_ _ _ _ FICTION _ __
~r Lancelot &
ara Heart urn Jennifer and Max shared birthday parties, summers in Vermont, all the delicious pangs of growing up. Now, how can she accept that loving others has pulled them so far apart? By Liane Kupferberg Carter 0 "When I was a little kid I used to count policemen in the Lincoln Tunnel. Now I count dead animals on the highway," Jennifer said. "lt's a sign of the times," Henry answered, watching the green Triumph ahead of them weave through the Friday afternoon traffic on the Taconic Parkway. "I'd keep the dead animal remarks to a minimum , considering Emily's talent for taking in strays. Didn't you tell me she's raising chickens?" "Yeah, chickens, and any stray hedgehog that crawls in her path ." "C'mon, knock it off. I think the weekend will really be okay." Jennifer doubted it. In fact, she'd put off this weekend with Max and Emily for several weeks already. "Jenny, when are we going to see you?" Max had said on the phone. "Don't be so secretive. I have to check out that guy before I can give the okay on this wedding." As if he were still a big part of her life , she thought. Somehow she'd never imagined them with separate lives . From as far back as she could remember, their lives had always run adjacent. Together they'd grown up in Teaneck; together their families had shared a house inVermont every summer; together they'd gone to other children's birthday parties , to pediatricians, and to grammar school. Max had escorted her to her first country-club dance . He'd noticed the first time she'd worn a bra and high heels and had had the decency not to comment on it. The night she'd broken up with her high-school boyfriend, Max had rushed over with a half gallon of Jamoca almond fudge and held her head in his lap while she railed against the perfidy of men .
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After Max went away to college, they exchanged chatty letters , and one winter weekend when she was a senior in high school and he a worldly college sophomore at Buffalo, he invited her to visit. He gave her his bed and slept on the cold linoleum floor of the dorm, and took her to see the New York Erotic Film Festival on campus with a group of his friends . "It's part of your education-this is what the college catalogs don't show you," he said, and handed her her first joint. She sat next to him in the damp and darkened student-union auditorium, sliding lower and lower in her seat with embarrassment, too shy to look at Max on her right, though she could hear the labored sound of his breathing. She was even more uncomfortable with what she was viewing for the first time on the screen; it involved a sporty blond girl and a soccer ball. Max laughed ; Jennifer cringed. Then .he reached for Jennifer's hand and held it for a while; when he finally released it , she wasn't sure if she was relieved or disappointed. Max suggested they take a walk. Jennifer was shivering, and Max casually put an arm around her, something he'd often done before. But they snuggled closer against the cold and stood staring at the deserted campus, their breaths making puffs of frost. "Jenny," Max said, and she heard an unfamiliar hoarseness to his voice that made her shiver, though she was no longer cold, and he pulled her against him and kissed her. Neither ever referred to that moment again. Jennifer kept in touch with Max through her years at Skidmore, where she shed fifteen pounds and her virginity, and acquired a degree in music. They phoned each other at least twice a month to discuss their social lives , and always remembered each other's birthday. During Christmas vacations they always found a few days for each other. Jennifer was discovering new interests away at school; one Christmas she dragged Max to a Bergman film retrospective. " What do you think?" she said eagerly. "I feel like I've been locked up with zombies all afternoon," he said, as they blinked in the sudden bright winter light
on Bleecker Street. " Don't ever inflict that on me again." Jennifer was startled. It was the first time she could remember since they'd squabbled as kids that Max had ever so heartily disagreed with her. And yet, it was typical of the basic outlook that defined each of them. While Max's notion of relationships had been formed on Ivanhoe, Jennifer had been raised on the Bronte novels . Max worked best with facts and figures ; Jennifer preferred subtleties and innuendo. If Max were a hardy household plant, Jennifer would be a tropical orchid; if he were a Bach cantata, she would be a Wagnerian opera. Somehow Max's steadiness was a good foil to Jennifer's impulsiveness; when Max and Jennifer were children, their parents had aptly summed it up with nicknames: Sir Lancelot and Sarah Heartburn. And so they drifted; the summers in Vermont for the two weeks in August before school started were still their touchstone, though Jennifer often sat reading Russian novels on the dock or singing scales in her room, while Max played golf or chopped wood for winter weekends ahead. Then Max graduated, worked a year, and went to business school in Philadelphia; Jennifer took a drafty apartment with cathedral ceilings on the West Side of Manhattan to be near her classes at Juilliard . The letters stopped; phone calls were affectionate but infrequent. She adored him still, but there just wasn't all that much to say anymore. Until Max r>honed one night in January, his voice uncharacteristically buoyant. "Jenny! What are you doing May fifteenth?" "Does this mean you're finally paying me a visit?" she said. "C'mon, what are you doing that day? " he said. She glanced at the calendar over the 'stove. "How the hell should I know? That's a Sunday ... I'll probably be sleeping late and reading the paper in bed ," she said. "Why?" "Good, you're free." " So what's the story?" she said.
