Man, woman, and child(38)

"Well, Davey must have overheard the two of them talking... /'

"What're we gonna do?'' he asked Sheila.

"Not we," she said firmly. "This is your problem."

"What do you expect me to do?" he said, unwilling to understand what she was making crystal clear.

"Send him home, Robert," she said curtly. "Now. Today."

She was right.

"Otherwise I'll take the girls and go," Sheila added. Not as a threat but as a simple statement of the alternative.

"Okay," he said, not putting up a struggle. Still, he waited for her to say something vaguely reassuring. Something that could help him face this harsh decision. But she said nothing more.

He rose, went numbly to the phone and dialed.

"They have one seat on tonight's flight," he re-

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ported, putting his hand over the receiver, "but it leaves at seven. . . ."

"You can make it if you hurry/' she said quietly, not turning toward him.

"Okay," she heard him tell the airline. "The name is Beckwith—uh—I mean Gu6rin. Yes, we'll get there an hour before." He hung up and walked over to Sheila.

"I guess I'll have to tell him, huh?"

She looked up, but said nothing.

"Yeah," he murmured, answering himself. "Fll go up and help him pack."

She still did not respond. He turned, started out of the room, and up the stairs.

He was too preoccupied with what he had to say to notice that the phone was ringing.

''Hello, Sheila?"

"Yes."

"Gavin Wilson here. Have I—um—caught you at an awkward time?"

"Well, actually, I just got in and—uh—could I call you back? Are you in Washington?"

"No, that's just the point. I'll be brief. I can tell you're busy. I was thinking that I might just postpone Washington, if you were free—that is, willing to keep forging ahead with the revisions. I mean, I'd come down to you, of course."

"Gavin, I can't," she said.

"Sheila," he persisted, "you sound upset. Is everything all right?"

"Gavin, I'm sorry. Things are too confused. I can't talk now."

She hung up. And for a split second almost laughed. This can't be happening, she thought.



Bob knocked.

''Jean-Claude, may I come in?"

**Yes/' he answered softly. Bob slowly opened the door. The little boy was curled up on his bed. He cast a shy and furtive glance at Bob.

''Can we talk?" asked Bob.

"Yes."

He was nervous, wondering what the boy was thinking.

"Uh-okay if I sit down?"

Jean-Claude nodded. And again glanced fleet-ingly at Bob.

He chose the chair farthest from the bed.

"I can't tell you how sorry I am about the . . . fight with Jessie and Paula. It was just something Davey Ackerman said to make trouble."

He paused.

"Jessie really wouldn't want to hurt you. You know that, don't you, Jean-Claude?"

Without looking up, the boy nodded. Slightly.

"Fm sorry about all this," Bob continued.

The boy looked up at him.

"Would you like me to go home?" he asked.

Bob was embarrassed by the child's perceptive-ness.

"Uh—well, Jean-Claude, I think—we think it might be best for you."

He paused again. Then the boy said:

"When will I be leaving?"

Oh, Christ, thought Bob, he's being so damn good about this.

"Well, that depends," Bob answered, being de-hberately vague to keep a rein on his own emotions, "but why don't I help you pack, just so we'll be ready?"

"That's all right," Jean-Claude answered. "I have only a few things."



"ril help you/' Bob insisted.

''No. There is no need. Do you want me to be ready now?"

Bob hesitated.

"Yes," he said at last. "That would make it easier. I mean . . . Fll be back in a while, okay?"

He got up, crossed the room, touched the boy's shoulder and went out.

He stood for a moment outside Jessica's door, gathering his courage. Then he knocked.

"Who is it?" Jessie snapped belligerently.

"Me. Your father. I want to talk to you."

"I have no father. Go away."

"Please, Jess, open up. Is Paula there?"

"No," Paula's voice retorted through the door. "I hate you more than anything.''

"Jess?" Bob again tried appealing to his eldest. "I love you—"

"Go away and die," she said.

"Go away!" Paula shouted. "Leave Mom and us doner

Heartsick, Bob surrendered and began to walk away. Down the stairs, back to the living room.

Sheila was curled up in the easy chair, hugging her knees.

"He'll be ready in a little while," Bob said softly.

She did not reply.

"He's packing by himself. He didn't want my help."