Love's Illusions: A Novel Read Online Free

and sandwich shop that had been operating on E. Superior Street since the 1920’s. Everyone who was anyone in the city knew the place. At this time of day on a Saturday, it was bustling with customers, but Bernie had managed to secure a small wooden table in the back corner, and gave me a big smile as I walked in to meet him. It was good to see him again. I had been a little apprehensive about meeting; I hadn’t seen Bernie Epstein since I split from my husband, Stephen, last spring. Stephen and I had only been married about six months when everything fell apart. I had packed a few things to go stay with my girlfriend, Mary Beth, for a few days, telling Stephen that he needed to make up his mind, stop lying, stop hanging out with those people and make some time for our marriage. Bernie had lived in the apartment across the hall from Stephen and me – he was always more Stephen’s friend than mine, as he’d made clear at the time, but he had called wanting to meet, and now that I saw his familiar smile, I was glad I had agreed.
    Bernie was a tall, rather thin guy with a big nose, dull brown hair, cut short compared to most of the men I knew, and a warm smile, and as usual, he was very easy to talk to, the kind of person my father always referred to as a ‘glad-hander’. We spent the first half hour or so catching up on what was new in each of our lives. I heard about his recent graduation from Northwestern University Law School, studying for the Bar exam, who he was currently dating, and the latest gossip about the obnoxious neighbors who lived upstairs at the apartment building on W. Touhy Avenue – both of us avoiding any mention of Stephen. As much as I was enjoying the conversation, sipping my cup of coffee from the heavy white ceramic mug –and relishing the scents of freshly baked pastry that whiffed through the shop, I was becoming anxious to find out the real reason he had wanted to meet.
    Whether he was also growing bored with the small talk or read the expression on my glass face, Bernie sighed, took a long sip of his coffee and looking up at me over the rim of his cup said, “Stephen… Well, I ahhh, I don’t know how to say this, but I thought you should know that he… ahhh…” and his eyes dropped back down into his mug.
    “What’s happened? I thought he was still in Boston, have you heard from him? Is he alright?” I demanded, with what must have been a tone of alarm in my voice.
    Glancing up and looking me in the eye he replied, “Oh, no, he’s okay, he’s back in Chicago now. I mean there hasn’t been any kind of accident or anything; I mean he’s fine, I saw him. It’s just that …” Bernie’s voice faded off as he looked around, and swirled the coffee in his mug a few more times, staring at the signed photographs of the café owner with various prominent or famous or infamous people who had ever patronized his establishment, and were now hanging on the walls.
    I could see that his face and the rims of his ears were beginning to get a pinkish tinge to them – whatever he wanted to say was obviously causing him some embarrassment as he struggled to find the right words. My mind raced… I could’ve guessed what was coming, but I was in no mood to be magnanimous. I was still somewhat hungover and besides, this was his show: he wanted to talk to me - not the other way around. I had tried talking to Bernie before I moved out, but he had blown me off, saying that whatever was happening was none of his business. He was Stephen’s friend, and didn’t know anything anyhow. So now, instead of relieving his discomfort, I let him squirm a little until finally, not being able to stand the tension myself anymore I said, “Just tell me.”
    After a prolonged silence that seemed to go on forever, he gathered his thoughts, and with determination looked up at me again. “I owe you an apology,” he began. “When you wanted to talk before, I… Well, I thought you wanted me to give you some kind