| OCR Text |
Show 243 came up, stirred the fire. "What I don't understand," said Philip, »is why you suddenly went so cold. Did something happen that you didn't tell me about?" "Of course not," said Molly, "you know I've always been completely straightforward with you." "What then?" "I don't know, I wish I could explain. Maybe it was that you wanted more from me than I had to give." "I only wanted . . ." "That's what I mean." Philip awkwardly turned the chicken, awkwardly because there was suddenly something wrong with the tongs: they had gotten rusty. The problem, as he saw it now, was that he had been entirely too open with his emotions. "If there's been a problem," she said, "it's been with me. But I'd still like to be your friend." "It didn't have anything to do with Julia's . . ." "No." Drought. What was it about drought that upset him so? Living in a farmhouse in Ohio didn't make him a goddamn farmer. It was only weather. It would change eventually, had to; it could rain, change at any moment. Philip looked at Jonathan's cloud and indeed it held promise, he had to admit that. "You make me feel foolish," he said. "I know that," said Molly, "and I'm sorry." "I've become distracted lately," he said. |
