Something for Nothing Read Online Free

suddenly gripped with the sensation of being alone in Miriam Weaver’s house. Or if not alone, then unobserved.
    So he’d lingered. The party was going on outside, but from the hallway the voices and bursts of laughter (forced Walnut Station laughter, Martin thought) were muffled. There were some photos along the hallway, and he’d paused to glance at them. They were mostly of the kids, who were nice enough, actually (which was a triumph, given whata dickhead their dad was). These were all in color. Shots of them out hunting at their duck club, getting their first Communions at church, stuff like that. There were also some older, black-and-white photos, mostly of Miriam and Hal when they were younger, maybe when they were first married, or before that, even. There weren’t any kids in the pictures, anyway. Martin had to admit that Hal looked kind of handsome; he was certainly thinner, and he had more hair. And of course Miriam looked really incredible. She was one of those people who looked right at the camera. Jesus, she really was good-looking. Could someone please explain how Hal Weaver had managed to land someone like this?
    Looking at the pictures in the hallway had made Martin think about Miriam Weaver and her private world. What she sounded like when she talked to a close friend on the phone, or maybe the letters she’d written but never sent. Or what she thought about when no one was around and the house was quiet for a change—her fantasies, her fears, her secrets. Down the hallway was the master bedroom; he could see the edge of their bed, and a bunch of ties on a clothing rack. And a couple of pairs of Hal’s shoes on the floor next to the rack. That was about it, though. And there wasn’t any time to peek in and see the rest of the room—it was time to get back out onto the patio (he didn’t want Miriam thinking he’d used the bathroom to take a dump, after all).
    But his brief foray to the bathroom had made him curious. He wanted a chance to wander around, feel the atmosphere, and touch the things that made it her house. He hadn’t asked himself why this was the case, and he didn’t intend to—not if he could avoid it. He just knew it was something he had a surprisingly strong urge to do. Ever since then, he’d thought about it off and on—thought about Miriam, her house, how he could get back in there. He thought about stopping by when he knew no one was around except Miriam, say hello, just checking in. But he knew he didn’t have the guts for that. And it wasn’t what he wanted, not really. No, he just wanted to walk around in there when no one else was around. Okay, it was a little strange. But it hadbecome a daydream place to which he’d sneak off, even while he was sitting talking to Linda and the kids at dinner, or when he was calling the banks and telling them payment was on the way (which it wasn’t). He’d be talking, engaged and animated, but really he was imagining being in Miriam’s house.
    Martin flicked on the radio and willed himself not to think about Miriam Weaver. Within fifteen minutes he was driving through the Caldecott Tunnel, watching the lights flicker past. The kids always tried to hold their breath the whole way through. It was about a mile long, and even without traffic it took a minute or maybe a little more to get through it. Peter still hadn’t managed it (the kid definitely needed to get some exercise).
    He braked for a traffic backup, and turned off the radio (there wasn’t any reception, only static). A middle-aged woman next to him in a white Mustang was fixing her hair in her rearview mirror. It looked like a wig. She probably had five or six of them in her bathroom at home, he thought, all lined up on Styrofoam heads and waiting—hoping—that they’d be chosen. “Let’s see,” she’d say. “I’m going to wear you to work, because my boss likes this