"If you love him, Marny, that's the only thing you can do--"
* * * * *
Bart was waiting for me, several nights later, when I got in from the
hospital. He was lying on the couch when I closed the door. His shirt
was open at the neck, and he didn't even move as I hung up my jacket in
the closet. Then he said: "Hi, Ben. Been waiting for you."
"Beer?"
He shook his head and sat up. He looked like he'd been through the
dishwasher. There were grey circles under his eyes, and he hadn't
shaved for a couple of days. But, worst of all was the look in his
eyes--a look of bewilderment and torture I'd never seen there before.
"You look like hell," I said.
"I feel like hell."
"Marny?"
He nodded, and lit a cigarette. After a puff or two he snubbed it out
in distaste. "Let's get some dinner," he said. All the way down to the
diner he sat in the car with his chin sunk in his chest. Finally he was
facing me in a booth, and he couldn't avoid my eyes any longer. "Marny
and I had a talk last night."
"That's nice," I said. "What did you decide?"
"Oh, it was awful. Why can't I keep my big yap shut once in a while? I
tried to reason with her, Ben. And she was so damn calm and collected,
and wouldn't budge an inch, so I started losing my temper, and then
she really blew up--" He looked at me miserably. "She's too good to
lose, Ben. It doesn't matter what it involves."