On Tuesday, Rose brought Henry to Carmen's house for the day. Carmen was out in the yard and a gang of small children were playing with the garden hose and an old bucket. When Carmen saw Rose her she raised her plucked eyebrows high. She scrunched her nose and almost imperceptibly shook her head. Henry ran to the other children and Carmen said "where are you going?"

"I'm going downtown to do some shopping."

"What kind of shopping are you going to do downtown?"

"Oh stop it Carmen," Rose was irritated. She knew Carmen was judging her. But, how could she judge? She didn't know what Rose was feeling. What would Carmen have done if she were in the same situation.

"I'm just worried about you," Carmen said to her, still staring into Rose's eyes.

"Well, don't. I know what I'm doing."

Carmen's face softened. "I wish I could be happy for you, I just feel like this is getting to to be—this is getting dangerous."

Rose looked down at her wedge sandal. She brushed her foot back and forth against the grass.

"Well, you look really pretty," Carmen finally conceded.

Rose smiled and looked up at her.

"Are you going to tell him?"

"What?"

Carmen looked down at Rose's stomach. "That you might be—"

"I'm not," Rose said.

"Do you want me to come with you?"

Rose smiled and looked at Carmen for a long moment. "No. I don't. I just don't want to you judge me."

Carmen nodded in agreement. "I miss you," she said, "you seem so far away. For a long time, now. You're changing."

***

Rose stepped up the wooden steps of the streetcar. As soon as she got on at the West Moreland Line, the driver turned the crank and closed the door.

"Its awfully hot today," he said and smiled at her. He was a young man, too thin. Too young to be running the street car.

"It is," she said, "Will this line go all the way downtown?" she asked. She felt nervous, rarely taking a streetcar downtown. Not leaving sellwood or west moreland much. Not since Nick left.

"You have to transfer at—You know what you could do?" he said to her, "you could just get off at the broadway line and go over the broadway bridge."

"Will that take me to the art museum?"

"Pretty close," He said.

"All right then," she said. She was breathless from the walk to West Moreland. She sat down on the wooden seat. It hurt her muscles to feel the hard bench beneath her. The window on the street car was open and the hot air rushed in as the car made it down the track. She closed her eyes and let the wind rush past her face. She was so tired and she was feeling even more achey. She felt that she might have a fever. Feeling so sick worried her more. Maybe she was pregnant. But, her throat was sore too. She let herself rest and almost half sleep on the way downtown.

"Ma'm?" she hear a voice. It was the boy driving the street car.

She opened her eyes and sat up straight.

"We're at the broadway line."

Rose stood up. The back of her clothes where sticky from where she had been sitting against the bench. She adjusted her slip which was stuck to her skin, and then her skirt. She stepped down on the street car.

She turned to the boy, "thank you," she said. She stopped "where should I wait to transfer?"

"Just across the street in front of the theater."

Rose walked across the cobblestone. Her heels wobbled as she crossed the uneven road. The wires above her seemed to be sizzling. She stood outside of the broadway theater. The large Broadway Theater Sign spanned the wide road, hanging horizontally across the wide street. The marque above her was unlit. She waited under the awning for the next streetcar. Several other people were waiting. There was a man with a felt hat. He was smoking a cigarette and Rose imagined inhaling the hot smoke in this swelter. The man looked up at her and smiled politely. Rose smiled and looked up at the marque. It said "Humphrey Bogart, Lauren Bacall, To Have and Have Not." Rose looked at the black letters for a moment. She thought to herself, I could do anything right now. I could just go slip into the movie and spend the afternoon there. She could close her eyes and fall asleep in the thick black, gray and white light that flickered through the movie house. No one knew where she was or where she was going. She looked down at the sidewalk. When she looked back up she noticed the man in the hat walk to the curb and peer down the street.

"The car's coming."

"Sir," she said to him, "Do you know which stop will get me close to the art museum?"

