Chapter Eleven #3
Nick dug it out of his jacket. Chester grabbed it off him before Nick could hand it over. Then he adjusted his glasses, clearing his throat gently.
“I can listen no longer in silence,” he began.
His voice took on a strange, almost soothing quality that reminded Nick of his teacher who used to read to the class before lunch.
It was the last time Nick actually enjoyed reading, sitting in the sun on the carpet of his second-grade classroom.
He used to get in trouble for almost falling asleep.
He couldn’t help it; the combination of sun and his teacher’s melodic voice was like kryptonite.
He felt an odd echo of that now, a low calm that bordered on a trance as Chester continued.
The echo sank deep inside him, into his heart.
For once, reading Austen wasn’t like dragging himself through mud. The words were clear.
“A word, a look, will be enough to decide whether I enter your father’s house this evening or never,” Chester finished, closing the book with a satisfying slap. “Stick that in your pipe and smoke it. Still think that’s just fine?”
Nick shrugged. “It was good.”
Chester glared at him.
Nick rolled his eyes. “What do you want from me, man? I liked it.”
Even admitting he liked it felt weird. Like Jasper was going to burst out of nowhere and start heckling him. But Chester kept glaring at him like he’d insulted his mother. What was he supposed to do, swoon? Say, It made me excited to reach that part in the book?
“Why?” Chester asked.
Nick sighed. He’d never been good at book reports. “I don’t know. It’s . . . It’s romantic. Why did you like it, college boy?”
He half expected Chester to tell him to screw off. Instead, Chester launched into a speech immediately, like he’d been sitting on it for years, waiting for somebody to ask.
“Because it’s the culmination of the most beautiful relationship in literature!
” he cried, loud enough that Nick looked around to make sure no one was going to come in and see why the old dragon was yelling.
“The passion, the longing, finally shaking loose! They spent the whole novel aching for each other, thinking their hurt was private, but now the blood flows free, even though they still—” Chester banged a clawed hand on the mattress.
“They still can’t talk to each other, because of all the damn people in the room!
So he pens this gorgeous letter, spilling his guts all over the polished marble.
Reaching for her. Hoping she reaches back.
Leading to Anne finally taking her life into her own hands and chasing after him like she should’ve done all those years ago!
All in Austen’s timeless prose. How can you not lose yourself in that? ”
Nick nodded helplessly. Less agreement and more worry at what Chester would do if he didn’t. He had the fleeting wish that Vi had told him what she’d thought of the letter scene before she started chewing him out. If she was half as passionate as Chester was about it, he’d have liked to see it.
“Wow,” Nick said. He paused. “Can I say that?”
“Find your own things to say,” Chester snapped.
“That’s what book club is about! Uncovering secret parts of yourself and trading them with your peers while eating muffins!
You need to dig deep. If you like something, find out why.
If you don’t like it, find out why. If something makes you think, what do you think about? ”
He lurched forward. Nick tried to jerk back, but Chester was too fast, claws locking in Nick’s shirt.
“Dig,” Chester hissed. Then he sat back against the pillows, out of breath.
“I’ll dig,” Nick assured him. He didn’t want to be responsible for the guy having a stroke. “Thanks.”
Chester waved him away. “I should have become a teacher. If only I didn’t loathe children.”
Nick couldn’t stop himself from snorting as he picked up the book from Chester’s blanket-covered lap.
“You would’ve made English class interesting,” he said. He turned toward the door, then stopped. “Hey, uh, could you not tell anyone about this?”
Chester stared at him, scaly face transforming into a knowing smirk. “Anyone, hmm?”
Nick immediately regretted speaking up. “Never mind,” he said hastily. “I’m gonna go.”
“It would make her much less likely to yell at you again, knowing that you’re actually putting in the effort.”
Nick dug his fingernails into his palms. Vi knowing he read CliffsNotes and maybe listened to a few YouTubers discussing themes and motifs?
That was fine. Vi knowing he’d driven down to the hospital to talk to Chester .
. . ? That was too much. She’d definitely get suspicious.
She might have seen him naked, but he didn’t want to give her any more glimpses of the stupid quivering pink thing in his chest.
Nick grinned. It felt even flimsier than usual.
“Let me have some of my dignity, old man. I have a reputation to maintain.”
“And what a wonderful reputation it is,” Chester drawled. “Fine. I’ll keep your secret. For a fee.”
Nick straightened.
“Fee,” he repeated. “What fee?”