* * * * *
Dreadingly, joyously, she folded into the car. She watched as he lanked
up the steps. She settled back, holding her shoulders rigid and her
head straight. She would sit and stand by him. She would chill people
with her reserve. She would be very solid and very adult.
But minutes later she looked at her wrist and saw that he had been more
than five minutes. She wished he wouldn't take so long.
When he came down the steps two at a time, she tried not to remember
that she hated people who came down steps two at a time. She didn't
like the way his hair flopped against his forehead either. And she
almost got out of the car when she saw his trousersuit was much too
short. It made him look off-balance.
He got into the car. "Don't touch this." He pointed to the starter
button. He scowled. "Or this or this or this." He pointed to the
pedals, to the gearshift lever. He reached out and heaved his suitcase
into her lap. He said brusquely, "Don't let it bump the door panel." A
corner dug into her stomach.
And then he turned his head and ignored her. Completely. And she forgot
the steps, the hair and the trousersuit and knew she would not get out
of the car so long as he was in it.