"Just get off at Jefferson, you'll be right there."

"Thank you," She said softly. Her voice was hoarse and when she swallowed, her throat burned.

When, she got off the streetcar, she noticed that it was even hotter downtown and the buildings seemed to hold the heat. She walked close to a stone building with tall, tall windows. When got close to the  side of the building, she could feel the heat . Rose was sweaty in her dress. The skirt was full but the top was fitted. The heat and her ill feeling made the dress feel as if it were too tight. She had her hair styled in waves around her face. Her letter for Ed letter was in her purse.

She walked through the grid of large brick buildings and in a way she felt anonymous. Streetcars and automobiles passed in rushes of hot air and an quiet roars. Rose felt confused. She didn't understand the rules of navigating a city. All of the people downtown looked busy with important work. Rose walked quickly towards Park and Jefferson. She looked around for a moment, then she realized that she was across the street from the museum. The brick building looked modern next to the other, older buildings. It had cement steps that led up to three doorways. She felt nervous as if she might run right into Ed. As if she would bump into him. She also felt excited. For a moment, the fatigue was absent. She walked up the stairs and when she entered there was a large empty lobby with a marble floor. There was a poster board in the entry with a picture of Ed and one of his watercolors, an Iris. The poster read, "Ed O'Neil. A Garden at Home -- Botanical Sketches, 1944." Rose felt the urge to touch the flower on the picture. To run her fingers across the lines.

"Hello, can I help you?" A museum volunteer walked up to her and smiled. It was a young man, probably in his early twenties.

"Oh, I am looking for the office. I wanted to drop something for one of the teachers." She heard her voice and was surprised at how honest and innocent she sounded. That wasn't how she felt. But, she sounded like an ordinary housewife, just running an errand.

"The office is down this hall, on the right."

"Oh," she said as an afterthought, "where are the class rooms?"

"They're in the back, there are studios in the back of the museum."

"Oh, thank you," she said.

She walked down the corridor to the office. Once she turned the corner she could see clearly the sign that said, "office."

Here's this big world she thought. A place her lover went every day. Her lover? She caught herself in the thought. Was Ed her lover? Like Madam Bovary in the novel Nick had read to her years ago. She didn't understand it then, the language was so complicated and old fashioned. To her and Nick both, this woman had seemed foolish, ridiculous. Neither one of them could imagine someone like that. As she turned the door knob to the office, she felt a sickening shame. She felt the foolishness of herself. She was acting like a character in a book. It was too late to turn around. Although she could make up something. Some question.

"Can I help you?" A young pretty woman walked over to the counter. She had short hair that framed her ivory face. Rose imagined Ed's hand touching the girl's face, sculpting her expression. Rose closed her eyes and took a breath. She had completely gone crazy. Her brain was exploding with emotions.

"I wanted to leave a note—something—for one of the teachers."

"Oh I can take it for you," the girl said cheerfully.

"Its for Edward O'Neil."

"All right," the woman extended her hand. It seemed strange that the woman suspected nothing. How could that be? Her feelings seemed like they were screaming out from her body and here this woman was treating her like any other museum patron.

Rose handed her the letter. The girl glanced down at the desk and up again at her. "He's teaching a class now, do you want to bring it to him?" The woman held the letter to give back to Rose. Rose put her fingers to her lips and thought about it. She realized that this hesitation made it appear as if she had something to hide. It made her seem suspicious or so she thought.

"Of course," Rose heard herself saying. Then, the letter was back in her hands.

"I am happy to leave it for Ed too," the girl said.

But the way she said "Ed" sent a spark of jealousy through Rose. Rose knew it was not warranted, but she couldn't help the way she felt.

"Oh," Rose said, "Could you direct me to the classroom?"

"If you walk back to the foyer, it's down the long corridor. He's in his painting studio. It is on the left." The girl started to come around the other side of the counter. "I can walk you there, its not a problem."

