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Show 66 "Just stay on your back and open your mouth and I'll sit over here and toss them in. You can't move." "I don't want any grapes." Something landed in the grass by his ear. "That one didn't count," she said. "I told you I didn't want any," he said. "I feel like shit and I don't feel like playing games right now." A grape struck his chin and rolled off into the grass. "I keep telling you you mustn't move." "I guess I'm not making myself very clear," he said. A grape struck him on the eye. "God damn it," he said and sat up. She was on her knees, taking careful aim with another grape, but dropped her hand when she saw he was angry. "I'm sorry," she said. The sudden movement made his brain pound. He closed his eyes and saw a bruise of light pulsing on and off, leaving an after-image. "Come over here and sit down," he said. She crawled over, looking contrite, and lay down on her back with her head in his lap. Her yellow shorts had streaks of green across one hip. She braced her feet, in their ratty tennis shoes, against the embankment. "Are you mad at me?" she asked. "I'm just depressed," he said. "We keep saying we won't do this and we keep doing it." "But we won't any more. Don't you see?" "I keep wondering how much farther we're going to go by the end of summer if we keep this up." "I think we'll have grandchildren before we make it the rest of the way," she said, grinning up at him. |