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Show 325 She didn't answer, and he picked up his attache case where he had left it by the coffee table and let himself out the front door. For the benefit of the neighbors he glanced at his watch and reached for his appointment book in his inside coat pocket, only then remembering that he wore no tie and his shirt buttons were in the wrong holes. He walked to his car, keeping his back straight and his step resolute, knowing the pit of his stomach had rotted through and was leaving the air foul behind him. He got lost getting home, and when he arrived Sorenson was sitting at the writing table, his hands in his lap. He was staring at Lorin. The wings of his nose were white, and he was white around the lips. Lorin had forgotten for the moment that his companion had been ill. It was a lot to burden a sick man with. * * * * * * Knowing you had let everyone down made you conscious of how much you liked your little back room with its John and hot plate and writing table and soft green walls and the companion who couldn't quite look at you for a couple of days while he came and went without you. You studied the colors of your suit coats hanging in the open closet next to his suit coats and you noticed the way the light shifted in the room after three o'clock. You heard your mother's voice in your ear as twilight collected around the elm outside your window and deepened the corners of your room. It said, "Oh Lorin," as if it had read you stories in front of the fireplace when you were little and you had carefully torn up those stories page by page when you were grown and dropped them into the flames because you hadn't liked them and she had just found the ashes. When the telephone rang you knew it was a telegram saying she had died, and you were relieved |