Rose felt panicked. "No, no thank you. I'm fine on my own."

"Its no problem" the woman said with a rosy smile.

'No, really." Rose said. "I'll go on my own."

The woman turned back to the counter and smiled politely. Rose turned and walked out of the office. She felt like she was on fire. She felt so conspicuous that when she reached the foyer she almost turned and left out of the door before she got into this any deeper. She stood in front of the poster for his exhibit. "Edward O'Neil: At Home in the Garden." She felt as if her feet were frozen in one place. Her top felt too tight again, too constricting. She felt exhausted and elated. She started down the long corridor to the classrooms. Her wedge sandals were almost silent on the marble floor. She walked past expansive galleries. She glanced into them as she passed. In one room were exhibits with paint that looked splattered and drawings that looked crude like a cave man might make. Rose thought of the word hieroglyphic. She walked further and she could see small framed pictures on the walls. They were Ed's. There was no one in the gallery and the museum had a deep silence to it. It was a reverence that penetrated her as if she were entering a cathedral. Her movement cut through the thick air. There were large oriental rugs on the floor. She walked into the room and the first picture she walked up to was the Iris she had seen in her living room. Here, it was framed in a large black frame with a deep green matting. The picture looked as though it had texture. She remembered running her fingers over the bottom petal where it almost turned black. She imagined the look on her face. The one he had when he was cutting her hair. The intense stare into another place. Some place beautiful she thought. She saw the block letters "Iris, 1944." Now, she recognized his penmanship. She was intimate with it. It was the same print as all of of his "I love yous,"  and "I'm sorrys." Romantic but silly, she thought. Deliberatively, conspicuously romantic. That was his way. She walked to the next picture. It was a watercolor of the grape arbor. She recognized the scene, the vines as they were in June, growing madly still sparse enough to let in dappled yellow/green light. She could see where the pencil had gone over the paper in faint criss crosses. She held her breath. She walked past picture after picture. All flowers or plants. Several were just pencil sketches arranged together, showing his process. There was a bench in the middle of the room. Overhead was a large dome where soft diffused light came in. Rose walked over to the bench and sat down in the middle of the room She took out her letter and held it in her hands. She felt small. It was the size of the room, yes. But, it was also who she was compared to him. She carefully opened the envelope with the letter she'd written; she  slid the paper out. She reread her words:

Ed,

I am out in the garden with Henry. It is lovely and his little voice carries and it seems perfect out here with the flowers silently growing. I miss you. I saw the write up about you in the Bee. I didn't know you were a teacher. I realized I didn't know anything about you. It makes me feel small somehow. It makes me feel like I have imagined everything. I am staring at the bench where you cut my hair. I wondered if there are still strands flying loose in the garden. They are evidence that you were here. I want to tell you so much. I want to tell you everything. That's when I come back to this feeling. This dreadful feeling that my what I am saying is wrong. That all of this is a mistake. Of course it is. The point to this letter is that I wanted to say that I do forgive you. I also wanted to say that I think I do love you. No. I'm sure I do. You asked me that the last time I saw you, do you remember?

Rose

What should I do now, she thought? She felt as if  the quiet would absorb her. It was such a peaceful place. Now that the excitement subsided she could feel how tired she really was. She could lay down and just fall asleep. She held her hand up to her mouth for a moment and stared out into the gallery. Her eyes scanned each picture again. Somewhere deep in the museum, in another room, piano music started up. Maybe a reception somewhere. It was still early, not much past noon. She crumpled the letter and put it back in her purse. She put her head in her hands and instinctively she reached for her wedding ring with her right hand; she was reflexively looking for it to twist and fiddle with. But, it was not there. Rose looked down at her hand and noticed that the white line where the ring had been had now become tanned. The evidence of her marriage had disappeared.

She stood up and started to walk back to the entry, and out to the hot city street. She started walking back towards the foyer. For some reason she stopped and turned around. She began walking in the direction of the classrooms again. She could hear the piano music picking up and it echoed once she was in the marble hallway.