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"Well," he answered very slowly, "since you haven't got any plans, I'd like you to sing for me-in fact, this is a command performance." " Why?" she said again. "Well, because I'm getting married at eleven o'clock that morning, and since you can't be my best man-" "You're getting what?" she screeched. "Oh iny God! That's wonderful! Who is she? Where did you meet? How long have you known each other? Why didn't you tell me?" "I wasn ' t sure at first," he said. "Her name is Emily. We met in the laundry room of the place I'm living. I was standing there surrounded by piles of clothes, and she took pity on me and offered to help me sort the darks from the brightsand the next thing I knew she was cooking dinner for me three times a weekand, well, you know how I am about a home-cooked meal.'' "Oh, Max," she said. Her eyes stung. "I don ' t know what to say." "I know," he said happily . "Just say you'll sing at the wedding." ' 'I'd be honored ," she said. They both sighed. "Look, this is costing you money ," she said. "When can we talk in person?" "Well, actually, this weekend. That's the other thing I was calling for. Are you free this Saturday night? Friday night we'll be with my folks, but Saturday I want you to come out to dinner with Emily and me ." "You're on! Oh, Max," she started again. "Now cut it out! Don't get all weepy on me. Ma did that already." "Okay, okay . Then- I'll see you Saturday. Max?" "Yeah?" ''I'm really happy for you." " I know. I can't wait till you meet Emily. She's dying to meet you after all she's heard." "I can't wait to meet her, too," said Jennifer. She met Emily that weekend. They circled around each other warily, sizing each other up over dinner in Chinatown. Emily, she learned , worked for a vet, nursing sad, stray puppies and twitchy rabbits. She had gone to a small community college in Pennsylvania , where she'd studied home economics. "And can she cook!" Max said with pride, putting his arm around her for about the twentieth time that evening. "I've said good-bye to Swanson Hungry-Man dinners forever." "Oh, I don't know , Sara Lee 's not so bad," said Jennifer, thinking guiltily of the half-eaten pound cake in her refrigerator with a knife still sticking out of it. "Oh no, I cook from scratch," said Emily. "I just love cooking for Max. He 300
appreciates everything.'' Emily seemed appreciative too . She couldn't do enough for Max, and ordered him around with a proprietary air. Jennifer was eager to welcome Emily into the family and insisted on having a bridal shower. Emily seemed a bit overwhelmed by so many people who'd known Max so much longer than she had; afterward, she insisted on staying to help Jennifer clean up . "I guess we'll have to put you up on the auction block now , too ," said Emily , expertly washing the silverware. Jennifer was confused. "But I don't want to get married , Not yet anyway." "Every girl wants to get married ," said Emily in a voice that allowed no contradiction. " But I like being single. I like living on my own." "Don't you ever get depressed about being twenty-five and still single?" "Twenty-three ," said Jennifer, her voice muffled in the tablecloth she was folding. "Pardon?" ''I'm only twenty-th ree . And not being married means I can go out dancing till four in the morning or eat ice cream for dinner or fly to Nassau for the weekend with a mysterious older man and not have to answer to anyone. Not that anyone has asked me lately ," she added, as she put away the dishes. Jennifer wanted to like Emily. Or at least she told herself she did . But her friendliest overtures seemed to elicit only polite indifference . To someone of Jennifer's affectionate temperament, Emily's reserve bordered on hostility. Jennifer was mystified , patient; then , finally , irritated. She put Emily's coldness down to "sneering provincialism." Then there was the wedding. Jennifer practiced a vocalise by Faure; a week before the wedding, a jittery Emily snapped and told her, "I don ' t even like classical music. Couldn't you do something riormal , like ' We've Only Just Begun '?" "Go along with her, Jen, please?" said Max . He was fed up with wedding preparations. So Jennifer gave in. The wedding was small; Emily ' s parents couldn't afford the kind of wedding that Jennifer's friends were used to . The room was dark and stuffy, the band was too loud; Jennifer approached Max and yelled in his ear, "How about a dance with your first girlfriend?" but before they'd had a chance, Emily pulled him away to meet yet another cousin. They settled in Massachusetts. Jennifer sent a wok and a Chinese cookbook for their first anniversary. She expected Max to call to thank her ; a month went by before she received what she considered a perfunctory thank-you note from Emily. Phone calls were infrequent, until Jennifer's news about her own impending marriage, when Max suggested a ski
