Free The News of the World by Ron Carlson Page A

the county attorney. “It’s a conceptual piece I’m trying.”
    â€œGarlic?”
    â€œThis one’s garlic.” I said, wishing I’d grabbed a beer. “It’s been done with apples.” I nodded, believing what I’d said myself. “It’s only a temporary piece,” I explained, waving my hands as a kind of truce. Ruth leaned back and shook her head imperceptibly, a subtle gesture they all learn in law school which means: “I don’t believe a word of it, you lying bastard.” But Story smiled at me again, a new smile this time, the ancient smile of women who know their men.
    â€œYou missed your class, you know.”
    â€œOh, sure,” I said affirmatively. “Sure, sure. That’s wonderful.” And it was wonderful in my crazy head. I could see my students waiting for the keys to unlock their lockers, grumbling and then drifting away. Mary Ann Buxton would have drifted right to the department chairman’s office to offer him most of an earful, but it was wonderful. I smiled. I put my hand over the two charms in my pocket and I realized that I was moving through the most centered and affirmative period of my life. And though I couldn’t see them all clearly, there were still things to do.
NINE
    IN the morning, I placed the thermometer in Story’s mouth and sang three minutes from the theme song of High Noon, making the “Do not forsake me, oh my darling!” really mournful, and then read the little gauge: “Ninety-seven point nine. Or ninety-eight flat, I can’t tell.”
    I felt an almost impossible intensity, an anticipation that ran me with chills. All my magic was aligned for tonight, all my preparations.
    â€œYou’re in a … mood,” Story said cautiously, giving me an odd side glance.
    â€œGood night’s sleep,” I said trying to suddenly appear mature. I stood and the song rose into my throat. “On this our we-e-edding day-ay!” I sang and headed for the bathroom.
    In the shower steam rose around me rife with garlic, the very smell of babies hovering in the air. There was nothing wrong with us. Tonight was the night.
    Story came into the bathroom just in time to hear the best rhyme in my song:
    â€œHe’d made a vow while in state prison,
    Vow’d it’d be my life or his’n!”
    â€œOh, this garlic!” she yelled. “This garlic has got to go!”
    â€œTomorrow,” I answered. “Just one more day.”
    â€œYou know what Ruth thinks?”
    â€œThat she could get me off with insanity?”
    â€œThat you’re having an affair.”
    I poked my head outside the shower curtain and stared at Story. She was naked, brushing her teeth, and the way she bent to the sink burned across my heart. “What?”
    Story tapped her brush and looked up. Such a smile. “You’re not having an affair. You’ve got your secrets, but you’re not having an affair.”
    Before Story left for the office, I grabbed her lapels and said, “Listen, try this: get the township business out of your head, okay? If you have to, delegate some authority, make a new committee, but get it out of your head. And Story.”
    â€œYes, sir?”
    â€œCome home alone. No Ruthless Ruth. No complicated preoccupations. Just you. Seven o’clock.”
    â€œIs there something I should know, Dan?”
    I showed her my palms and waved one up at the garlic doorway fringe. “You know it all already. I’ll see you at seven.”
    She gave me a funny, get-well-soon look, and I thought what it must be like for the mayor to be married to a wizard-master of the dark and light arts, but I also thought: it’s worth it. She’ll go and worry about me for thirty-five minutes, until township troubles hit the fan, and it’s worth it.
    After Story had left, I ran up to the campus for my ten o’clock life class, arriving just in time to let