The Music of Chance Read Online Free Page B

said, “Get this one, Jim. It has the best notes and the most readable print.”
    Fiona was a journalist who had once written a feature article about him for the
Globe
, “A Week in the Life of a Boston Fireman.” It was the usual Sunday supplement claptrap, complete with photos and comments from his friends, but Nashe had been amused by her, had in fact liked her very much, and after she had beenfollowing him around for two or three days, he had sensed that she was beginning to feel attracted to him. Certain glances were given, certain accidental brushes of the fingers took place with increasing frequency—but Nashe had been a married man back then, and what might have happened between them did not. A few months after the article was published, Fiona took a job with the AP in San Francisco, and since then he had lost track of her.
    She lived in a little house not far from the bookstore, and when she invited him there to talk about the old days in Boston, Nashe understood that she was still unattached. It was not quite four o’clock when they arrived, but they settled down immediately to hard drinks, breaking open a fresh bottle of Jack Daniel’s to accompany their conversation in the living room. Within an hour, Nashe had moved next to Fiona on the couch, and not long after that he was putting his hand inside her skirt. There was a strange inevitability to it, he felt, as if their fluke encounter called for an extravagant response, a spirit of anarchy and celebration. They were not creating an event so much as trying to keep up with one, and by the time Nashe wrapped his arms around Fiona’s naked body, his desire for her was so powerful that it was already verging on a feeling of loss—for he knew that he was bound to disappoint her in the end, that sooner or later a moment would come when he would want to be back in the car.
    He spent four nights with her, and little by little he discovered that she was much braver and smarter than he had imagined. “Don’t think I didn’t want this to happen,” she said to him on the last night. “I know you don’t love me, but that doesn’t mean I’m the wrong girl for you. You’re a head case, Nashe, and if you’ve got to go away, then fine, you’ve got to go away. But just remember that I’m here. If you ever get the itch to crawl into someone’s pants again, think about my pants first.”
    He could not help feeling sorry for her, but this feeling was also tinged with admiration—perhaps even something more than that:a suspicion that she might be someone he could love, after all. For a brief moment, he was tempted to ask her to marry him, suddenly imagining a life of wisecracks and tender sex with Fiona, of Juliette growing up with brothers and sisters, but he couldn’t manage to get the words out of his mouth. “I’ll just be gone for a little while,” he said at last. “It’s time for my visit to Northfield. You’re welcome to come along if you want to, Fiona.”
    “Sure. And what am I supposed to do about my job? Three sick days in a row is pushing it a bit far, don’t you think?”
    “I’ve got to be there for Juliette, you know that. It’s important.”
    “Lots of things are important. Just don’t disappear forever, that’s all.”
    “Don’t worry, I’ll be back. I’m a free man now, and I can do whatever I bloody want.”
    “This is America, Nashe. The home of the goddamn free, remember? We can all do what we want.”
    “I didn’t know you were so patriotic.”
    “You bet your bottom dollar, friend. My country right or wrong. That’s why I’m going to wait for you to turn up again. Because I’m free to make a fool of myself.”
    “I told you I’ll be back. I just made a promise.”
    “I know you did. But that doesn’t mean you’re going to keep it.”
    There had been other women before that, a series of short flings and one-night stands, but no one he had made any promises to. The divorced woman in Florida, for example, and the