He and Edith danced. He didn't hold her close as he had Rhona. He waited
for her to come close on her own, and she did, and yet she didn't.
Because while she put herself against him, there was something in her
face--no, in her eyes; it always showed in the eyes--that made him know
she was trying to be the old Edith and not succeeding. This time when
the music ended, he was ready to go home.
They rode back to town along Route Nine, he and Edith in the rear of
Phil's car, Rhona driving because Phil had drunk just a little too much,
Phil singing and telling an occasional bad joke, and somehow not his old
self. No one was his old self. No one would ever be his old self with
the First One.
They turned left, to take the short cut along Hallowed Hill Road, and
Phil finished a story about a Martian and a Hollywood sex queen and
looked at his wife and then past her at the long, cast-iron fence
paralleling the road. "Hey," he said, pointing, "do you know why that's
the most popular place on earth?"
Rhona glanced to the left, and so did Hank and Edith. Rhona made a
little sound, and Edith seemed to stop breathing, but Phil went on a
while longer, not yet aware of his supposed _faux pas_.
"You know why?" he repeated, turning to the back seat, the laughter
rumbling up from his chest. "You know why, folks?"