Tuesday to Bed. Francis Sill Wickware
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“Tell the driver to hold it a minute, will you please?” said Stanton. And to Jeremy he added: “Sorry, old boy, I didn’t mean to have all this bickering.”
“It’s all right, Dad,” said Jeremy, finishing his cocoa.
“No, it isn’t,” Stanton said. “I don’t know why we seem to—— Well, let’s have the Long Island jaunt next week, shall we? Let’s plan it for Saturday. Invite one of your friends, if you’d like to. How about that nice little girl you had at the birthday party—what’s her name?”
“Anne,” said Jeremy. He stood up. “I b’lieve Mom has something planned for me Saturday. I better go now, Dad, or the bus will leave me.” He presented a fresh, cool cheek for Stanton’s kiss. “Hope the speech goes over with a bang. ’By, Mom.”
After he had gone Stanton sat without speaking for a minute. Then he said, “So Saturday’s out, is it? What’s the reason this time?”
“Why, Stan, I talked to you about the series of children’s matinee concerts at Carnegie Hall, didn’t I? Next Saturday is the first one.”
“I don’t remember your mentioning it. And Sunday?”
“Sunday the school is having its annual charity bazaar. For which particular worthy cause I can’t remember. Anyway Jeremy’s going to be in charge of the pies and cakes booth.”
“I see. How often are these concerts?”
“I told you—Saturdays.”
“Every Saturday?”
“Yes.”
“And how long does the series last?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Sometime in April I think. Now what’s the matter, Stan?”
He looked at her and said, “I should think you could figure that out for yourself.”
“Well, I can’t.” Betsy shrugged impatiently. “I suppose you’re annoyed about the concerts, is that it? It’s high time Jeremy started to learn something about musical appreciation. It’s just as important to his general education as arithmetic and grammar, and I should think——”
“You don’t need to go on,” Stanton interrupted. “It isn’t the concerts themselves. I have no objection to your taking him to concerts—I suppose you will be taking him, won’t you?”
“Of course. I can’t very well send him to Carnegie Hall with Supreme Love, can I?”
“No, I suppose not.” Stanton stared at his coffee. As he often did when he was preoccupied, he tapped on the table top with the heavy gold seal ring which he wore on his left hand.
“Please don’t do that, Stan. It’s nerve-wracking.”
“What? Oh—sorry. I didn’t realize.” She often had chided him about his unconscious habit.
“And I wish you wouldn’t look so moody,” Betsy said. “Why do we have to start the day this way?”
“I don’t know,” Stanton replied. “I certainly don’t enjoy it.”
“Well, then, let’s be cheerful.”
“I was very cheerful when we started breakfast,” he said. “Don’t you see, Betsy? I’m worried about Jerry. I never have any time with him. When he was a little boy, I kept looking forward to when we could do things together—the three of us, or Jerry and I by ourselves. The things that families are supposed to like to do together, but never seem to get around to doing. Before the war he was too young for much of that. Then during the war I was away so much there was no opportunity. And since I came home—well, it’s the same. Either Jerry’s always busy, or you are. We never have a chance to do things together.”
Betsy said nothing, and Stanton continued: “He’s enrolled in camp for the summer, and next fall he goes away to prep school. Between these concerts and his social engagements the week ends are knocked out all winter and spring. I . . . all I’m saying is that I’d like to be able to get to know my own son. And apparently that isn’t going to be possible. When he goes away to school it will be a break with home. I’ll see him an hour or so, now and then, between parties during his vacations. There’s nothing in that sort of relationship. No, it’s a strange situation for me, Betsy, and I don’t like it.”
“Oh, Stan, you’re just being morbid,” Betsy said. “The child isn’t going into exile; you’ll have plenty of chance to see him whenever you want to. We’re simply trying to give him some of the advantages you had. Why, when you were Jerry’s age, you . . .”
She went on talking in a quick, strained voice, but Stanton was oblivious to what she was saying. He perched on the uncomfortable wrought-iron chair, blinking in the glare of light coming through the windows and peered around the garish breakfast room almost as if he never had seen it before. He was conscious of a peculiar and most disconcerting sensation—one which he had experienced more than a few times lately—of being completely alone in his own home even when he was surrounded by people. It made him feel as though he were standing on the edge of a vast canyon and trying to shout across it to someone on the other side, but never getting any answer except the echoes of his own voice. Strange, strange, that it was possible to move so far away from those who were supposed to be so close.
“Stan!” Betsy’s voice broke through his remoteness. “Aren’t you listening to me?”
“Yes, dear, of course.”
“Well, why not answer me then? I said, if you want to catch the nine fifty-five we’d better be getting ready.”
“Oh.” He glanced at his wrist watch. “Yes, you’re right.” He drained his coffee cup and rose. “Do you want to take me to the station, or shall I call a taxi?”
“No, I’ll be glad to take you,” Betsy said.
“I can just as well get a taxi, if it’s any trouble.”
“No, I have to go in to do the week-end marketing anyway. I’ll slip into a dress while you finish packing,” she said, on her way out of the breakfast room. “Everything’s in your bag except your dinner jacket. Now come on, Stan, or you’ll miss your train.”
“Yes, dear,” Stanton said, and followed her.
CHAPTER 2
AT THE Westport station, Betsy pulled into the line of cars disgorging husbands for the nine fifty-five, and stopped opposite the door of the waiting room. She flicked the gearshift lever and pressed her foot down on the brake pedal. She put her hand on his shoulder and turned her face toward him. “Well, Stan, here we are. Don’t you want to kiss me good-by? You’ve scarcely said a word since we left the house.”
“Of course I want to,” Stan muttered. “Pull ahead a bit, Betsy; let’s talk for a minute or two. I have something I want to tell you.”
“All right, Stan.” She eased the car ahead a few feet. In front of them other cars were backing and turning in the narrow roadway, and from behind came a staccato honking. “We can’t stop here,” Betsy said. “There’s nowhere to park.”
“Pull over by the side of the platform, just for a second,” he told her. “They can squeeze by, if they have to.” The honking grew insistent, and he added: “I guess they don’t want to, though.”
He put his arms around her swiftly, drew her close and brought his mouth against hers. For a moment she pressed herself toward him and parted her lips for his kiss, with her fingers clasping the back of his neck, behind his ears. The paisley bandana she had been wearing slipped down, and he ran a caressing hand over her shining blonde hair. Beneath his arms he felt her body tremble, and from her throat came something like a sob. Then she drew back.
Stanton grinned at her. His spirits had risen immeasurably during their embrace,