Aftermirth Read Online Free Page A

esposa and electrocutada ), and I heard more murmuring and felt a small, soft hand take hold of mine.
    â€œCome, Michael,” Elena said, tugging me forward. “Come and meet my mother.”
    As I moved through the room and felt the other hands touching my back and shoulders, I thought of the people I’d seen leaving the funeral home. Maybe, I thought, they’d looked better than the ones going in because they’d left a tiny bit of their sorrow here, behind them.
    I DIDN’T STOP mourning Jess, but what had been a howling pain settled into something between a moan and a whimper, still constant but endurable. I kept the mortgage paid and Izzy in gourmet kibble with voiceover work: a couple of Nissan spots, a radio campaign for Coors Lite. Nothing funny; I told my agent not to call me in for those jobs. Michael Larssen was out of the funny business.
    Elena and I had exchanged numbers and promises to stay in touch, which neither of us had kept. What did we have in common, really, besides bizarre misfortune? And attraction—there was that, but I couldn’t deal with that. We’d both felt it, and it had made our parting awkward. After we hugged she’d reached up and laid her hand against my cheek, and I’d felt a sudden urge to grab hold of it and press her palm to my mouth. I didn’t do that, of course, I just stammered hot-faced thanks and good-bye. Whenever I thought of Elena, and I tried not to, I felt squirmy. So when I got a voice mail from her some four months later, I was both pleased and rattled.
    â€œHey Michael, it’s Elena Santiago. Can you meet me for coffee this week? I have something I want to ask you.” Coffee, not drinks, and she sounded serious and not the least bit flirtatious. I ignored the twinge of disappointment I felt and called her back. Her manner was the same on the phone, and when I tried to probe her about the reason for her call, she said she’d rather speak to me about it in person.
    We met at a coffee shop she suggested on 114th and Broadway. She was already seated when I got there, and I gave her a quick and only slightly clumsy peck on the cheek before sitting down across from her. She was as pretty as I remembered, and as sad.
    â€œHow’ve you been?” I asked.
    She shrugged. “Not great. I’ve had to take a leave of absence from school. I just can’t seem to focus.”
    I nodded; I knew that feeling. “Where are you in school?”
    â€œHere,” she said, waving her hand in the direction of the campus across the street. “I’m in the law school.”
    â€œAt Columbia?” It came out more incredulous than I’d intended.
    â€œ Sí, at Columbia,” she said acerbically, in an exaggerated Spanish accent. “For every floor I scrub, they let me take a class.”
    â€œI’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
    Her mouth twisted in a rueful grimace. “No, I’m sorry,” she said. “That was rude. I’ve been rude a lot lately.”
    â€œHave your friends stopped calling you yet?” Elena gave me a puzzled look, and I said, “Master my proven techniques, and in just thirty days you can alienate your friends, co-workers and your entire family too, or your money back.”
    That earned me a half smile. “How are you doing, Michael?” she asked.
    â€œBetter, actually. I think it helped, meeting you and your family.”
    Something flashed in her eyes. “That’s why I wanted to see you.” She rooted in her purse, pulled out a piece of paper and pushed it across the table. It was a printout of an Internet article called “The 10 Most Bizarre, Ludicrous Deaths of 2010.” They were listed in reverse order. The last paragraph was circled:
    # 1 : DEATH BY FEMININE HYGIENE???!!!!
    On September 27, chronic snorer Jim Harbuck stuffed tampons up his nostrils in an effort to quiet himself, not knowing that his condition was caused