The studio classrooms were in a large room with windows out into the hallway. Rose could stand back and see the inside, she could see the entire room. There were maybe fifteen students in the room, standing in front of easels. And, standing there, leaning over a desk, with one hand on the table, with a young man was Ed. He was pointing something out. He stood up and ran his fingers through his hair. He was listening intently to the boy. Rose noticed that his button down shirt was loosely tucked into his trousers. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. It almost looked as if he were arguing with the boy. It made Rose think of the fight they had the last time she saw him. She let a breath out and realized that now that she had crumpled the letter, there was no reason for her to be here. At least, if the letter was still sealed in the envelope it would postpone the humiliation until a later time. Until the time she imagined him reading it. Why was she humiliated anyway? Was it because she was out of the safety of her garden? Away from her house? She let her shoulders drop. She started to turn and walk back and as she did she saw that Ed had stopped talking to the boy. He had his eyes on her. He held up his finger to the boy as if to say "one minute." He addressed something to the class. Then, he rushed out of the door into the hallway.

He stopped in front of her and looked at her for a moment. His eyes opened wider. "Oh boy," he said when he saw her. He ran his fingers through his hair and just stared at her. "It's you."

She turned her head to one side and smiled. Then she looked at him again.

He looked nervous and he rubbed his chin. "I'm almost done in there. Can you wait?" He started to turn away from her, he turned back around He seemed so nervous. "Really just a few minutes."

"Ok" she said, "Don't worry I'm waiting." She thought about it a moment. "Ed" she said.

He turned back to her. 

"I'll wait out front, outside." She said.

"Do you promise you'll be there. You won't leave?" he said. In that instant she realized that he felt that if he didn't have his eyes on her, he couldn't trust that she would wait.

"I promise" she said.

"Really?" He had a serious expression, as if this were a legal contract.

"Really," she nodded.

When she walked out of the front doors, it seemed even hotter than when she went in. She took a handkerchief out of her bag and wiped her forehead. She was dizzy and her body really ached. She sat on a bench in the shade and waited. A delivery truck pulled in front of the museum and she watched the man remove a large box from the back of the truck. He was sweaty and looked overheated. He smiled at her as he walked past. She straightened her skirt and smiled. She watched him walk into the building carrying the parcel. Just as he entered one door, Ed walked out of another. He looked around the front of the building. Rose stood up and waved. He smiled and waved back and rushed down to see her.

"What are you doing here? I would have never expected—" he cut himself off. "Let's go somewhere."

Rose could feel a strong current. An ocean wave. She felt she might fall over. She might drown.

"I just wanted to see you—to tell you that I'm sorry for how I acted." Rose said to him.

"but we can't talk here. Let's get my car. We can just drive." He looked as if he was going to reach for her, touch her face. Instead he put his hands in his pocket. "Please?" he asked.

She nodded. She walked beside him. Side by side without any sign of affection. They didn't say anything to each other. It dawned on her that it would have been perfectly fine to talk. But, they didn't. They walked in silence. They walked around the back of the museum and Ed took out his keys in front of a aqua blue Chevrolet.

"Your car?" she asked.

He nodded and smiled. "I have so much I want to say to you," he said. He walked around to the passenger side and opened the door. Rose stepped in. He shut the door gently.

The car was hot. Hotter than an oven Rose thought. She rolled down the window. Before she finished, he was in the car. He sat for a moment looking at the steering wheel. He took a deep breath and let it out. "It's hot in here," he said. 

She nodded, feeling almost that she might faint from the heat.

"I have to touch you," he said without looking up. "Can I do that Rose?" He sounded so serious. It made her feel awkward.

She leaned in close to him. "Of course you can," she whispered. He turned and slowly he lifted his hand to her face. He touched her cheek with one finger. Then slowly he opened his hand and placed his palm on her cheek. He held it there.

