Cretaceous Sea

The dinner guests arrived and seated themselves. Green and Greighton were formally attired, as was James. To Pandit's disappointment, Sara wore a modest evening dress. The girl showed up barefoot in a tee shirt and shorts. That caused the first scene of the evening. Her father seemed provoked by her outfit, for he angrily or-dered her to change. Wordlessly, but with a slouch that spoke volumes, she left the pavilion. John Greighton stabbed his salmon spring roll in gingered balsamic vin-egar sauce as if he were trying to kill it. 'Some vacation!' he muttered. Upon hearing this remark, Green glared at Rick. The spring rolls were cold, and John Greighton had consumed most of a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc before his daughter returned to the table. She was wearing a dress, but was still barefoot. 'Better?' she asked with a sarcas-tic edge. Her father ignored her question and her lack of shoes. The meal proceeded with an undercurrent of tension. Both James and Green tried to lighten the mood with cheerful conversation, but to little effect. After a while, they, too, lapsed into silence. The girl had succeeded in setting the tone for the evening. She sat sullen and quiet as she wolfed down her food. Rick observed this with discomfort increased by the knowledge that he was expected to placate this girl. His continued employment clearly depended on his success. He had no idea how he would manage. CON LAY ON her bed in her darkening room, still wearing the dress her father had forced her to wear.

/ should go swimming in this damn thing, she thought, then wear it to dinner. Yet the idea of swimming brought up memo-ries of the cold, deadly eye. Despite the warmth of the evening air, she shivered. Thirteen more days of this place! How will I ever make it?

The guide's voice came from outside the drawn cur-tain. 'Constance?'

'Go away.'

'I can't.'

'I'm not dressed, so don't come in.'

'I'll wait here.'

'I'm not coming out.'

'I'll still wait.'

Con lay on her bed and waited to hear retreating foot-steps. She heard the wind in the leaves and the distant surf, but nothing else. Minutes passed without a sound from him.

'Are you still there?'

'Yes.'

'What do you want?'

'Just to talk.'

'There's nothing to talk about. Now go away.'

'I can't.'

'You're a real pest, do you know that?'

'I'm sorry, I don't mean to be.'

'Well, I'm not coming out. You can stay there all night.'

'That's okay, I brought a blanket.'

Con could hear the soft sounds of a blanket being un-rolled. He's bluffing, she thought. She found herself straining to hear him. His silence made her all the more aware of his presence. Ten, maybe twenty minutes passed, it was hard to tell.

'What are you doing out there?'

'Watching the stars come out. Even in the desert, they were never as clear as this. I can't make out any con- stellations, though. The sky's all different.'

Con didn't answer, resolved to ignore him. She found that she couldn't. It both irritated her that he was there and piqued her curiosity. After another ten minutes of silence, she changed into her tee shirt and shorts and drew aside the curtain. The guide was lying on a blanket, gazing at the stars.

'How can the sky be different?' asked Con testily.

Rick sat up and flashed her a smile. 'I'm glad you asked.'