faces staring at me. I had just picked them up and straightened a little to ease the kink in my back when I saw her. Her face swam slowly into focus, straight across the table from me. I was going crazy. She couldn’t possibly be here.
I shook the dice and threw them. They bounced, and one caromed off another cushion and came to rest six up. The other was spinning on one corner. I watched it. It stopped. It was the three.
I pushed in the chips. Everybody wanted to talk at once, and they all wanted to talk to me. I stuffed the money in my pockets and shoved impatiently through the crowd. I wanted to get outside in the air and just walk through the snow.
“Mike, please!” She had hold of my arm. I turned. I wasn’t going crazy. The collar of the gray coat was turned up against her cheek and her eyes were very big and pleading. And they were very tired. She must have been driving all the time I was riding the bus.
“I’ve got to talk to you,” she said.
“Sure,” I said. “Pick me up sometime. Bring your knife.”
I turned away. She held onto my arm. “Mike, will you listen?” she pleaded desperately.
People were beginning to stare at us. And you never knew what she might do next. She was just as likely as not to start screaming and accuse me of wife-beating or poisoning her mother.
“Come on,” I said, “I’ll buy you a drink. You can tell me your little story, and then you can beat it. Or I will.”
We went over to the bar, but people were still following me. She looked helplessly around at the sea of faces and begged, “Mike, can’t we get out of here? What I’ve got to tell you is very important.”
“All right,” I said. Anything to get it over with. I’d had enough for one lifetime. I could get used to being dead if she’d just quit digging up the corpse.
We went out into the street. The snow had stopped, and beyond the glare of neon you could see stars like a million pin points of frost. A car went past with its tire chains slapping, and snow creaked under my shoes. She slowed. “The car is right here.”
We got in. There was just enough reflection from the neon signs for me to see her face very faintly. It was as lovely as ever, but it was awfully tired.
“All right, get with it,” I said. “It’s cold out here.”
“Couldn’t you do anything about that?” she asked quietly.
“No,” I said. “Let’s have the sob story.”
“You still think I double-crossed everybody, don’t you?”
“Why, of course not,” I said. “How could I ever think a thing like that?”
“Mike, darling,” she said almost tearfully, “haven’t you guessed yet what actually happened?”
“Sure. Everything just went black. And you only did it because you loved us.”
“Mike! Please stop it. And listen to me. Don’t you see yet? They double-crossed us. It was supposed to be Saturday.”
“What?” I swung around and caught her by the arm. “No. Don’t give me that. It was Friday. And you didn’t come, so if it hadn’t been for that freight train—”
“Mike, it was Saturday. Remember? Nine days after the beginning date of the option, which was Thursday.”
She was right. They’d moved it up a day, knowing that if she didn’t come by to pick me up they could ditch us both. I wanted to shout. I wanted to grab her and just yell. I wanted to—crawl under something out of sight, I thought.
“I’m sorry, Cathy,” I said. “I’m sorry as hell.”
“It’s all right, Mike. You don’t have to apologize.” She smiled a little. “But it’s still cold in here.”
We found that together we could do something about it. Those two awful days ganged up on me all at once and I held her very tightly, trying not to think about it.
After a while she stirred a little and we got back to what had happened.
“It wasn’t too hard to guess what they were up to,” she said. “When I came back from Houston I had an idea they were speeding things up a little. I called the hotel at
I shook the dice and threw them. They bounced, and one caromed off another cushion and came to rest six up. The other was spinning on one corner. I watched it. It stopped. It was the three.
I pushed in the chips. Everybody wanted to talk at once, and they all wanted to talk to me. I stuffed the money in my pockets and shoved impatiently through the crowd. I wanted to get outside in the air and just walk through the snow.
“Mike, please!” She had hold of my arm. I turned. I wasn’t going crazy. The collar of the gray coat was turned up against her cheek and her eyes were very big and pleading. And they were very tired. She must have been driving all the time I was riding the bus.
“I’ve got to talk to you,” she said.
“Sure,” I said. “Pick me up sometime. Bring your knife.”
I turned away. She held onto my arm. “Mike, will you listen?” she pleaded desperately.
People were beginning to stare at us. And you never knew what she might do next. She was just as likely as not to start screaming and accuse me of wife-beating or poisoning her mother.
“Come on,” I said, “I’ll buy you a drink. You can tell me your little story, and then you can beat it. Or I will.”
We went over to the bar, but people were still following me. She looked helplessly around at the sea of faces and begged, “Mike, can’t we get out of here? What I’ve got to tell you is very important.”
“All right,” I said. Anything to get it over with. I’d had enough for one lifetime. I could get used to being dead if she’d just quit digging up the corpse.
We went out into the street. The snow had stopped, and beyond the glare of neon you could see stars like a million pin points of frost. A car went past with its tire chains slapping, and snow creaked under my shoes. She slowed. “The car is right here.”
We got in. There was just enough reflection from the neon signs for me to see her face very faintly. It was as lovely as ever, but it was awfully tired.
“All right, get with it,” I said. “It’s cold out here.”
“Couldn’t you do anything about that?” she asked quietly.
“No,” I said. “Let’s have the sob story.”
“You still think I double-crossed everybody, don’t you?”
“Why, of course not,” I said. “How could I ever think a thing like that?”
“Mike, darling,” she said almost tearfully, “haven’t you guessed yet what actually happened?”
“Sure. Everything just went black. And you only did it because you loved us.”
“Mike! Please stop it. And listen to me. Don’t you see yet? They double-crossed us. It was supposed to be Saturday.”
“What?” I swung around and caught her by the arm. “No. Don’t give me that. It was Friday. And you didn’t come, so if it hadn’t been for that freight train—”
“Mike, it was Saturday. Remember? Nine days after the beginning date of the option, which was Thursday.”
She was right. They’d moved it up a day, knowing that if she didn’t come by to pick me up they could ditch us both. I wanted to shout. I wanted to grab her and just yell. I wanted to—crawl under something out of sight, I thought.
“I’m sorry, Cathy,” I said. “I’m sorry as hell.”
“It’s all right, Mike. You don’t have to apologize.” She smiled a little. “But it’s still cold in here.”
We found that together we could do something about it. Those two awful days ganged up on me all at once and I held her very tightly, trying not to think about it.
After a while she stirred a little and we got back to what had happened.
“It wasn’t too hard to guess what they were up to,” she said. “When I came back from Houston I had an idea they were speeding things up a little. I called the hotel at
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