"The paper has been turned in," Mark said, in injured tones. "I have to get to school early, that's all. I told Jim I'd help him with his math before class."
"You mean Jim told you you could copy his homework. Get going, then. I'm so tired I can hardly keep my eyes open. I'm going to bed."
Mark insisted on helping her upstairs, as if she were a hundred years old. She sank into dreamless slumber the minute her head hit the pillow.
II
It was late afternoon before she woke, and she probably would have slept longer if Albert had not settled down on her stomach. He did that when he decided it was time for his slothful humans to arise and feed him.
Pat heaved the cat off, and got up. The house was quiet, so she knew Mark wasn't in it. He had returned from school, however. The dishes piled in the sink and the splashes of spaghetti sauce on the stove told her that. She got herself a cup of coffee and drank it, glancing through the paper as she did so. Then she went outside.
The first thing she saw was her son's back. He was sitting on top of the fence that separated their house from that of the Friedrichs'. She was too far away to hear what he was saying, but she could see that he was talking; his head bobbed up and down, and once he waved both arms in an eloquent gesture that almost sent him toppling off the fence.
The grass needed cutting again. Pat waded through it toward the fence, her mouth set. She moved silently, but some sixth sense warned Mark of her approach. He turned a tousled brown head toward her, and before she could speak he said in dulcet tones, "I'm not breaking the rules, Mommy. My feet aren't touching the forbidden ground."
"Smart mouth," Pat said.
There was a giggle from the other side of the fence, and a voice said, "Hi, Mrs. Robbins. Isn't it a pretty day?"
"Hello, Kathy. How are you feeling?"
"Fine." A wide blue eye appeared in a crack between two boards. "Dad said I didn't have to go to school. But I feel great. I wanted to thank you for what you did last night."
"That's quite all right." Pat felt peculiar talking to an eye. She came closer to the fence. "Is your father there?"
"No, ma'am. He went to work."
"I've been thinking perhaps you ought to see a doctor, Kathy. Just to be on the safe side."
"Oh, that's not necessary, Mrs. Robbins. Really. Mark just explained everything to me." The eye narrowed in an expression only too familiar to Pat, who grimaced dis gustedly as Kathy continued in adoring tones, "He knows all about it. I mean, I really appreciate him telling me. It's not so scary when I know it was a ghost, not me going crazy or anything like that."
Even after years of exposure to that curious phenomenon that passes for reasoning among the young of the human species, Pat was left speechless by this comment. She glanced up at her son, who was regarding her with what could only be described as a superior smirk. Then he looked away, and his expression changed to one of guilt and alarm. If Pat hadn't been so angry she would have laughed. She didn't need Kathy's cry of greeting to know who was approaching.
"Hi, Dad. You're home early."
"One of my meetings was canceled," said Josef's deep voice. "We have a date for dinner, Kathy, remember? If you're sure you feel up to it."
Pat leaned against the fence, folded her arms, and prepared to enjoy the conversation-if it was going to be a conversation and not a dialogue. Would Josef acknowledge Mark's presence? It would be difficult to ignore the lanky figure atop the fence, but if anyone could do it, Josef was the man.
Kathy foiled her attempt to remain a detached spectator.
"Mrs. Robbins is there on the other side of the fence, Dad," she said gaily. "Aren't you going to say hello?"
"Hello," Josef said.
Feeling like a fool, Pat responded.
"You'll excuse us," Josef said smoothly, "but we've a long drive and I don't want to be late. Kathy?"
"Yes, all right. Good-bye, Mrs. Robbins, and thanks again. So long, Mark. See you."
Pat scuttled toward the house. What a fool she must have looked, lurking behind the fence. But there was no gate in it. Jerry had made sure of that.
Later, she was to call herself bad names for ignoring the vital clue in that conversation. But she was thinking of other things, such as Josef's successful attempt to squelch Mark by pretending he was invisible, and when she reached the house she found another distraction. She had condemned Josef for bad manners-he might at least have thanked her for her all-night vigil-but as soon as she walked in the back door she heard a knock at the front. When she answered it she saw a messenger carrying a long white box. It contained a sheaf of exquisite, long-stemmed yellow roses. The card was particularly eloquent, it read simply, "Thank you," and his name. But how had he known that yellow roses were her favorites?
She was looking for a vase tall enough to contain such elegance when Mark came in. With cool effrontery he picked up the card and read it aloud.
" Thank you, Josef.' Where does he get off using his first name?"
Rummaging in seldom-used cabinets high above her head, Pat found a tall crystal pitcher.
"We spent the night together, after all," she said.
"Hmph," said Mark.
Pat put the flowers on the table between the brown plastic bowl and the chipped cream pitcher.
"Classy," Mark said. "Inappropriate, but classy."
"You've been seeing Kathy, haven't you?"
Mark dropped the spoon he had been playing with, and dived under the table in pursuit of it. When he came up his face was red, but that might have been explained by his upside-down position. However, one look at his mother's face told him the futility of denials.
"Two hundred years ago they'd have burned you as a witch," he muttered.
"Don't flatter yourself, you aren't that enigmatic," his mother said cruelly. "I should have known you were up to something; you've been so cheerful lately. Today's con versation with Kathy was just a little too fluent if you had seen as little of her as you claimed."
"And?" Mark raised his eyebrows.
"And, while I was searching her room last night I found a note-don't sneer at me like that, I had to do it, Mark! It was under the blotter on her desk and it said, 'Meet me at the usual place, midnight.' It wasn't signed; but I thought at the time the writing looked familiar. If I hadn't been concerned with more important things I'd have put two and two together long before this."
"We only met a couple of times," Mark mumbled.
"Where?"
"That old oak tree at the back of their yard. The branches go down almost to the ground on one side, and-uh-"
"I don't know what to say."
"That's a change," Mark said cheekily. "Hey, Mom, take it easy. I'm not doing anything you need to be ashamed of."
"The note had one other word. I didn't quote it because I didn't want to embarrass you."
Mark's eyes fell. "You sign letters that way even to people you hate. Great-Aunt Martha-"
"I do not meet Great-Aunt Martha under the oak tree at midnight. Mark, let's not play games. You know what I'm talking about."
"Yeah, I do, and I think I'm being insulted. Mom, let me handle it. I know what I'm doing."
"Do you?"
They ate in cold, unhappy silence. The velvety roses mocked Pat with their serene beauty and their promise of friendship. If Josef Friedrichs found out Mark and Kathy had met clandestinely-and in such a stupidly romantic, potentially dangerous place… Why couldn't they get together at a local pizza place or even a bar? But Pat knew why. Kathy was so closely supervised she could only elude her father late at night, after she was supposed to be in bed. Josef was wrong to treat a girl that age like a baby or a criminal, but his folly did not excuse Mark's.