"I know you don't believe me, but I'm so sorry" he said. He smiled at her, "It's you. It really is you. I want to take you somewhere. Can I do that Rose?"

"Yes." She said. He started to take his hand from her cheek, then he placed his other on the other side of her face. She leaned in closer and he kissed her softly on the lips.

"I'm crazy about you," he whispered.

He started the car and once they started driving the car cooled off. The wind rushed through her hair. He held one hand out the window and spread his fingers. She thought of how strong he looked in front of the class. This new information about him, made her adoration for him grow. All of this. The words he said when she saw him, made her believe that the truth matched all that she was feeling. Perhaps it was wrong, but they were meant to be doing this together.

He pulled the car over to the side of the road. They were by the Burnside bridge. "lets walk under the bridge, down by the river." He said, "have you ever done that?"

"No," she said.

"I wanted to bring you here. Whenever I think of you—I think of you all the time Rose, I want to bring you here." He stopped talking for a moment. "I don't know why I'm going on like this." He seemed so vulnerable to her in that moment. She realized that she did know him. She knew exactly who he was. Maybe not all the details, but a deeper kind of knowing.

Then, it occurred to her. She hadn't thought this the entire time she had known him. Maybe he would leave Margaret. Maybe if she was pregnant. She could tell him—after she goes to the doctor. Maybe he would be with her and the baby. And, of course Henry. She had never considered this as a possibility, but now it made her certain that this might be their fate.

She put her hand in his and walked down the steep path. There was no one there and it was cool under the bridge. They walked beneath a large stone pillar there was a dirt landing. 

"Wait," he said, "why don't we sit for a moment?" He looked down at the ground and then at her skirt. "I don't have a blanket." He said.

She smiled.

"I know," he said. And he unbuttoned and removed his blue cotton shirt. It surprised Rose that he still wore a white t-shirt underneath. Even in this heat. He lay the shirt on the ground. "here, sit" he said. And, so she sat down. He sat beside her. The water below was blue calm and boats passed here and there. Occasionally a roar from a car passing overhead could be heard. There was brush and small trees along the bank of the river. Down below Rose could see the brown, sandy river's edge.

"I wanted to tell you," Rose said. She looked at him and felt like she was drowning in his eyes. It made her body feel liquid. "I wanted to tell you that I do love you." Unexpectedly she felt so embarrassed and vulnerable that the had the urge to close her eyes and wait for him to say something. She was afraid to see his reaction. But, she she kept her eyes on him, waiting to see what was next.

He looked at her and smiled. It was such a boyish smile. She could tell that he was so pleased. "You do?" he said. He took her hand in his and he kissed it. He kissed her fingers and held her hand to his lips. Then he smiled again.

"I thought you did," He said teasing her.

She laughed and put her arms around his neck.

He held her and stared into her eyes. He kissed her and then he pulled away. He brushed her hair back and said, "I thought you did. Because I love you so much. You had to love me." She lay her head on his shoulder and sat next to him. He turned his glance to the river, looking down at the water. Two little sail boats moved very slowly down below. They almost looked stationary in the still heat. He had his knees bent staring out.

Rose stared at him for a moment while he looked out over the river. She wondered what his eyes saw as they looked out over the glistening currents as they passed from south to north...how far the river ran she didn't know. Rose knew that her world was small. She never considered where the river had led. She knew it as the the banks of the Wilamette down the hill from Sellwood. She knew it as a body of water that connected her small world to some place else. Someplace she didn't really care to know. She had spent many afternoons as a child by the Willamette at the bottom of Sellwood where the ferry used to shuttle people, cars and horses to and from Lake Oswego. Her father had a stake in the mill that had occupied most of the waterfront at the end of Spokane St. Sometimes she and Nick would take the ferry across to the other side. They would hike up the wooded hill to the cemetery. On warm days, they would find a grassy dell and sit amongst the wildflowers, the air smelling sweet and warm and summery.

