Chris had a faintly bewildered look. He sipped his drink, crossed over and sat on the couch beside Jean. She reached over with her glass, and the rims touched with a faint sound. “To us,” she said softly. Chris took her free hand.
There were small things to be said, things best spoken in a voice that is not quite a whisper, yet is more intimate. With gentle touch Chris traced the highlights and shadows the fire cast on her cheek. Time was not something to be reckoned on a clock.
Suddenly Chris sat up. “Say, what’s happened to Demmy? Where did he disappear to?”
The mood was broken. Jean sighed and followed Chris out to the kitchen. The pots had been cleaned and put away. There was no sign of Demmy. In the dining room the table was set for two. Two tall white candles flickered. They both reached the note at the same time, and read together:
Dear kids,
I’ve let myself out the back door. Your dinners are in the oven. Careful — the plates will be hot.
Turn out the lights in the front of the house so Chris’s dear pals won’t be stopping by.
Chris, I speak as an old pal who had to put up with you for two years. I imagine Jean is having the same trouble I had. But you two are married. I talked to you today and found out what you’ve been doing to the gal. Chris, marriage isn’t a popularity contest. Your home isn’t a railroad station. Remember how I used to make you lock the door and wouldn’t let you answer it when we had work to do?
Jean can’t do that, but I bet she’d like to. She seems like a wonderful gal. Chris, this is orders. Two nights a week, the house is closed to your public. That’s the least you can do.
I want to know Jean, Chris. So I’ll stop around sometime in a year or so. It’s only fair for you to get to know her first.
An air of constraint had sprung up between them by the time they finished the note. Jean went silently to the kitchen, returning with the steaks.
Chris was pacing uneasily.
“Well, we’d better eat,” she said.
They sat down in silence. Twice she looked up at Chris. Each time he was looking at her, but glanced quickly away as she met his glance.
The silence grew, until suddenly Chris snapped his fingers, stood up and went toward the front of the house.
Jean couldn’t keep back the tears. Good old Chris. He had remembered that Demmy would have to walk to the bus line. He would probably get the car and go tearing after him.
But to her surprise, she heard the click of the light in the front room.
Chris came back slowly, pulled the dining-room shades. He sat down opposite her. This time he didn’t glance away when she looked at him. “You know, honey,” he said, “this is pretty nice. Just the two of us.”
She held out her hand to him. “Oh, Chris!” she said.
He came awkwardly around the table and kissed her.
At that moment the doorbell began to ring. Loudly, insistently.
She felt him pull away. He stood up for a moment, then leaned over her again.
“Don’t make a sound!” he whispered. “They’ll give up in a minute.”
