Man, woman, and child(28)

"How're the kids?" he asked.

"In the arms of Morpheus. He's still reading, though."

"In bed?"

"Yes. His door was open."

"I missed you today," Bob whispered. She was tying her hair up, her back to him.

"Did you hear me, darling?"

"Yes," she said without turning.

"I—I don't want us to—grow distant, Sheila."

"No," she said, tonelessly.

"WiU we?" he asked, a silent plea in his voice.

She turned around. "I hope not," she answered.' And started for the door.

"Want a drink?" Bob asked, trying to anticipate her inclinations. "I'll go down and get it."

"No, thanks," she answered. "I just want to check on the boy."

And she left her husband alone with his uncertainties.

A soft light was still emanating from Jean-Claude's room. Sheila tiptoed quietly down the hallway and stopped at his door.

He had fallen asleep while reading. Histoire Ge-



nerale was still open across his chest. She looked down at him. There is nothing like a sleeping child to stir affection in the beholder.

And Sheila was by no means ill disposed toward him. During the hours of inner dialogue on the drive back to the Cape, she had become absolutely determined about one thing. The child was innocent. Whatever anger she might feel (and God, was she entitled to it) should be restricted to her husband. None of this was Jean-Claude's fault. None.

She watched him sleep. His brown hair had fallen across his brow. Should she brush it back? No, it might wake him. And he would be frightened suddenly to find himself in this strange environment so far from home. Now, asleep, he was just a nine-year-old child, breathing peacefully beneath his blanket and his book.

What if he should have a nightmare? Might he not wake and cry for someone now inexorably lost to him. Whom would he turn to?

You could come to me, she told him with her thoughts. Fd comfort you, Jean-Claude. I hope you haven't found me cold. I like you. Yes, I really do. Up to now, her eyes had been focused on the little form in bed. It occurred to her to go and turn the light off next to him. Almost accidentally, her glance strayed to the night table. And then she froze. Her tenderness congealed.

Right by Jean-Claude's pillow was a picture in a silver frame. A photograph. Taken several months ago at most. It was Jean-Claude, sitting in an outdoor restaurant, smiling at a woman. A lovely raven-haired woman in a low-necked blouse, who was smiling back at him.

It was she. And she was beautiful. Very beautiful. Evidently Jean-Claude only took the picture out at night.



Sheila turned away and left the light on.

''Was he asleep?'' asked Bob.

"Yes/' she answered. And her voice felt numb.

''Sheila/' Bob said tenderly, "we'll work it out between us."

She could not respond.

"I love you, Sheila. Nothing's more important in the whole damn world."

She didn't answer.

She wanted to believe it. But no longer could.





1 HE NEXT MORNING BOB WOKE UP BEFORE ShEILA.

Sunshine flooded the room. It was a glorious day. He looked over at his sleeping wife and wondered, How can I make her smile? He went downstairs to the kitchen, brewed coffee and brought it up to her.

''Oh, thank you/' she said drowsily. (Almost smiling?)

He sat on the edge of the bed. ''Hey, Sheila, it's absolutely gorgeous out. Why don't we take a little trip to Province town?"

"The two of us?"

"Everybody."

Damn. The instant he'd replied. Bob realized he had blown a unique opportunity.

Still, once they arrived in the quaint fishing village/artist colony/tourist trap, his spirits again lifted. They all seemed happy to be there. Narrow Commercial Street (an apt name, Bob had always thought) was teeming with tourists in loud summer shirts and even louder sunburns. At the first appropriate shop, Jessica insisted upon buying a pair of eminently garish pink sunglasses.

"Wow," said Paula. "Could I get a pair like tliat too?"

102



''Absolutely not/' Bob insisted. "She looks like Dracula's daughter."

''I resent that," said Sheila, with a twinkle of humor in her voice.

''Ho ho, Father," said Jessica, "you're really out of it. It so happens that these are very chic in Europe. Right, Jean-Claude?"

"They are interesting," the boy conceded, "but I do not think I have seen them before."

"Well, you will," said Jessica, and wafted ahead to study the psychedelic shopwindows.

Later, they all climbed up to the Pilgrim Monument, looked briefly with the requisite reverence and started down again. The two girls walked slightly ahead with Sheila, stopping now and then to peer at antiques. Jean-Claude remained at Bob's side. Touched by this. Bob began to discourse like a Baedeker, pointing out the sights they passed. All the while he had been studying a contemporary attraction just ahead of them.