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The radio came alive, and Zeke stepped into the closet and began talking. She watched him covertly. Such a long, tall man with the grace of a cat in his walk and movements. He would be nice to have around, she thought, easygoing when a man should be, and firm when the occasion called for it. He would be gentle and thoughtful with the woman who was his wife, even if she might never know him too well. He would always conceal his thoughts behind those soft, blue eyes, a loner of the desert country. Not that he would ever have reason to hide anything, but only because he had lived like that from childhood, a boy spurring his mustang into the canyons or up on some mesa, and lying under a greasewood bush and talking to himself and dreaming his dreams.

Now Greg, he would want to share his life with his family. He would talk out his thoughts and expect others to do the same. He possessed such a terrific zest for living. He hungered for excitement, and fed on it, whether behind a 250-horsepower motor, or with a beautiful, unbroken woman, or fighting a court case, or storming across the street with a bedraggled begonia. And that temper. A woman could help so much, a wife who understood and was patient, who could reason with him, whose love would be such that he would do anything for her. He had lived too long alone, and in­dulged too often his feelings and whims.

She smiled inwardly. Ever since she first became in­terested in boys, she had projected herself into the future with this one and that one, imagining what it would be like to be his wife. And here she was doing it again, and at her age.

As Zeke put down the microphone, she asked, “Can I get you coffee, anything?”

She discovered she was standing close to him, so close he could have taken her into his arms, and suddenly she wanted that. She could see the same want reflected in his eyes, as no doubt he could in hers. Then the reflection clouded as a thought stole in, reminding him of a reason why he should not. He turned away with seeming effort, and a chill brushed the warmth from her. She broke the brief, telltale silence. “If there’s anything you want, let me know,” How many times in her life, she wondered, would such prosaic little sentences, spoken in a routine voice, cover up emotions that she must hide, because a woman dared not expose them to a man?

Now if he had been Greg, and seen the want in her eyes, he would have swept her up so fast

.

As she left the room, she surprised Ingrid in the hallway, eavesdropping. If there was a scent of romance about, Ingrid would catch it. She was an incorrigible romantic, almost a paradox in an age when novels and movies and television shows emphasized the sordid in the name of realism.

“Ingrid!” she said sharply. “How many times have I told you – “

“I didn’t hear anything. Nothing at all.”

She continued to Ingrid’s bedroom to change clothes. “You heard nothing because there was nothing, but if there had been something, you would have written it down verbatim in that locked-up diary. I don’t care what secrets of yours you write down, but I don’t want any of mine showing up in court five years from now.”

Ingrid flopped on the bed while Patti changed. “Tommy asked me today. He was adorable. I like men who are adorable, don’t you, sis? He asked if I was going to the dance, and I said I hoped so, and he asked who was taking me, and I said Eddie had called up but Eddie wasn’t my type, and Tommy asked if he was – my type, I mean – and I told him I’d be ready at eight. So if it’s all right with you, I’ll tell Eddie you said I couldn’t go with him. Please, just this one time. I won’t ask you again.”

“Why won’t I let you go with him?”

“Because you don’t know Eddie and Tommy’s an old friend of yours.”

“He is?”

“You met him at the Cal game, remember?”

“Oh, the one with the big ears.”

Ingrid thought deeply for a moment. “Maybe you baby-sat with him and he’s just like your own boy.”

“Now wait a minute, Inky. Do you think Mother would okay this?”

“I was afraid you’d bring that up.”

“I’d like to help you. You know that. Only we all have to make our own decisions and live with them. Why don’t you tell Eddie you’re sorry, you like him a lot and admire him as a student, but you two have different interests, see things differently, and dating just wouldn’t work out.”

“I’ve got to grow up, huh?”

“It’s rough, I know.”

“Okay.” She rolled over on her back, stared at the ceiling, breathed heavily, and sighed.

Much later, as Patti was applying nail polish to halt a run in her nylons, Ingrid said quietly, “You know what, sis? He’s never broken the girl barrier.”

“Who’s never done what?”

“Mr. Kelso. He’s never broken the girl barrier. You know, it’s like the sound barrier. A boy’s got to want to break it, be­cause if he doesn’t he’s dead. There’s this boy at school – some of us girls come down the hall and he ducks into a classroom.”

“I wouldn’t wonder,” Patti remarked.