24

EARLY THE NEXT MORNING John was watching the toes of his shoes become wet in the dew-covered grass outside Ruth’s cabin. She waved and again tossed the stick for Walter. The dog chased it down, chewed it a bit, and dragged it back, a little more battered and wetter with saliva.

“He could do this all day,” Ruth said. “Lots of dogs are like that. They’ll play until they just drop dead on the spot.”

“There’s more than one lesson there,” John said.

They walked out across the high grass of the pasture. Ghost bodies of fog sat on distant slopes. John had grown accustomed to the early morning mist.

“You know what I feel like?” he asked.

“What?”

“I feel like the man who, when a fire starts in his house, instead of putting it out, races to build a stove around it.”

Ruth chuckled with a half-frown.

“It’s not important.”

After a silence, Ruth said, “I have to tell you about a guy who came by the stable yesterday. He was about six foot six, a huge guy, dressed like a lumberjack and scared to death of horses. The man must have weighed two hundred and fifty pounds.” She laughed. “Anyway, he was terrified of the big rides, so I gave him Squat, that little fourteen-hand quarter. You should have seen him on that animal.”

John realized that they were holding hands. He had not noticed his reaching or being reached for. With his thumb he moved the soft skin on the top of her hand back and forth across her knuckles.

He thought of Elgin. He would not be driving to Newport today. He knew that constant visits could be as much an impediment to rest as a lift of spirits. He tried to massage a headache away from his temples.

“I’ve asked Lorraine and Oliver to have lunch with us,” Ruth said. “Here.”

“Sounds fine.”

“Good.”

“I’m told Lorraine is quite fond of you.”

Ruth let out a short sigh. “That’s good to hear. I really want her to like me.”

“She’s pretty special,” John said. “Seems like lunch is becoming the thing to do. Every time I turn around I’m having lunch.”

Ruth squeezed his hand. “The price of popularity.”

He took his hand from hers and rubbed his eyes.

“Tired?” she asked.

“I guess. I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Why is that?”

“Stuff on my mind.”

She nodded, then turned away without a word and headed back toward the cabin.

He watched her take a few steps. “Where are you going?”

“Come on. I’m going to help you get some sleep. You can put your head on my bosom and all that good stuff.”

The softness and excitement of newness was gone. Not to say that she was any less soft or exciting. She was no longer new. But there was comfort and ease in their movements. They moved well. They communicated. John could feel more of her now than he had the first time. His fingers knew where to squeeze, where to press, probe, lightly stroke. He listened to her breathing, watched her face throughout.

The voices awakened him. He was in the bed alone, his eyes slowly finding focus on the ceiling. He got dressed, listening to Oliver’s laughter. The thought of walking out there pained him, but he had little choice. If he stayed in there long enough they’d just come in and get him.

“Feel rested?” Lorraine asked as he entered the living room.

“I do. I needed the sleep.”

Oliver smiled.

John looked at him and said, “Say something or shut up.” He went to the screen door and breathed the fresh air. Walter was chasing a butterfly, running in jump-starts and leaping. “Go get ’em, Walter.” He faced his friends and stretched. “What’s for lunch?”

They ate at a card table set up in the front yard. A whisper of a breeze gave constant flutter to the white tablecloth and napkins.

Ruth’s hair was tightly pulled back and fixed up in a bun. John liked the way it looked. He liked the print of the sun dress she wore. He liked what the sun was doing to her face.

They had talked about the weather and the view, Walter and the whales, and had skimmed mercifully over the encounter with Ruth’s mother. Now they sat. A long silence was accentuated by a more pronounced breeze.

“I have a question,” said John. “It’s an awkward question.”

“Just ask it,” said Lorraine.

John asked, “What do you think about abortion?”

“Determined to continue in a light vein,” Oliver said, wiping potato salad from his mouth.

“Ruth?” John looked to the young woman.

Ruth sent a puzzled glance Lorraine’s way, then started in on an answer. “I don’t know,” she said and paused, looking into John’s eyes. “If I was pregnant now, I’d have one.”

John nodded. “Lorraine?”

“I’m too old to have an opinion. I wouldn’t stop Ruth from having one. What’s on your mind, John?”

“Nothing. Weird things pop into my head.”

Ruth squirmed.

“I didn’t mean to put a damper on things,” John said.

“Don’t be silly,” said Oliver. “I enjoy discussions of contemporary moral issues. I don’t learn much from them, but I enjoy them nonetheless.”

“Well, I’m sorry,” John said and he got up and walked toward the edge of the pasture. He lit a cigarette and studied the clear-cut across the way.

“You okay?” Oliver asked, stepping up behind him.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He blew out smoke. “Fine and goddamn dandy.”

“Glad to goddamn hear it.”

John laughed.

“Ruth is just out-and-out beautiful,” Oliver said.

John nodded. “Is it my imagination or is Lorraine feeling poorly?”

“A doctor’s eye?”

“I guess.”

“I told you she’s been tired. Sleeping a lot. She’s got an appointment with the doctor in Newport coming up.”

“Good.”

“What is on your mind?”

John looked into his friend’s eyes. “I really do not know.”