42

It’s an atavistic hunger. She can’t remember feeling this way before. She can’t get enough of him. They make love before dinner and again after dinner; and with the dawn she’s at him again, pestering him until he wakes up laughing and takes her in the massive circle of his arms.

But it’s subdued this time and as she lies beside him catching her breath she recognizes the thing that has been disturbing her: the rattle of a hard steady rain on the roof overhead.

He peels the blind back from the window. It’s sheeting down out there. Reaching for the phone he gives her a glance expressive of quizzical distaste.

He talks and listens, hangs it up and leaves his hand at rest on the cradled receiver. He glances at her. “Stationary low. The front’s stalled right here.”

“Then we can’t fly today.”

“Not even a balloon.”

“What about tomorrow?”

“God knows. What happens if we can’t fly until the weekend?”

“I don’t know. Probably Bert and his crowd will arrive from the city Thursday afternoon. For the long weekend.”

“So it’ll be harder to take Wendy out of there.”

Feeling absurdly unconcerned she says, “But it’s only Wednesday morning. It can’t rain forever. Come here.”

He doesn’t move. He sits on the edge of the bed with one hand propped stiff-arm against the phone; he’s looking down at her over his shoulder and he says, “I feel as if I’ve wandered into one of those one-act plays that nobody understands. It’s time for you to trust me.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Tell me what’s going on. Tell me what you’ve got in mind. In full.”

She says, “If we don’t show up on time you’re free to take off without us. If we do, you can fly us to Canada. That’s all you have to do.”

“Just a taxi driver.”

“I just don’t want to get you involved.”

“I’m involved, honeybunch. I’m involved.” He hikes a hip back on the bed and lightly with a fingertip begins to trace rosettes around her nipple. In a musing voice he says, “The minute old Bert knows we’ve used a plane he’ll be on the horn to every airfield around. We’ll have no place to set down. You sure you’ve thought this out, sugar doll?”

“We won’t land at an airfield. You’ll pick a farm or a country road. Up in Quebec Province somewhere. Drop us there and take off again, by yourself.”

“What happens to you and Wendy?”

“We’ll walk. Hitchhike. If we pick our spot sensibly it won’t take long to get to the nearest city. Wendy and I will lose ourselves in the crowd. We’ll take our time back to California. Please don’t worry about it-we’ll be fine.”

To prevent him from asking more questions she hurries right on: “You can fly back to Vermont or New Hampshire. Land in a field and tell the farmer you had engine trouble-ask if you can leave the plane for a couple of days until you can get a mechanic out to fix it. Then you could make your way to Boston or Albany and drop a postcard to the people you rented the plane from-tell them where to find it. And then,” she lies, “we’ll meet you in Los Angeles.”

His fingertip draws a line from her throat to her belly. She reaches for him. “I’d like to make love now.”

He lets her pull him toward her. His face looms above hers. Not altogether admiringly he says, “You’re kind of a clever bitch.”

“Trying to save my kid. Necessity,” she says. “You know. The mother of invention.”

They make love in oddly affectionate silence. But afterward he’s still got the knucklebone of suspicion in his teeth and he won’t let it go: he stands at the window and glowers at the rain. “You want to tell me the truth now about you and your kid and your husband?”

“What do you mean?”

“I get the feeling the truth is you just took a walk. There aren’t any child custody rulings, are there? Did you ever file for divorce?”

She broods at him. “What gives you that idea?”

“Your evasiveness, mostly, and a picture I’m compositing of your husband. The macho deer hunting stuff, the way you’ve gone to such extremes to cover your tracks-maybe I’m making unwarranted assumptions but he doesn’t strike me as a guy who’d take kindly to being served with a divorce action.”

“You’re very perceptive, Charlie.”

“Yeah. But you’re going to let me go right on wondering, aren’t you.”

“I just don’t want to get you in unnecessary trouble,” she says. “Trust me.”

“I do, my little valentine. Question is, when are you going to vice the versa?”

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