seems so badly to want to be friends with us . . ."
"I understand that," May said, "I really do. And though I have some doubts, I'm willing to take a chance if you think . . ."
"Please don't leave it to me," Karin interrupted. "In fact, I would rather the decision be yours—either way will be fine with me."
"Why should I make the decision?" May said, feeling herself stumbling into the kind of thicket of meanings, the cloudy mass of innuendo that always exasperated her. "Is it because I'm paying, or is it so I can't say 'I told you so'?"
"No," Karin said, clearly smarting, but not allowing the anger to surface, "neither. It's because I have some real questions about Sam myself, I don't know if I want him in so close. But I also know how kind he can be, when he isn't being defensive or trying to impress you. It's strange, but for a while there when I thought Hayes might share the cottage—well, I would have felt better about that. But Sam alone, I don't know."
May nodded, and touched her lightly on the shoulder to show she was sorry, and Karin smiled to show it was all right.
"I've got to walk over to the campus to turn in my admission forms. Let me think about it," May said.
She walked briskly down the hill, breathing in the sharp medicinal scent of eucalyptus. A scattering of small, prickly leaves rustled in the gutters. Through a break in the houses she glimpsed the San Francisco skyline, shimmering in the autumn light. She remembered a fund-raising party for her father; it might have been held near here. The house had a wonderful big garden with a view of the whole sweep of the Bay. That had been one of the nice times. Dad in the center of things, among admirers, surrounded by people who listened, who hung on to his every word, who told her how proud she must be of her father.
The memory caused her to smile at a boy with long hair who was struggling up the hill on a bicycle.
"Long way home," he said.
"Long way home," she agreed, laughing.
An hour later, her errands run, she made her way back up the hill, past student housing where blankets were hanging out of windows, up the steep winding curve of La Loma, walking slowly now because she could feel the muscles pulling on the backs of her legs.
Halfway up the hill she ran out of breath and sat on a low retaining wall to rest. Behind her, the hills were filled with evergreens and ivy and various bright ground covers planted to grab hold of the earth, to keep it from sliding away. She sat there for a time, not thinking, and then she knew that it had been right to come back. She knew because she was thinking about her father, remembering, and it didn't hurt, the tight feeling was no longer in her chest. She had talked about him easily this morning, had told Karin more than she had told anyone, had said out loud words she had hardly been able to think. It was coming back to her. She had been afraid of it, but it was coming back. Look the son of a bitch in the eye. She was not afraid.
She saw Sam working even before she got to the house. He had taken off his shirt in the heat and the muscles of his shoulders stood out, hard and slick and shining with sweat. He had the look of a sculpted bronze figure, in graceful efficient motion. He was pruning an overgrown rhododendron, reaching high, concentrating. She watched his muscles flex in a kind of wonderful rhythm.
"What are you doing?" she called out to him.
He turned, and for an instant his dark eyes registered alarm, so she knew she had taken him by surprise.
"I thought I'd get this pruned before you hired somebody who would come in and butcher it. It's a great old rhoddie, but it's gotten out of hand."
"You certainly look like you know what you're doing," she said.
Without turning around, he answered, "I do. My pop's a gardener and I've put in my time." She heard the edge of anger in his
"I understand that," May said, "I really do. And though I have some doubts, I'm willing to take a chance if you think . . ."
"Please don't leave it to me," Karin interrupted. "In fact, I would rather the decision be yours—either way will be fine with me."
"Why should I make the decision?" May said, feeling herself stumbling into the kind of thicket of meanings, the cloudy mass of innuendo that always exasperated her. "Is it because I'm paying, or is it so I can't say 'I told you so'?"
"No," Karin said, clearly smarting, but not allowing the anger to surface, "neither. It's because I have some real questions about Sam myself, I don't know if I want him in so close. But I also know how kind he can be, when he isn't being defensive or trying to impress you. It's strange, but for a while there when I thought Hayes might share the cottage—well, I would have felt better about that. But Sam alone, I don't know."
May nodded, and touched her lightly on the shoulder to show she was sorry, and Karin smiled to show it was all right.
"I've got to walk over to the campus to turn in my admission forms. Let me think about it," May said.
She walked briskly down the hill, breathing in the sharp medicinal scent of eucalyptus. A scattering of small, prickly leaves rustled in the gutters. Through a break in the houses she glimpsed the San Francisco skyline, shimmering in the autumn light. She remembered a fund-raising party for her father; it might have been held near here. The house had a wonderful big garden with a view of the whole sweep of the Bay. That had been one of the nice times. Dad in the center of things, among admirers, surrounded by people who listened, who hung on to his every word, who told her how proud she must be of her father.
The memory caused her to smile at a boy with long hair who was struggling up the hill on a bicycle.
"Long way home," he said.
"Long way home," she agreed, laughing.
An hour later, her errands run, she made her way back up the hill, past student housing where blankets were hanging out of windows, up the steep winding curve of La Loma, walking slowly now because she could feel the muscles pulling on the backs of her legs.
Halfway up the hill she ran out of breath and sat on a low retaining wall to rest. Behind her, the hills were filled with evergreens and ivy and various bright ground covers planted to grab hold of the earth, to keep it from sliding away. She sat there for a time, not thinking, and then she knew that it had been right to come back. She knew because she was thinking about her father, remembering, and it didn't hurt, the tight feeling was no longer in her chest. She had talked about him easily this morning, had told Karin more than she had told anyone, had said out loud words she had hardly been able to think. It was coming back to her. She had been afraid of it, but it was coming back. Look the son of a bitch in the eye. She was not afraid.
She saw Sam working even before she got to the house. He had taken off his shirt in the heat and the muscles of his shoulders stood out, hard and slick and shining with sweat. He had the look of a sculpted bronze figure, in graceful efficient motion. He was pruning an overgrown rhododendron, reaching high, concentrating. She watched his muscles flex in a kind of wonderful rhythm.
"What are you doing?" she called out to him.
He turned, and for an instant his dark eyes registered alarm, so she knew she had taken him by surprise.
"I thought I'd get this pruned before you hired somebody who would come in and butcher it. It's a great old rhoddie, but it's gotten out of hand."
"You certainly look like you know what you're doing," she said.
Without turning around, he answered, "I do. My pop's a gardener and I've put in my time." She heard the edge of anger in his
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