weekend at the house in Vermont so they could meet her fiance , Henry , a music critic. "Please talk to me," Henry said. ''I'm tired of driving and this silence is deafening." ' 'I'm glad you ' ll have this chance to meet Max," she said. "He was really my best friend till he got married." "People change," Henry said laconically. Then he glanced sideways at her. "C'mon honey , weren ' t you telling me last week that you haven ' t had as much time for your girlfriends since you got engaged?" "Yeah," Jennifer said doubtfully. "That's just how life is ," he said. "No, that's how Emily is . I don't think she likes me much. We have nothing in common." She paused. "I don't know what Max even sees in her sometimes." "She's probably very good to him. Nothing wrong with that. A lot of men still like total devotion. " "You can get that from a dog, " she muttered. "Oh, ease up. Your nose is out of joint. Why don ' t you just relax and listen to the music. Look , they're even playing our song," he said, turning up the slow strains of'' Moonlight Serenade.'' ''Why don't you sit closer?" "Okay," she said, and sighed, remembering how they had danced to this that first night together when Henry had taken her to the Rainbow Room . She snuggled up to him , wondering if Max would like the Rainbow Room. She had never managed to teach him not to stomp all over her toes. She nestled her head against Henry; he put his arm around her shoulders and drove with one hand through the half light of the winter afternoon. Henry pulled into the unpaved driveway, parking his silver Volvo behind Max and Emily's van . The light was fading; inside they could see Max had lit the fire . Jennifer shivered theatrically. "Quick," she said, "let's get the stuff into the house." They unloaded groceries and ski bags and followed the footprints up to the wooden porch , stamping snow from their boots . Jennifer pounded at the door. "I gave at the office," Max yelled. "Open up, you creep." "What's it worth to you?" said Max. He opened the door cautiously and peered out. " The password?" "Swordfish," Jennifer said authoritatively. , "Okay." He opened the door and gave her a swaying bear hug that knocked her hat to the floor. "You're getting the floor wet ," Emily said. "Hi, Em," said Jennifer, and kissed her dutifully. Then she turned to Henry,
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who was cleaning the steam from his glasses . "Everyone, this is Henry," she said. Henry shoved his handkerchief back in his pocket, put on his glasses, and shook Max's hand. They looked at each other approvingly; both wore red-and-black Woolrich shirts. "Hey , it's about time . I understand your intentions are strictly honorable," Max said to Henry. "Yeah, but his dishonorable ones are a lot more fun," said Jennifer, and Max laughed. Emily's smile was strained . "Come warm up by the fire ," Max said. "Emily was just making cocoa. " "I'd love some!" Jennifer said . "Let me help." It felt good to be back in this familiar kitchen with the blue-and-whiteflecked wallpaper, the hand-painted ceramic molds, and the jars of preserves in colorful rows along the walls . " The cocoa's already made ," said Emily. "I brought our own ." "No problem," said Jennifer. 'Til just unpack the groceries.'' "I'll take care of it," said Emily. "Sit and dry off.' ' "It'll just take a sec, I know where everything goe"s," Jennifer insisted. She opened a cabinet and stopped , confused. "What happened ? We always keep dried foods in this cabinet," she said, looking at rows of dishes . "I rearranged it, " Emily said. Jennifer shrugged , "Whatever you want," she said. She knew Max's mother was sure to rearrange it anyhow. She joined Henry on the oval braided rug in front of the hearth. Max was stirring the fire with a heavy dark poker; he looked windburned, handsome, and well fed. In fact, she thought with a pang, too well fed. He was getting a little beefy. He and Henry were discussing ski conditions in the area . Jennifer sat back against the old chintz-covered sofa, wrapped her arms around her knees, and stared into the fire . Tonight they could pop popcorn in the fireplace, drink spiced wine, and reminisce. Maybe later she would bake cranberry bread, and Henry could play his flute. Emily placed a tray with four blueand-white striped mugs on the pine coffee table next to Jennifer. She poured a stream of fragrant cocoa from the chipped spout of an old Chinese pot. Jennifer wrapped her hands around the steaming mug, inhaling deeply. She looked up at Emily, then at Max . Everyone smiled self-consciously . Henry was the first to break the silence. He made cheerful conversation, and as Jennifer watched him, she was grateful for his easy talk, his assurance, his ability to adapt himself to his audience. He was affable without being overly familiar, and 'knew just the right things to ask Emily to draw her out. Jennifer began slowly, almost imperceptibly, 302
