Free Connections by Jacqueline Wein Page B

Chris all the time. But the other people walking hand in hand or arm in arm just made him feel lonelier.
    He could understand that Chris didn’t care if people wondered what he was, or commented, or speculated. Or even if they thought they knew. He could even understand that he didn’t want to show up at a business or literary function with Jason and make them actually sure. Not the people he worked for or with. Not his precious writers. But Jason could not understand why Chris would go any place that they couldn’t be together, especially on a weekend. Jason would never do that. He wouldn’t have gone, because he would rather stay home and do nothing with Chris than go to the finest, most exciting affair without him. If Chris would rather do something else, be with other people, then he couldn’t possibly love Jason enough or as much as ... As much as what? Jason asked himself. As much as I want him to .
    That Chris had a whole other life that he couldn’t or wouldn’t share with him was what made Jason feel so rejected and alone. Even though Jason kept wishing and hoping, deep down he knew that Chris would never be what he wanted. Which is why he was always disappointed. Why he always had that sense of loss…for what was not.
    A blaring radio from a car slowing at the traffic light jolted Jason out of his preoccupation. He shifted the weight of the papers to his other arm, switched the leash, and hurried around the corner, away from the crowds and lights and smells.

Chapter 24
    The letter came on Tuesday. The thick Macy’s sale catalog was rolled up tight, wedging the envelopes inside the mailbox. Eileen scraped her hand trying to get everything out. She sucked the blood from her index finger and had to juggle the handles of the plastic grocery bag and her pocketbook and the mail before starting up to the second floor.
    “Hello-o-o, Mama’s little boy,” she sang out, trying to get the key in the lock. She could hear Fibber moaning with excitement, his snout at the crack of the door, not quite whining, not quite yelping, not quite able to bear the few seconds between hearing her footsteps and being in her arms.
    Once inside, she dropped everything on the floor and stooped so Mr. McGee could stand on his hind legs and hold her shoulders with his front paws—the way he used to play or fight with other dogs when he was younger and friskier. She rubbed her face against his and massaged the little indentation under his ear.
    When he calmed down, she brought her things into the small, neat kitchen. Once the groceries were put away, she looked through the mail, taking everything out of the envelopes and sorting the contents into two piles—her Con Edison and Verizon telephone bills and an interest check in one; junk (including one corporate annual report and two letters to stockholders), two catalogs, and the Macy’s flyer in the other. She left the important things on her desk to attend to, the rest on top of the TV for later.
    It wasn’t until 5:30 that she saw it. She had taken a short nap, cuddled tight with Mr. McGee. She woke up, washed her face, paid the two bills, got the chicken ready, and went for her afternoon walk with Fibber. When she returned, she changed into her slippers and brunch coat, put the chicken in the oven, and sat down in her club chair. She didn’t know if the sigh came from the worn spring in the seat or from the worn bones inside her. It was too early to watch the six o’clock news, so she started reading the junk. She read every word of the solicitations, the political statements, the ads. Then she reached for the white-sale booklet. The letter was about a third of the way through the booklet, between ads for mattress pads and pillows. Sometimes the mailman accidentally stuck envelopes in the folds of magazines when he jammed them down into the box.
    The kitchen timer beeped and the smoke alarm wailed, but Eileen couldn’t stand up. Much less think of eating.

Chapter 25
    Princess