Read Tales of the City 08 - Mary Ann in Autumn for Free Online Page A

him?”
    It was uncanny, after all these years, how Michael could still find his way so deftly to the epicenter of her pain.
    “That I was worried about being pregnant,” she replied.
    His mouth opened slightly, and he made a little huffing sound that didn’t quite qualify as laughter. “You’re kidding, right?”
    His disbelief was understandable, but it still felt like an act of petty cruelty. She couldn’t help but sound wounded. “It does happen, you know, to women my age. It’s rare, but it happens. Even when we’ve been through menopause.”
    “So were you pregnant? Are you?”
    “No,” she said quietly. “It was … a false alarm.” What an odd way to put it, she thought, since what she was feeling now was the truest alarm imaginable. An unwanted pregnancy, however inconveniently late in life, paled in comparison.
    “But why would you even think you were—”
    “I was bleeding, Mouse. I thought I was getting my period again.”
    The room was so incredibly still that she could hear, from somewhere in Michael and Ben’s kitchen, the sound of a dripping faucet. Or more likely one of those aerated water bowls for dogs, given the way these guys seemed to dote on their Labradoodle.
    When she finally spoke, it might have been someone else.
    “I have uterine cancer.”
    After a moment, Michael just said: “Shit.”
    “I know this isn’t fair to you, Mouse. There was just no one else I could tell. Darien’s too much of a hornet’s nest and—”
    “Sweetie.” Michael slipped his arm across her shoulder, trying to pull her closer, but she felt herself resisting. She still wasn’t ready to collapse yet. He sensed this and released her after a squeeze or two. “Bob doesn’t know, then?”
    She shook her head. “He’s probably still freaked that I might be pregnant.”
    “Shouldn’t you tell him—?”
    “God, no.”
    “He hasn’t come home yet, I take it?”
    “No.”
    Now she was wondering if Bob and Calliope were still at the Gritti or if they’d taken their act to some other romantic venue, someplace to the south, maybe, sunny and by the sea. If only she had muted the Skype—or just turned the damned thing off—as soon as she had seen what was happening. Now, for the rest of her days, she would have to live with those voices, gruff with lust, then oh-so-achingly tender, voices that were already cutting into her like knives when that clueless young doctor told her the news.
    She turned and looked at her old friend.
    “Mouse, if you can’t do this, just say so.”

Chapter 6
Not to Be Alone
    N ormally, with groceries in the car, Ben would have headed straight home, but he wasn’t sure how much time Michael needed with Mary Ann, and he didn’t relish the thought of walking in on whatever drama was unfolding. So he headed over to his workshop on Norfolk Street and finished staining a stair-step tansu that was slated for delivery on Monday. Roman, as usual, was thrilled to be there, feverishly prowling the shop for the mice that were known to live behind the walls. The place had once been an appliance repair shop, so even with the addition of whitewash and fiberglass skylights, it hovered on the funky side of dilapidated. Ben loved it, though, loved its rich aromas of cedar dust and linseed oil and the quiet afternoons he spent here, alone with his craft.
    As he brushed the stain onto the tansu , he gazed wistfully across the room at a rustic fireplace surround he’d started on nine months earlier. He and Michael had settled on the pinecone motif, since the piece had been intended—was still intended—for their fireplace in Pinyon City. Except that there was no fireplace, much less a cabin; just three acres of rocky, sloping ground with an unbelievable view of a Sierra range. He had bought the land before the economy began to tank, when there were still people in the market for museum-grade furniture. He’d envisioned their own secret Eden, where Michael could grow old in the bosom of