Vida by Marge Piercy

kitchen counter. A man came out of the woods and shambled toward them. He was not tall, perhaps exactly her height with dark hair. He was wearing a black T-shirt underneath a denim jacket and jeans with his hands shoved in the pockets. Slowly he came toward them, climbed the deck, and pushed open the sliding glass door.
    “Hi’’ he said with a small gritted smile. He stared at Vida. “I wasn’t expecting company.”
    ”Sorry to surprise you, but with the phone disconnected, there’s no way to get in touch. She’s in the same boat you are. She’ll be staying here.” Laura turned, not bothering to take off her coat or gloves. “You should both come out to the car with me to carry the groceries. I want you to have enough food. Then I must be off!’
    They stumbled up the log steps from the squares of light thrown by the house, into the darkness beyond where the car waited. Then Laura gave Vida a key to the house, instructions for returning it if she left in a hurry. At once Laura drove back along the road. In a few minutes, they could see the headlights touching the trees across the lake as they stood side by side, the groceries at their feet, before he led the way back to the house.
    First they put away the food. “Aw, coffee, that’s good. Didn’t have none” he said appreciatively. He had a pleasant voice—not butterscotch like Leigh’s, but warm. Not Eastern. Not Midwestern either. What? She wasn’t sure yet. “Sardines, canned chicken, ham. She ain’t exactly the warmest woman I ever met, but she does right by you. There’s still veggies out in the garden, too.” He turned and looked her in the eyes.
    “You have green eyes too!” she said in surprise, and then was angry at herself because it sounded flirtatious. “It’s cold in here,” she added irritably. “I don’t suppose you’re cold?”
    “Would you like a fire? Matter of fact, that’s all we got to heat this cabin—the fireplace and a wood stove”
    “I’m cold and tired. I had to hang around Boston for hours till she could meet me … I could use a bath. Is there hot water, or is that disconnected?”
    “I turned it on. Look around, it’s a pretty cabin. We’re smack on the lake. A sandy beach at our door. I even went swimming this morning.”
    “Swimming?” she shuddered. “Did you cut a hole in the ice?”
    “Water was warmer than the air. I like to get exercise.”
    “Where’s the john?” At last she would be alone, relax.
    He pointed the way. “Want some fresh coffee when you hop out?”
    She didn’t. She wanted to sleep; but she had better wake up, battle her fatigue and figure out who this kid was before she rested. It was indulgence to bathe first, but she could not find the strength to deal with him until she had somewhat collected herself. With real satisfaction she locked herself in the bathroom, stripped and ran the water good and hot.
    She took a long soak, washing herself slowly, trying to blot anxiety from her mind for this interval. She needed sleep, she needed rest, she needed quiet and safety. Her back ached from too many nights on couches. The last time she had stayed someplace was a week with Saul and Dee Dee in Cincinnati, where she and Bill (who was on his way back to L.A.) had run a workshop on how to do pirate TV actions for the live fugitives in the area. That was the last time she had unpacked, relaxed and done some political work. She felt crazed with traveling, bumping warily against strangers, weaving a veil of lies and dancing within, moving, constantly moving.
    Green eyes—that clear hard green. Suddenly she knew him. She sighed profoundly and slid into the water with a shiver of relief. Joel his name was, Joel White. He was a kid who hadn’t made C.O. and had deserted when he was nineteen and been a fugitive since. He’d hung around with Jimmy. Joel wasn’t really in the Network but one of that much larger group who loosely related to it. Jimmy and he had traveled together before Jimmy