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Show see my man go. But we thought you were in charge of the back railing. Oh I am, says Anne, I'll be out tomorrow to do it for sure. Then her head flops over on Pre-med's arm and she is smiling at Morgan who is aware of his feet on the floor, who is blinking now in the dim sore light of Howard's Club H. And smiling, Morgan realizes, not just at him, but to him and for him, a direct smile which she is holding so it can be studied. And what he sees is that there is no presumption behind it, neither expectation nor judgment, and never was, and he sees that she means for him to know that nothing, therefore, has been lost. You left your pillow, Morgan is surprised to hear himself say. Her arm has slipped, unconsciously it seems, around Pre-med's waist. I know, she says, don't worry about it. I won't need it tonight. The jukebox suddenly comes back on. Dance? she asks Morgan. Not right now, he says. She looks at Pre-med who nods. They move off, Anne's hips already moving to the music. Morgan and Dave finish their beer and Dave says, you wanna go? They are on the street. At the corner by the car a guy in a letter jacket smokes a joint as he waits for the light. Morgan does not remember the ride back to the farm. In the morning he awakens with a hangover which will trouble him until noon. It is Saturday, the first day of September, and the sun is out to set a record, out to make this a day to remember. Morgan and Dave painfully take up their brushes, complain like men |