how he was slouched, weighing in at two hundred forty pounds, all of it solid muscle, including what rested between his ears. Curled against his forearm and bicep was a brown paper bag, undoubtedly containing a six-pack of whatever beer happened to be on sale at the gas-station-slash-mini-mart where he was employed as a tow-truck operator.
    “How ya doin’, Sammy?” he asked. Priscilla, hands on her hips, said nothing. “Just got off work an’ thought I’d stop by,” he offered amiably, again with no reply from Priscilla. He regarded her rather petulantly for a moment before she relented and let him in.
    “I’m not exactly in your neighborhood anymore, Brawn,” Priscilla said as she closed the door behind him, “so how did I get so lucky?”
    “C’mon, Sammy. Can’t a guy stop by and see his ex without having a reason?” Brawny replied, feigning injured feelings.
    “I’m not just your ex—I’m your ex twice removed. I would’ve thought I’d fallen off the roster by now.”
    She sat down on her futon and did nothing to make her guest feel at home. After an awkward moment, Brawny pantomimed with a backward wave of his thumb his desire to stash his beer in her fridge. Priscilla acknowledged his request with the merest nod of her head, which he took as a yes. He returned a minute later with a beer in each hand, extending one to his hostess before taking a seat on Priscilla’s only semi-comfortable chair.
    She took the can and eyed it skeptically, as if she wasn’t sure what to do with it. She noticed that Brawny had made the uncommonly gallant gesture of opening it for her. Instead of taking a sip, she lifted her hair and held it to her neck. She caught Brawny smiling at her in a shy, almost coy way that really irritated her. She gave him a hard look and he wisely lowered his gaze to his beer.
    “So, what is it?” she asked, knowing Brawny too well to believe he had made this social call on a whim. He started to protest, but thought better of it.
    “Aw, it was just one of those days at work,” he said dismissively.
    Priscilla’s breathy snort indicated she knew where this was headed. “Don’t tell me—was it an especially gory pile up on the GW Bridge, or maybe a motorist driving the wrong direction through the Holland Tunnel?” she asked. The acid sting of Priscilla’s question left Brawny unfazed. Either he had become inured to Priscilla’s sarcasm, or he was too preoccupied by his own thoughts to notice it. In any event, he sat hunched over his beer, staring into space.
    “It was one of the worst ones I seen yet, Sammy,” he said, his eyes glazing over. He plowed on, oblivious to Priscilla’s growing discomfort. “It was out on the Jersey Pike. I had just gotten back in the cab when I got the call. It turns out I’m within a mile of the accident. It was just my luck I got there before the ambulance or the State Troopers.
    “As soon as I come up on it, I get this sinking feeling. For one thing, the car looks like half a car, like it had been cut in half right down the middle. But it ain’t. The other half is smashed clear inside, like someone was tryin’ to turn it inside out. As I pull up to it, I see a