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Show her though. She tried another sip of cold coffee: "No, John and I are going to have to work this one out now." "I feel guilty though." "Tough. I refuse to l e t you move out. I'll lock up your stuff so you can't leave. I wish you weren't on the waiting l i s t at that sinful co-op either, but I guess such attractions . . . You know, g£e£s% you're perfectly free to bring g i r l s here." "tYeah . . . " "You know, overnight or whatever. I hope you've always known that." "Sure, sure. When I find one." I was disappointed that she should be so blunt about it. The phone rang and she maHe a joke about where to tell the Rubins Amelia was this morning, and then she went around to the hall to answer it. I could hear her talking but not the words and I was thinking about what she had said about grief. I had felt it when one of our dogs got hit by a car, and if I had felt such pain then, how would I stand the loss of a person? A person could go away, live on the other side of the world and the two of you never meet again, and that is loss, and in all loss is pain, but it is nothing compared to death, that irrevocable loss of love. I had not really felt it yet but I would. Life required it. Then fclte c a m e back. "Oy," she said. "The Rubins?" "Who else? But they've got a l i t t l e surprise for us. They're in Chicago." "Huh?" "Ha.' You've gone into shock too. They're out at Midway airport and they want their daughter to come out and get them. I told them she was gone - at a play rehearsal or something." "Jesus. Did you call her? What are we gonna do?" "Why do anything?" |