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Show 16 in his mind, he is matching my small, slight build with the birdlike frame of his mother. He sees that it fits. He turns away, his face, like Luel's recording the discovery of another awkward piece of the puzzle. Curtly, he nods acceptance of my offer of a cup of tea; it is for politeness only. "Regular?" I ask, to see if I can dislodge any memories. "There's some fennel left from the last time your mother was here." I think I can see the rage in him, but he keeps it under control. He takes the regular tea, says nothing about the fennel. He sits uneasily, and under the guise of acquainting himself with his mother's dear friend, asks me meticulously about my background, my occupation, my financial past. They are the questions one might expect him to ask of a suitor for Luel, but I am not yet inclined to resist: I have nothing I wish to hide from anyone who can hear. I want them to understand. I tell them as much about me as I can, that I've worked as an actor, a writer, that I'm not employed now. "How will you pay this month's rent?" Tate asks. I let a long silence elapse. Then reach into my pocket for the fawn-colored scarf that is still there. I retrieve it, unwrap it, show Tate one of the rings. Tate's rage is more obvious now, though s t i l l rigidly controlled. I study the ring, hold i t up to the l i g h t . " I t ' s very beautiful," I say. "What makes you think i t ' s yours?" he f i n a l l y growls. |