Ed turned to Rose. "I want to make love to you, here under the bridge."

For some reason this embarrassed her. The idea of becoming naked with all the cars passing over head."We could go back to my house," she offered.

"No." He said, "I want to make love to you right now. Right here. Please, Rose."

Rose smiled. "All right," she said and let out a breath.

He leaned towards her and started unbuttoning her dress.

"But first I want to tell you something," she said, taking his hand in hers. Stopping him from removing her dress. She didn't realize until now that she wanted to tell him about the possibility of a baby. It was the perfect moment and somehow she knew now that he would help her. That somehow they would find a way to work all of this out. Maybe this is what they needed.

"I have to tell you something first," Rose said again. As the words came out she felt herself grow flush.

His eyes turned serious, his expression changed. He raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth as if to say something. Then he closed it. He leaned closer. "What is it?" he asked.

She felt scared and a burning started in her stomach. She wanted to turn back. Why would she ruin this moment?

He turned so that he was facing her. She was looking down and, he lifted her chin. "What?" His eyes grew wider. Rose realized or suspected that he knew what she was about to say. There would be nothing else that she would have had to tell him. But, maybe that was her mind playing tricks on her. She put her hand to her stomach. She didn't mean to, but when she did, he pulled away a little and looked down at her hand on her stomach.

"What is it that you have to tell me, Rose," he said and he is voice was almost quiet. "Look at me and tell me," He said. She didn't know if he was mad at her.

She looked down and picked up a twig. She scratched the dirt with the stick. She didn't look back up at him. "I'm afraid you are angry with me," she said without looking up at him.

"Why would I be? Please look at me, Rose."

Finally, her eyes met his, "I have been feeling sick...or tired, rather. Well, both. I have an appointment with the doctor."

"Why?" Ed asked, his voice sounded short.

And, now Rose knew that he knew the answer. It was like a courtroom scene. He was just waiting for a confession. Rose could feel her heart beating faster. "Because I may be pregnant."

He let out a sharp breath as if someone had hit him in the stomach. "This is..." he started to say. "Rose, Are you sure?"

"No," she said shaking her head, and stared at him for a moment. "Are you mad about what I am telling you?" She felt herself growing angry. She buttoned her dress back up. This wasn't her fault. In fact, it was all his fault.

Her stood up and stared down at her, "I need to think for a minute." He said. He walked down toward's the river. Rose watched him navigate the brush and finally end up on the river bank. It was some distance from her, but she could see him standing and staring out into the water. He stood still, almost motionless. Every now and then a breeze would rush past and she could see it blow through his hair.

Rose sat alone on his shirt under the bridge. She looked up and saw the bridge, an ominous expanse above her. She thought for a moment that it might crumble and fall on top of her. She looked under the steel beams. She followed their lines into the darkness under the roadway. She waited. Still, Ed remained on the river's edge. She considered joining him for a moment but then thought better of it. She was becoming more exhausted than ever. She felt weak and thought maybe she had a fever. Finally she stood up and yelled down "Ed, I want to go home!" 'But, he didn't turn in her direction. She thought maybe he couldn't hear her. She yelled again "Ed! Ed!" But, he still didn't turn to her. She could hear the river down below and thought he must be able to hear her. She could hear the cars on the roadway as they drove over the bridge. Ed must have been able to hear her. How long was he going to keep her waiting?

She started down the bank, her wedge sandals slid and twisted. Finally, she was next to him, "Ed, " she said, but he still didn't look at her. "I want to go home" She said.

Finally, he turned to her, but he didn't' really look into her eyes. "All right" he said. "I'll drive you back to Sellwood," then he turned and started up the hill.

She followed behind. She felt nervous, like when her father was angry when she was a child. He wouldn't say anything, but just stormed around cold and silent. Like Ed was now. They got into the car and Ed started the engine.

