Free The Easy Way Out by Stephen McCauley Page B

Sharon,” I said, “he got roped into the engagement. Don’t forget that.”
    â€œPeople his age don’t get roped into relationships, Patrick. They make it look as if they do, so they don’t have to accept responsibility for them, that’s all. And in any case, it’s none of your business.”
    â€œWell, there’s a consensus on that point. Arthur said the same thing.” Sharon considered Arthur stuffy, pedantic, and suffocatingly boring, even though she shared his point of view on almost every imaginable subject.
    â€œHe did? Oh. He did, really? That’s too bad. I hate to agree with him on anything. But let me tell you something else: the only reason you want to help your brother is because you can’t seem to help yourself. You can’t leave Arthur, so you have to save your brother from getting stuck in some dead marriage. If you’d leave Arthur and move back in with me, none of this Tony business would matter to you in the slightest.”
    â€œYou’re forgetting,” I said, “that Arthur and I have been so happy together lately, we’re about to buy a house. So let’s not get on that topic.”
    â€œFine with me. By the way, are you still sleeping on the floor?”
    I nodded, and she raised her eyebrows and took a huge bite of her sandwich. She gave a thumbs-up to the handsome brother and returned to her lunch, ignoring me.
    â€œIt’s my back,” I said. “Conventional mattresses give me backaches, so I sleep on the floor.” When Arthur and I first lived together, we shared a double bed. Arthur liked to wind his big body around mine, and I always felt protected and warmed by him. Then, after a couple of years, warm turned to hot, and we got a bigger mattress. Then I developed an allergic reaction to our sheets and started sleeping in a mummy-style sleeping bag. Unfortunately, I was always rolling off the far side of the bed. Then my back problems began, and now I was on the floor. “It’s actually a very common problem.”
    â€œAbsolutely. I know lots of people who live with someone who sleeps on the floor beside their bed. In most cases, though, the someone is named Fido. By the way, still having trouble with insomnia?”
    I wrapped up the uneaten portion of my sandwich and tossed itinto the dented metal trash can by the door. It landed with a thud that sounded as if a piece of the ceiling had fallen in. The conversation was not going the way I’d hoped. For once, I’d wanted to talk with Sharon about a troubled relationship other than my own. I felt cheated, foolish, and disloyal. I had a sudden urge to call Arthur and try to make plans to go to a movie with him. There was no way to win with Arthur. Every time someone told me how wonderful he was, I felt compelled to point out his many faults, and every time Sharon ventured to say a word against him, I wanted to cradle him in my arms. I was angry that she had the effrontery to insult Arthur and question the sense of our buying a house together; only I was allowed to do that.
    I snapped open a can of diet soda. “I happen to have a lot on my mind,” I said. “That’s why I have trouble sleeping. I’m in way over my head at work, for example.”
    She mopped at her mouth with a wad of napkins and then started to scrub at the grease on her hands. “And you think I’m not? I’ve got a lot on my mind, but that doesn’t mean I don’t sleep. Actually, I had trouble dragging my body out of bed on Sunday. I didn’t get up until four in the afternoon. I suppose I needed the rest.”
    Behind the counter, a small yellow plastic radio sat on a shelf against the wall. The handsome brother was standing on a chair and spinning the dial from one crackling station to the next. He finally settled on a Muzak station playing an upbeat version of “The Shadow of Your Smile.” I looked over at Sharon, swamped with