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Show 121 And it had been with an older man's patience that he had waited, through the morning and evening rains of December, through more of Nick's antics and Sara's broken smiles; listened to the painful sound of bedsprings, studied Sara's face; watched for further signs of weariness, weakness, unhappiness; waited for a way to tell her that he loved her. Each afternoon they went together to the marketplace, the two of them, Steven and Sara. Bought cauliflower and eggplant, green peppers and fat yellow onions, tomatoes that were firm and fleshy, obscenely ripe. Yet he could say nothing. He could not escape the feeling that Nick, Nicko, walked invisibly with them. In the cafes Steven and Sara drank coffee from tiny cups, spoke of vegetables and weather and Sara's upcoming Christmas swim. Beneath the tables their knees touched. "Sara," he finally said in the Cafe Nuevo, "I need to talk to you. " "Sure, Stevie, okay, we're talking. What about?" "About you and me." "Yes?" "Well, about Nick." "Speak of the devil," she said. |