to relax. She might not have much to say, but Henry was capable of smoothing the rough edges, of greasing the conversational wheels. Jennifer felt languorous yet hungry. Finally, she interrupted. "I think I'll start dinner. I've got a great recipe for solyanka." "What's that?" everyone said. "A vegetable-cheese casserole, with cabbage and potatoes and onion and cottage cheese and yogurt and caraway seeds and dill and vinegar." No one spoke. "Oh, and I forgot, sunflower seeds and butter and sour cream and, uh, paprika, pepper, and salt." "We brought some steaks, " said Max finally. "They're defrosting now." "Oh ," she said . "In fact, I'd better check them ," said Emily . "I'll help," said Jennifer. "No, that's okay. Sit. Or set the table ," Emily said . Emily worked briskly , washing and slicing string beans, scrubbing potatoes, seasoning the steaks. She fearlessly lit the old gas range that had a tendency to explode , put the steaks and potatoes in the oven, then tossed the string beans into a pot of boiling water. Jennifer sighed. She loathed boiled vegetables . "I love a good piece of beef," said Max. Jennifer ate dutifully. Afterward , Emily insisted on doing the dishes, and Henry offered to help dry. Jennifer followed Max into the living room, collapsing in a plaid-covered wing chair. "Bushed?" said Max . "Yeah," said Jennifer. "But cozy. I don't feel like moving." "So don't," he said. "I've got some pictures to show you anyhow." "Oh yeah?" she said in a sultry voice. "What kind of pictures?" "Of the house. We're building on a barn," he said. "I read up on it and did all the design and construction myself." He pulled out an orange and black envelope and tossed it to her. She shuffled through several photographs. " ' Little House on the Prairie,' huh? " she said . Max laughed. "You're turning into quite the country gentleman." "I tell you , Jenny , you wouldn't believe how nice everybody is up here. I like the slower pace, too." "Don't you miss the movies? Or the theater?" "Not really . There's so much to dothe barn, the garden, hiking . .. no , it' s just great." "What's great?" said Emily, carrying in a bowl of fruit. "Country life," Max answered. "Oh, I can't even take the city overnight," Emily said. "I don't even like visiting Max's folks. I can't figure why you live there, Jennifer. It's like you're afraid to leave." ''I'm not afraid!" Jennifer said hotly. "My life is there. My friends are there.
My career is there." "You're just afraid to make a change. It's your priorities. I'm sure you could get lots of jobs doing music and singing anywhere. There's a group that sings at my church ." "I think Jenny has her sights set on something a little different,' ~ said Henry . ''You know, the greatest opera company in the world is in New York." "I didn 't know you liked opera," said Max . "You always sang show stuff." "That was before I heard Leontyne Price ," said Jennifer. Later snow fell , seeping through the cracks onto the windowsill in the room where Jennifer and Henry slept pressed together under a great goosedown quilt. Early Saturday morning, Jennifer tickled his back with a stray feather. "What is it?" he said sleepily. She nudged him with her cold toes. "Listen, " she said . "It's so quiet when it snows . . . so deathly still." "That's morbid ," he said . "Why don ' t you go make some coffee or take a shower and let me sleep?" "And miss all this great snow?" she said. "Hen-reee," she singsonged in his ear, running her fingertips over his face . "Cut that out, it tickles." "Okay, be that way ," she said , and reached for a flannel robe draped over the rocking chair. She found her fluffy slippers under the bed and padded into the living room . No one was up. She wandered over to the round , wroughtiron table in the corner, which was covered with dozens of framed photographs: Max and Jennifer in the speedboat ; both families laughing as Max's dog shook a shower of spray from his soaked coat; Max teaching a skeptical Jenny how to swim; various portraits of their parents barbecuing, sunning, sailing, and skiing; but always, Max and Jennifer in tandem. Jennifer looked a long time, then walked into the kitchen . She waited for the coffee to brew and stared out the window at the frozen lake . Behind the red-and-blue calico curtains she noticed a bag of bread crumbs from dinner. For Emily's strays, no doubt. Emily had a soft spot for anything helpless, as long as it wasn't human, she thought. But she was good to Max, Jennifer had to admit. And the way Max sometimes looked at Emily when he thought no one would notice gave Jennifer a strange flutter in her stomach. The sky was a blaze of blue light and still branches. Jennifer hooked her ski bindings. She was glad to be alone with Henry. The four had split up: Max and Emily had ' wanted to do some crosscountry skiihg; Jennifer preferred downhill. Of course, they were hardly alone; there were easily a million cars from New York, she thought crossly , as she waited on the interminable line at the lift. "Race you down?" she said to Henry.
