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Show Woodworth/176 "I couldn't figure out who was in your bed," he says loudly. She is jarred, surprised, out of sleep. "It's only me." He is standing by her door, dressed in a suit and tie, ready for work. The birds are chirping hysterically outside her window, and the heat is humming their melody. "What time did you get home?" he asks, and Marty remembers the cab driver, her fears. "Late," she says. "It was after two." Satisfied, Ned wanders past the door, on downstairs. She wonders whether it has even occured to him yet that it is strange she is home. It seems he has even forgotten she moved out. "Senile?" she wonders, and drifts back to sleep. It is after nine when she wakes again, and the heat has settled on her like a sleeping cat. She can hear Ruth in the kitchen, humming, tunelessly, running water. What possible excuse can she have for being here? Her mouth still feels stale. She hasn.'t brought clean clothes, a tooth brush, anything. What didn't Ruth wake her up? Her door is still open from when Ned looked in. Ruth must have seen her lying there. She gets up slowly, feeling stiff, hung-over. Rummages around in her bureau, finds an old bra. Too small, but better than nothing. Cotton Carter's underwear. It's so hot, she almost decides to do without them. But around her mother. It's going to be bad enough trying to explain what she's doing here. She puts them on, finds an old t-shirt, and puts that on, too. Back into the cut-offs. Last night seems like all one dream. But here she is, back at home again. The stiff place on the rug where the pile has been cut off. The room smells different in the heat. She never used to be here in the summer. August |