Ordinary People by Judith Guest Page B

him for help, afraid that she has wounded him.
    To reassure her, he says, “Well, I don’t know how long I’ll keep it up, either. I got shoved into it, sort of. My father—I don’t think he’s got that much confidence in me. He’s pretty nervous about it all. Anyway I only go to get my mind flushed out. After an hour with this guy, you’re not too sure about him, but you know you’re okay.”
    Berger, and his visits with him, have gotten to be something that he looks forward to; a chance to feel better twice a week, even if the feeling doesn’t have much carry-over yet. Now, on top of the shame, is disgust with himself for his slandering words. Not just Berger, but his father, too. Christ Jarrett but you’re a two-faced bastard.
    She says, “Things were so different in the hospital. People were, you know, turned on all the time. And you just can’t live like that. You can’t live with all that emotion floating around, looking for a place to land. It’s too exhausting. It takes so much energy, just to get through a day, even without all that soul-searching we used to do—”
    “Hey,” he says. “Remember Crawford, how he was always telling you to go with the things that made you laugh? Yesterday I heard a guy on the radio talking about how to take care of your trees. If you water after five, be sure to water only every other root. ‘In other words,’ he says, ‘the U.S. Department of Agriculture requests that you use alternate roots after five o’clock. ’ ”
    She is laughing at him at last. “Con, you made that up!”
    “No, the guy said it, I swear. I laughed for five minutes. It made me feel good. To know the nuts still have a chance to take over the world.”
    In the hospital, he was the only one who could make her laugh. His heart swells with pleasure and gratitude. Calmly, so as not to alarm her, he says, “You know, losing a whole year out of your life is turning out to be sort of a disadvantage, don’t you think?”
    “I don’t think about it,” she says. “You shouldn’t either. Just keep going, get into things, forget about that. Try to be less intense.”
    Well, that’s what he was asking for, wasn’t it? Then why do the words irritate him so? With an imaginary pencil he writes in the palm of his hand. “Just a minute, ‘less intense,’ let me get this all down, gee, you sure do make it sound simple, Dr. Aldrich.”
    She frowns and looks away. “It isn’t simple. And I’m not saying everything’s perfect. But at least I try.”
    “I’m trying,” he says. He makes a face, teasing her. “Don’t I act like I’m trying?”
    “I don’t know. I don’t really know you, Con.”
    This hurts. And then she looks at her watch, and this hurts, too. “I’m late. I’ve got to go.”
    “So, okay. Go.” He spreads his hands, palms down on the table.
    She hesitates. “Listen, call me again. I’d like to see you. Really. I mean it. Will you?”
    “Sure.” Call me, I’d like to see you. But just not real soon. I might be crazy but I’m not dumb. I read.
    She gathers her coat about her shoulders. “The thing is,” she says, “we should both be careful about who we see. It isn’t good for either of us to get down.”
    “I’m not down!” It is definitely not the thing to be. More calmly, he repeats it. “I’m not down.”
    “Well, it’s contagious, you know that.” Her voice is flat, accusing. “We can’t risk it.”
    “Okay.”
    Nothing more to say. He glances across the aisle at the rack of paperbacks, reading the titles in despair: What to Wear and How to Wear It; How to Make the Most of What You’ve Got; Twenty-five Ways to Better Love-Making. Oh, God, he did not come here to drain strength away from her he would not do that to anyone least of all her. They are friends aren’t they?
    She gets to her feet. “I’m sorry. I wish I could stay longer. You look great, Con. You really do.”
    “Yeah, thanks. You too.”
    “And you will call me?”
    “Yeah,