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Max and Emily returned around sunset. Emily's nonnally pale face was blotchy red. "It's getting pretty cold out there ," she said, struggling to remove a ski boot. She fell into the nearest chair. Max knelt next to her, pulling off her other boot. He nib bed her feet caressingly . "Yeah, looks like we're in for more snow," Emily said. "There's that heavy gray look to the sky, and the air smells of it." "I was kind of hoping we could see a movie tonight," Jennifer said. "I think we're better off staying where we are," Max said, walking to the fire and holding his chapped hands to it. "Tell me about your day," she said , patting the sofa cushion next to her. Max sat down and unlaced his boots . He described at great .length where they'd gone and what they 'd seen, and Jennifer realized her attention was drifting. She felt very sleepy and leaned back. When she woke two hours later, Jennifer smelled fried chicken and realized she'd forgotten to eat lunch. "How long did I pass out for?" she asked at large. "Long enough, " said Max. "Em's almost got dinner ready." ''I'm sorry! " she said, feeling guilty. "How can I help?" . "Don't worry about it, I did your share," said Henry, looking pleased with the s~lad he w'as tossing. They ate quickly and silently , all bone-weary from cold and exercise. Outside a dry snow was falling rapidly. "Good thing we didn 't go to the movies," Max said as Emily cleared the table . "Look out the window ." "I like this kind of weather. It's an adventure," said Jennifer. "Makes me thin!< of something romantic·, like War and Peace- death on the Russian steppes .... " ·"Sarah Heartburn," Max said, rolling his eyes at Emily. "Or m;lybe the poor little match girlfreezing to death in the snow in Londontown," she continued, ignoring Max. "I've always been fascinated with Victorian England- there ' s an underbelly to it-you know, all form and propriety on the surface, but it's like turning over a rock and finding wormy things underneath. You know what's really interesting? Whenever you read Victorian novels, there's this absolure avoidance of sex, but there's also an almost prurient fascination with death." She poured more wine for herself and continued. "Whereas today, we're very frank about sex, but talking about death has becoine as taboo as sex was to them. What do you think?" "I don'r know," Max said and shrugged. "I've never given it much thought." "Yeah, I see what you're getting at," 304
said Henry thoughtfully. "Queen Victoria wouldn't even let anyone refer to a piano as having legs." He passed his hand through his rough dark hair, making it stand up with static. "Hey Jen, you know what else is interesting? Think of books like The Forsythe Saga-all that emphasis on property. Everything was so corporeal-the furniture was massive, and I think that's reflected in the books of the time-l mean, just look at them . They're all tomes-Middlemarch, Bleak House . They were all so massive-so solid ." "Speaking of solid ," said Max, " wait till you try Emily's apple pie." Emily was carrying in dessert plates and forks . "Would you say Wagner fit in with your theory?" Jennifer asked as she cut a wedge of cheddar. "You mean sheer size? Oh , no. I mean, certainly, his work was vast. 1 mean, you have this stupendous venture , the Ring of the Nibelungen , which is' so huge that he had to write a fourth opera to the trilogy just as a prelude. But no. With Wagner we ' re talking about a different world, different aesthetics entirely.'' Henry made excited circles in the air with his hands. He and Jennifer sighed in complete understanding. She looked up. Max was wolfing down his pie; Emily's mouth was pursed as she played wiq1 the spoon in the sugar bowl . Henry looked around . ~'Hey Max," he said, "who do you think 's going to the Super Bowl this year?" Emily was listening raptly to Max grow eloquent on some team Jennifer had never heard of, so Jennifer cleared the table and sat by herself in front of the fire . She felt like a stranger in this house, she tho!Jght. Emily had usurped her kitchen; Max no longer had patience for the things she loved . Once he'd always been there when she needed him .. . . Wasn't there still some vital thread between them, the connective tissue of all those shared memories? "Move over, kiddo ," Max said, plopping cjown next to her and p\ltting his arm along the back of the sofa behind her. "What's new?" "Not much," she said, and stared into the fire . · She started to grin . "Max , do you remember the time I baby-sat for Geoffrey Stoller ancj he sicced his cat on me and then the cat ate the hamster?" "Yeah, I punched the cat in the face and then ,, I carried Y0\1 to the. emergency room. "And you held my hand when they put in the stitches." "What do you think ever hfippened to Geoffrey?" Max said . "I bet he became a vivisectionist ," she said. "That's disgusting!" Emily said . "You'd feel that way too if you had scars on your leg from that kid ," said Jennifer. \
