Excerpt: Rules of the Road

[The excerpt is not from the beginning of the novel.]

Sometimes after sex I look over at Dr. Erich and I wonder what he’s thinking. Not about me, I can tell that. If I didn’t know better, I bet he keeps a list of how many times he’s had sex. There’s probably a notebook hidden somewhere. Written in his tiny, too-precise handwriting. August 1st, sex with Patty. B-minus.

He rates everything. Dinner at a restaurant, is it an A meal or a C-minus? The waiter? Did he do a good job or is he an F? We went to Hawaii on vacation once and had dinner at an outdoor restaurant and the air smelled sweet, a breeze was blowing in off the ocean and I remember watching the sunset and thinking how perfect this moment was and if heaven exists (probably not), it must look like Hawaii at sunset. And Dr. Erich turns to me, takes my hand in his and says, “I’d give it an A-minus.”

The minus was because he thought the sunset could contain more colors. Oh, what a pity that Dr. Erich isn’t God or Picasso or whoever it is who gets to decide how many colors are in a sunset.

Living with someone like Dr. Erich makes me crazy sometimes. Not that I don’t have my own weird shit. But the grading thing is pretty annoying. I’ve called him on it. He says I’m making something out of nothing. Actually the first thing he says is, “I’d give that comment a C-plus.”

That’s Dr. Erich’s idea of humor. Hilarious, right?

I’m in bed wondering how much longer this relationship will last. Weeks, months, years? Am I going to marry Dr. Erich out of ennui? Because I’m too lazy to break up with him? Because maybe deep down I think he’s the best I’m ever going to get? And then I tell myself he’s not that bad. Smart, great looking. Okay, not the best sense of humor. He’s an excellent doctor, his patients adore him. He has lots of friends, he works for charities, and yet...

He’s too into being Dr. Erich. That’s what Kate says and I don’t disagree. His world revolves around... his world. And that’s it.

He doesn’t speak Furbish. He tried to throw away Tippy once. It collects dust, he said. Tippy is not an it, I tried to explain. You could probably sell it on eBay, Dr. Erich said. And use the money to go back to medical school.

Another example of Dr. Erich’s not-so-hilarious sense of humor.

I look over at him. A penny for your thoughts I could say, but it takes too much effort.

As if he’s reading my mind, he smiles at me. “I forgot to tell you about my game today. I was down eight-two, I could’ve given up, but Jonathan, he gets so cocky – I wanted to wipe that smirk off his face.”

Yes, girls, isn’t this the sort of post-coital conversation you dream of?

“Let me guess,” I say. “You let him win just to prove a squash match isn’t a true measure of intelligence.”

“You’re cute when you’re ironic,” he says. “I beat him twice. Did you stop by the registrar’s office?”

Here we go.

He continues. “You’re lucky the school’s willing to be so accommodating. You’re still a hot prospect, even after taking that sabbatical.”

“It wasn’t a sabbatical. I dropped out. Come on, you know I like being a paramedic. I don’t want to go back to med school. I’m happy doing what I’m doing.”

“A paramedic. It’s like being a taxi driver only people bleed in your back seat. Think about the practice we could have one day. The house we’ll have, all paid for by knee replacements.”

I get out of bed and go to the window. There isn’t much a view from this room. Mostly the apartment building next door and the tops of trees from the nearby park.

“The seminar last month on knee replacements, you should’ve come with me. Polyethylene patellas. Absolutely incredible.”

I turn to him. “Erich?”

He isn’t listening.

“They’re so durable, twenty years at least. Too bad they can’t figure out a way to make them a little less durable – that’s a joke.”

I do a mock chuckle.

“And we’re not even talking about femoral components. Do you know how many people are walking around out there on artificial hip joints?”

I stick out my tongue at Dr. Erich. He doesn’t notice. I do it again. Same reaction. Zippo.

“It’s all happening so quickly. There’s a new procedure every six months. Who knows? We're living on the cusp of a revolution in prosthetic joints.”

That’s it. I walk back over to the bed, pick up my pillow and press it against Dr. Erich’s face. He struggles, but I’m stronger than I look. Thank you, Pilates. I can hear him making whimpering sounds, I think I hear the word “prosthetic” and I push the pillow with more force.

He stops moving. I pull the pillow back, check the pulse in his neck. My medical training comes in handy sometimes. He’s dead.

I’m back at the window. Dr. Erich is still talking to himself. “And we’re going to be in the middle of it. If we play our cards right, we could have one of the biggest prosthetic joint practices in the country. In the country? Why not the world?”

Oh, why not, Dr. Erich? Sure, let’s go for it. Because obviously our relationship is destined to go on for eternity. It doesn’t matter I imagine killing you, that happens in most relationships, right?

Probably not.

Dr. Erich is looking at me. Has he grown bored with the sound of his own voice? Has he asked me a question and I’ve just zoned out, too busy concentrating on his demise?

“Get over here,” he says. “I want to check out your joints. See if any of ‘em need replacing.”

I look at him. Consider.

Walk over to the bed.