"Why are you angry with me?" she asked. She felt strong again. She knew that she didn't deserve this treatment.

"I'm not angry, Rose. I'm concerned." he said without looking at her. The way he said concerned was so condescending. Rose ran the word over and over in her mind "concerned." She wanted to scream "how utterly mature of you to be so concerned!" Instead she looked out of the window as he put the car into gear and pulled out into the road. She thought of telling Carmen about this. About how right she had been about Ed's character.

She turned to him again, "Why aren't you talking to me?"

"What am I supposed to say?" he said matter of factly.

She hated this way he had. She could feel the anger rise up in her. She leaned across the seat and said, a little louder than she expected, "You know, Ed, when I told Nick he was absolutely beside himself with happiness. He danced around the house and started making up pet names for Henry. Not like you--"

Ed abruptly pulled the car over. He looked at her. She could see he was furious. He stared for a moment, directly into her eyes. It almost scared her. He was a completely different person. "Nick was your husband. I'm not your husband. Do you understand that?"

Rose was as stunned. She sat straight up and opened her eyes wide in disbelief.

Ed started the car again and pulled on to the road. Soon, he was on the superhighway and the car was going fast.

Rose sat silently. She turned and looked out of the passenger window. She had the urge to reach over and grab the steering wheel, make the car go crazy. Crash into something. She felt the urge to hit him, to keep hitting him.

Instead, she said, "I wouldn't want someone like you for a husband, someone who seduces other women. Who is a colossal liar!" When she said "liar" she screamed it so loud, he swerved into the next lane and back again. She kind of cringed at her own behavior, as if she had just accidentally broken a dish.

He let out a subtle, angry breath, but didn't say anything back to her. Rose had the feeling that he was counting the moments until he dropped her off. Until she was out of his car, no longer his responsibility. He bit his lip, squinted his eyes and turned the corner.

"In fact, if I hadn't just lost my husband, I would have never laid eyes on you. If Nick were still here, I wouldn't have anything to do with you." Rose said. She regretted it the minute she said it.

Ed turned and looked at her seriously for a moment "Is that so?" he asked.

She looked down at her hands but didn't say anything.

"Well, that's good to know," he said. "I'm glad you shared that bit of information with me, Rose. I'm glad that your husband was such a perfect man." She could feel that he kept looking back at her from the road, waiting for her to defend her statement. But, she didn't.

Rose knew that because she'd said that, now he had a right to be mad at her. Now he would feel justified in leaving her. She felt herself getting upset, "why are you angry at me. It isn't my fault?"

He turned the corner and stared blankly out into the road.

"So everything you said was a lie?" she asked him. She could feel her lip tremble and she felt stupid for it. She didn't want to be crying.

"Let's just forget it for now." He said. 

She felt a wall between them and she wanted to tear it down, slam her fist against it. He turned on to Bybee Street and she realized there was just a few blocks until he got to her house. They drove past the pharmacy and the Moreland theater.

"Will you please you talk to me?" she asked. "Can you look at me and talk to me. That's the least you can do."

"I think we should just let things settle for now. We've both said a lot of things..."

She put her hand on his arm and said softly, "please? Can we go to the park and just sit for a minute. Talk about this. I'm sorry for what I said. I'm sorry for all of this."

His face softened and he looked at her. "I'm not trying to hurt you," he finally said, "just let me bring you home, Rose."

Then, the car was stopped in front of her house. She lifted the door handle and opened the door. She hesitated a moment, thinking he might say something. Give her some clue as to what he was thinking. She turned and looked at him. His face was serious.

"Take care, Rose. I just need to think about this." 

Rose got out of the car and he pulled away from the curb. She stood and watched the car  disappear down the road. Once he turned the corner Miller Street returned to its summer state. The electric wires hissed and she could hear the children playing down the road. She felt faint and exhausted. She decided to go lay down for a little while.