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Show 237 the barbecue sauce into a cakepan and went to the sink, looked out once again at the barn, the peeling red paint. The child had been stillborn in Julia's sixth month. Absurdly, Paul and Tia had sent a dozen roses; Molly had been out of town. "Look, Tia, I really am sorry. I know I haven't been very nice. Will you forgive me?" She had moved close to Philip, stood behind him now at the sink. He could feel her small breasts on his back; then her lips, lightly, on his neck. He wished her away, but her presence was too willful, too full of physical intention. "Of course I'll forgive you," she whispered, putting her hands on his hips, "as soon as we get a chance to make up." Philip felt his body go rigid; become thick and heavy as a corpse. "What a pretty picture." It was Julia, his wife, behind them at the kitchen door. Tia was slow to turn around, in fact did not until she had slapped Philip on the behind in a great show of innocent affection. "I'm jealous," she said to Julia, "I'll bet he's terrific in bed." "Yes, when he's awake," said Julia. "Now what about poor Jonathan's drink?" "Forty years thirsty, he can wait another five minutes," said Philip. "No hurry, no rush." "No reason to wait," said Julia, "I'll get it now. I'll get them all. The others are dry too." She held up the additional glasses she had brought in; partially, |
