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“Mommy, why did Daddy lose his job?”
She was jolted out of her reverie and floundering for an answer. She and Jack had discussed ways they might handle just such a question from Da
“Your daddy was coaching the debate team, Da
“Sure,” he said. “Arguments for fun, right?”
“Right.” She turned the glider over and over, looking at the trade name (SPEEDOGLIDE) and the blue star decals on the wings, and found herself telling the exact truth to her son.
“There was a boy named George Hatfield that Daddy had to cut from the team. That means he wasn't as good as some of the others. George said your daddy cut him because he didn't like him and not because he wasn't good enough. Then George did a bad thing. I think you know about that.”
“Was he the one who put the holes in our bug's tires?”
“Yes, he was. It was after school and your daddy caught him doing it.” Now she hesitated again, but there was no question of evasion now; it was reduced to tell the truth or tell a lie.
“Your daddy… sometimes he does things he's sorry for later. Sometimes he doesn't think the way he should. That doesn't happen very often, but sometimes it does.”
“Did he hurt George Hatfield like the time I spilled all his papers?”
Sometimes-
(Da
–he does things he's sorry for later.
Wendy blinked her eyes savagely hard, driving her tears all the way back.
“Something like that, honey. Your daddy hit George to make him stop cutting the tires and George hit his head. Then the men who are in charge of the school said that George couldn't go there anymore and your daddy couldn't teach there anymore.” She stopped, out of words, and waited in dread for the deluge of questions.
“Oh,” Da
She stood up. “I'm going upstairs for a cup of tea, doc. Want a couple of cookies and a glass of milk?”
“I think I'll watch for Dad.”
“I don't think he'll be home much before five.”
“Maybe he'll be early.”
“Maybe,” she agreed. “Maybe he will.”
She was halfway up the walk when he called, “Mommy?”
“What, Da
“Do you want to go and live in that hotel for the winter?”
Now, which of five thousand answers should she give to that one? The way she had felt yesterday or last night or this morning? They were all different, they crossed the spectrum from rosy pink to dead black.
She said: “If it's what your father wants, it's what I want.” She paused. “What about you?”
“I guess I do,” he said finally. “Nobody much to play with around here.”
“You miss your friends, don't you?”
“Sometimes I miss Scott and Andy. That's about all.”
She went back to him and kissed him, rumpled his lightcolored hair that was just losing its baby-fineness. He was such a solemn little boy, and sometimes she wondered just how he was supposed to survive with her and Jack for parents. The high hopes they had begun with came down to this unpleasant apartment building in a city they didn't know. The image of Da
“Stay out of the road, doc,” she said, and hugged him tight.
“Sure, Mom.”
She went upstairs and into the kitchen. She put on the teapot and laid a couple of Oreos on a plate for Da
3. Watson
You lost your temper, Ullman had said.
“Okay, here's your furnace,” Watson said, turning on a light in the dark, musty-smelling room. He was a beefy man with fluffy popcorn hair, white shirt, and dark green chinos. He swung open a small square grating in the furnace's belly and he and Jack peered in together. “This here's the pilot light.” A steady blue-white jet hissing steadily upward cha
Lost your temper.
(Da
The furnace filled the entire room, by far the biggest and oldest Jack had ever seen.
“The pilot's got a fail-safe,” Watson told him. “Little sensor in there measures heat. If the heat falls below a certain point, it sets off a buzzer in your quarters. Boiler's on the other side of the wall. I'll take you around.” He slammed the grating shut and led Jack behind the iron bulk of the furnace toward another door. The iron radiated a stuporous heat at them, and for some reason Jack thought of a large, dozing cat. Watson jingled his keys and whistled.
Lost your-
(When he went back into his study and saw Da