"Oh Jenny," said Henry, "you have only the tiniest white line on your leg from that.'' She drew herself up in mock indignation. "I was talking," she said, "about emotional scars ." "Oh Jen , get off it. Don 't be so melodramatic ," said Max, shoving her. S!le pushed him back, laughing. "What kind of scars are you talking about?" Emily said angrily. "Seems to me you had it pretty easy as a kid." "I had my share of suffering ," Jennifer said. "No one gets through adolescence without it." "Oh hell," said Emily , walking around the living room. "What do you know about suffering?" She yanked the curtains closed , making the hooks screech against the rod. She bumped against the table of photographs , knocking half a dozen to the floor. Jennifer cried, " Be careful!" and bent down to retrieve them. She wiped the glass plates with her sleeve . "What do you need so many dusty old pictures for anyhow? " Emily said. Jennifer looked up from the floor and saw something she hardly believed: Emily's eyes were filling with tears. Only the hissing and spitting of the fire broke the silence. Finally, Henry said peaceably , "I think we ' re all overtired . What say we all turn in? Jenny? " He reached for her hand and pulled her up. "Good night ," she said quietly , kissing Max gently on the cheek. He stared into the fire and didn ' t answer. . Jennifer slept fitfully and woke early . She showered and dressed quietly, then went to the kitchen to pack the food supplies she'd brought that were still untouched. Last night's dishes filled the sink . Emily didn't let me cook even one meal, she thought as she started to clean up. Then she sat and read until she heard stirrings from Max and Emily's room. She tiptoed to her room. Henry was packing. "I guess I'll do that , too ," she said. "Can r get you some breakfast?" "I'm not really hungry ," he said. "Maybe I'll just have some cereal." When she joined him in the kitchen ten minuttls later, Max and Emily were already seated with a coffeepot and a plate of rolls between them. • "You're not leaving already?" said Max, seeing the red ski bag in her hand. "I was just packing. We have to get an early start." . "Well , at least have some breakfast, " Max said , pushing the plate toward her. She sat stiffly next to Henry. Everyone passed roll,s and butter and jam and listened as Henry made small talk between spoonfuls df granola . The meal was brief; everyone Was excessively polite and spoke in hushed tones as if someone had died in the next room. While Max and Henry shoveled the driveway, Jennifer dug out the car and
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packed the trunk. They were finished in a half hour, and Max joined Jennifer on the porch, their breaths making little puffs of frost. ' ''I'm glad we got to meet Henry ," Max said . " He ' s really a great guy.' ' "Yeah ," she said. "I hope you ' ll both come up to the farm this spring and see all the things we've dope," he said. 路 "Yeah, " she said . "But anyhow , we'll see you before then at the wedding, right?"
"Uh-huh," she said. "I'll even save you a dance if you prof)lise not to stomp on my to~s. " They stared at each other; then Max looked away. "I've outgrown that ,'' he said. "I know," she said, her heart aching. Then Henry came out of the house with Emily. He shook hands heartily with Max and wished them a safe trip home . Jennifer hugged Max quickly, sa"id goodbye to Emily , qnd hurried to the car. "Don't forget to lock up ," she called out the window. " Don ' t worry ," Max ans~ered. ' Til fix everything before we leave."
"Okay, then ... so long ." She rolled up the window and shivered. "The heat'll be up in a few minutes," Hepry said , revving the car. Jennifer nodded and didn ' t answer. She undid her seat belt find slid awkwardly across the bucket seat to lean her head against him . "I guess I'm not much for skiing anymor~ ," she whispered . ;'Maybe not ," said Henry, looking straight ahead . "But you ' ve got me ." They drove in intimate silence , and as Henry turned onto the highway, Jennifer automatically started to count the small frozen gray and 路brown animals that lit~ tered the roaq. 路