Spring fancy

'Because of your father?' She had never mentioned her father.

'Yes.'

'Did he leave her?'

'It wasn't a question of his leaving. He never stayed long enough to leave. He got her pregnant while they were dating, then disappeared, and she never heard from him or saw him again. She's had a rough time making something of herself with me to raise and nobody else to rely upon. But she's a scrapper. She made it through business school and became a superb private secretary, and she didn't stop there. When things changed, when computers came along, she didn't rest on her laurels or make up her mind she wasn't going to go along with such upstart ideas. Instead she went to learn how to use them. And of course, that's when Paul became her teacher.'

They fell silent again. But it was not a comfortable silence this time. Joseph wanted to tell her she was being a fool. She wanted to tell him to mind his own business.

At length, she picked a neutral subject. 'How does your leg feel?'

'Numb.'

'Good. Let's see it now.'

She removed the ice pack and examined the leg again, had him flex it, stand on it, and judged it to have pulled muscles, not broken bones.

'I don't think you'll need an X-ray. How does it feel when you walk?'

'Better since the ice.'

'Good. Would you like to see the tank room where I work with Merry?'

'I'd love to.'

She showed him around the rest of the Physical Medicine Department, but much of the time Joseph was thinking of other things than the Hubbard tank, traction units and treadmills. He wondered how she could be so sensitive to the needs of others, yet so ignorant of her own.

When they got back to his house, he tried to kiss her, but she pressed a hand to his chest and turned away.

'No, Joseph. My mind is made up.'

'Can I call you?'

'No.'

'I think you're making a mistake. I think you and I would be-'

'Don't say it.'

'You think it's just spring fancy, but I don't.'

'Goodbye, Joseph, I hope your leg gets better.' She turned to her own car and practically ran the few steps to it before slamming herself inside its sanctuary, as if a mere enclosure of metal and glass could insulate her from the powerful force that compelled the two of them together.

He watched her back up and took a step toward the car as he thought he saw her start to cry. But before he could advance, she stepped on the gas and roared down the street.

Chapter 8

T he shell pink invitations had been in Winn's possession for three weeks already. Proper bridal etiquette demanded they be mailed four to six weeks in advance. She had lists of addresses from both her side and Paul's, but it seemed there was always some other detail cropping up, some interruption just as she sat down to the task of doing the addressing.

Am I delaying because I think Joseph is right? But even the suggestion made her quail. Attempting to stop the tidal wave of fevered planning that advanced with deadly intent would be like trying to hold back a natural disaster. The plans gained momentum, force and inevitability as they rolled along. The planning of a wedding, Winn learned-much to her dismay-involved so many petty details they managed to detract from the main event, which was the marriage of a man and a woman.

Fern Gardner, for all her being totally inexperienced in such folderol, proved herself as capable and structured as a drill sergeant. Not an iota went unconsidered. She'd made a calendar listing the specific days by which each particular must be checked upon, each decision made, each person telephoned, each piece of frippery purchased. And Winn did consider much of it frippery. Had it been left entirely up to her, Winn would have elected a quiet wedding with a few close friends and relatives invited to her mother's house or anyplace simple and left all the grandstanding for those women much more suited to it.

Yes, she'd enjoyed dressing up and celebrating the day of Sandy 's wedding, but for herself she preferred things much simpler. She was an artless woman of ordinary tastes and would have been much, much happier if all the silly special effects could have been side-stepped.

But Fern Gardner, self-made success, abandoned by her lover at age nineteen, mother of an illegitimate daughter, needed the reassurance and illusion of security attendant with a large flashy wedding. She had only one daughter and that one lucky enough to have attracted a man whom Fern had virtually handpicked. She wasn't about to stint on this most auspicious day of Winnifred's life.

Within the week following Winn's confrontation with Joseph Duggan, her mother called at least eleven times, always for some mindless non-cruciality that made Winn grit her teeth while answering. The realtor called twice asking her to leave the house so he could show it in the evenings. At the hospital Meredith Emery brought brochures of Disneyland and asked how soon her hair would grow back. The furniture store called to say the new living-room sofa, chairs and tables had arrived, and Paul called to ask if they shouldn't take one evening to go out and choose lamps, pictures and also to buy one particular item he'd spied while out browsing on one of his lunch hours; a table-style chess set with inlaid two-toned wood top-perfect for a living-room accent piece.

'A chess set?' Winn echoed, dismayed.

'Not just a chess set. A very special chess set.'

'But why?'

'I told you I'd give you another lesson when we had more time. I know you can get the hang of it.'

'But, Paul, you know I'm no good at chess.'

'You'll learn, darling. I have every confidence in you.' He laughed lightly.

Suddenly she experienced a jagged flash of irritation. Unconsciously her back stiffened, and she coiled the telephone cord six times around her finger until it cut off the circulation.

'I'll make you a deal, Paul,' she announced with a hard edge to her voice. 'I'll come and look at your chess set if you'll agree that for every hour we spend playing it, we'll spend equal time playing racket ball.'

A long silence followed, then his chuckle, more patronizing than humored. 'Now, Winnifred, you know I'm all feet on the racket-ball court. I've never been a jock and never pretended to be. I'll leave the physical workouts to you.'

She yanked the phone cord off her finger and rammed a kitchen chair with her foot till it slammed under the table with a resounding clatter. 'Fine! Great! Then what do you say if one or two nights a week we each find somebody else to play our games with? You can find someone with an analytical mind to pore over your chess table with you, and I'll find somebody who likes to rap a ball around a racket-ball court.' Naturally the picture of Joseph popped up, dressed in white shorts with his bare belly showing below a whacked-off T-shirt. 'Paul, are you there, Paul? What do you say?' she hissed. 'Maybe old Rita will oblige you, huh?'

'Winnifred, you're being unreasonable.'

'Oh, am I? And what are you being?'

If there was one thing Paul Hildebrandt prided himself upon it was his ability to reason. The electric silence told Winn her words stung.

'It was just an idea, that's all. Naturally, if you're opposed to the chess table, we don't have to go look at it.'

Suddenly the back of Winn's nostrils burned. She felt like dropping to her knees and bawling. He thought the issue here was a chess table! Judas priest! For a brilliant man he could be utterly dense.

'Well, what about going out to choose the lamps and other small items?' he was asking.