“You don’t think any of them will make it?” Susan said.
“Kids in Double Deuce?” I said. “No, probably not.”
“Hawk did,” Susan said.
“Sort of,” I said.
“That’s an awfully grim view,” she said.
I shrugged.
“Maybe I’m wrong,” I said.
She leaned her head back against the seat cushion.
“Well, as you always say, `It’s never over till it’s over.‘ ”
“Yes,” I said.
I could see insects little bigger than dust motes swarming in the streetlight, an occasional moth among them.
“First night apart,” she said.
“Yeah.”
She put her hand out and I took it and we were quiet for a while. Then she spoke.
“I have to say something.”
“Sure,” I said.
“I’m looking forward to being alone.”
“Me too,” I said.
“God, what a relief.”
“I know,” I said.
“See you this weekend,” she said.
“Yes,” I said. “I’ll pick Pearl up tomorrow night for a sleepover. Like before.”
“Yes.”
Susan leaned toward me in the dark and gave me a long, happy kiss.
“I love you,” she said and got out of the car.
I watched her until she was inside, then pulled out and drove back across the river to my place on Marlborough Street.
The apartment was stuffy and I walked through it opening windows so that the spring night could circulate. Then I went into the kitchen and took some vodka from the freezer and some vermouth from under the sink and made a large martini over ice with a twist. I put it on the bedside table to let the ice work while I showered and toweled off, and turned back the bed, and got in. I propped up the pillows and turned on the television with the remote. The Braves were still in first place, and they were playing the Giants on cable. Fifth inning, Ron Gant hitting. I sipped my martini and watched the ball game and listened to Skip Caray.
Alone.
I could feel myself smiling.
Gant spiked a double into the left-field corner. I took another sip and spoke aloud in the dark room.
“Perfect,” I said.
