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Show 318 "I'm sorry. Can I still come over?" "Sure. Why not?" Feeling miserable, he drove through town, found what he thought was the right exit from the tangle of one-way streets in the business section, passed through a strange neighborhood of elegant white clapboard houses with deep, rich lawns, rounded a curve in the road and saw to his horror he was headed for the narrow bridge that would put him on the wrong side of the river. A string of cars had gathered behind him. He pressed on, and took the first turnoff he came to on the other side of the river. It was a narrow asphalt road that wound through an experimental farm operated by the state college, and wound further from the river, over gentle hills and fields in which rows of something green and scraggly grew on uniform stakes. He swung onto a dirt road that seemed to lead him back toward the river, but presently it ended at a concrete pylon over which the freeway ran. It was nearly four o'clock when he parked down the street from her house, in the other direction from where the terrier had met him, and walked the thousand yards to her door and rang the bell. She looked at him reproachfully when she opened the door. "I got lost," he said. "It's all right," she said, stepping aside to let him in. They sat on the couch and put their arms around each other. She looked sullen but let him kiss her. "You're mad at me," he said. "It wasn't my fault." "I know. I'll get over it. It's just that I've been thinking what it's going to be like, that I only get to see you when Sorenson lets you. I mean that really turns me off." "I'll think of something." |