time, use up our energy, wear us down. ..."
'Td like to be a frazzled wreck," Elizabeth murmured.
"What?"
"Oh, just something silly that occurred to me, weeks ago, when I was thinking about us: that we'd gotten . . . stale. Static. And then, after Zachary died, and you were always so angry, so dissatisfied with what we have—"
"Aren't you?" he demanded, and then it all burst from him. "Christ, Elizabeth, aren't you angry and upset over what's happened to us? You asked me what we've lost. I'll tell you: we've lost the idea that we could be anything we want! Doesn't that scare you? It scares the hell out of me. Once upon a time you won prizes, everyone predicted a wonderful future—"
"You won the same prizes="
"God damn it, that's the whole point! Did we ever imagine we'd be— what was it you said? Stale. Static. If anyone had predicted that for us we'd have said he was crazy. We knew what we wanted, remember? You
couldn't wait to have your own column; I was going to be a publisher; we were going to buy a newspaper. Maybe two. Do you remember? What the hell happened to us, Elizabeth? We're almost forty and where are we? How did we get to be such different people? Doesn't that bother you? Am I the only one with this rage eating me up inside?"
Elizabeth had straightened her back and was watching him, her eyes bright with anger. "I don't rage. I've thought we were pretty lucky in what we had. But you're right: I don't always like writing for other people. And it's nice to know you haven't forgotten that I had my own dreams; that you aren't the only one who gave up a lot when we came here—"
"I never forgot that"
"Maybe I heard you wrong. Just before Tony arrived I thought I heard you say you weren't getting any younger. And I thought I heard, When the hell am I going to break out and do the things I really want?"
Slowly, Matt nodded. "And you said you felt invisible. You're right; I was feeling sorry for myself."
"You were wallowing in it. You still are." Elizabeth began to walk about the room. "That's all you've done since Zachary died: feel sorry for yourself." She turned on him. "Damn it, if you're so frustrated and unhappy, why don't you do something about it instead of moping around making the rest of us miserable? If the printing company is a millstone, get rid of it! Who's forcing you to keep it? If you want a newspaper, buy one! What's stopping you?"
"I'm not an irresponsible infant, that's what's stopping me! For Christ's sake, I have a family, a home, a father who ... no, scratch that; I don't have a father. But I have people dependent on me and I don't go running off in all directions satisfying my deepest desires until I know my family is taken care of."
"Did you ask your family how they felt about it? Did you try to find out which they'd rather have—an unhappy grouch or someone going after his dreams?"
"Dreams don't buy groceries."
"Did you ask us!"
"No." Matt shifted in his chair. "What if I had? What would you have said if I'd told you I was selling the company?"
"I'd ask how much you could get for it."
Surprise flashed across his face. "And if I said I was buying a newspaper?"
"I'd ask if it was the Chieftain."
His eyebrows shot up. "Why?"
"Because it's in trouble and it's been for sale for six months and if you were buying a paper, that's the kind you'd look for."
Smiling slightly, he said, "And if I'd looked, I'd have learned they want two million for it."
"So you have looked. Then you know they're desperate and would probably take half that."
His smile broadened. "Only half? Only one measly million?"
Elizabeth stopped pacing. "Only one," she said lightly. "We might have to hock a few things to raise it—"
"Small things. The house—"
"And the cars—"
"Only one of them. We'd need the other to get to work."
And suddenly they were laughing together, the first time in months. Elizabeth came back to the hassock and sat down. Matt touched her hair. "We need shelter, too."
"We'll
'Td like to be a frazzled wreck," Elizabeth murmured.
"What?"
"Oh, just something silly that occurred to me, weeks ago, when I was thinking about us: that we'd gotten . . . stale. Static. And then, after Zachary died, and you were always so angry, so dissatisfied with what we have—"
"Aren't you?" he demanded, and then it all burst from him. "Christ, Elizabeth, aren't you angry and upset over what's happened to us? You asked me what we've lost. I'll tell you: we've lost the idea that we could be anything we want! Doesn't that scare you? It scares the hell out of me. Once upon a time you won prizes, everyone predicted a wonderful future—"
"You won the same prizes="
"God damn it, that's the whole point! Did we ever imagine we'd be— what was it you said? Stale. Static. If anyone had predicted that for us we'd have said he was crazy. We knew what we wanted, remember? You
couldn't wait to have your own column; I was going to be a publisher; we were going to buy a newspaper. Maybe two. Do you remember? What the hell happened to us, Elizabeth? We're almost forty and where are we? How did we get to be such different people? Doesn't that bother you? Am I the only one with this rage eating me up inside?"
Elizabeth had straightened her back and was watching him, her eyes bright with anger. "I don't rage. I've thought we were pretty lucky in what we had. But you're right: I don't always like writing for other people. And it's nice to know you haven't forgotten that I had my own dreams; that you aren't the only one who gave up a lot when we came here—"
"I never forgot that"
"Maybe I heard you wrong. Just before Tony arrived I thought I heard you say you weren't getting any younger. And I thought I heard, When the hell am I going to break out and do the things I really want?"
Slowly, Matt nodded. "And you said you felt invisible. You're right; I was feeling sorry for myself."
"You were wallowing in it. You still are." Elizabeth began to walk about the room. "That's all you've done since Zachary died: feel sorry for yourself." She turned on him. "Damn it, if you're so frustrated and unhappy, why don't you do something about it instead of moping around making the rest of us miserable? If the printing company is a millstone, get rid of it! Who's forcing you to keep it? If you want a newspaper, buy one! What's stopping you?"
"I'm not an irresponsible infant, that's what's stopping me! For Christ's sake, I have a family, a home, a father who ... no, scratch that; I don't have a father. But I have people dependent on me and I don't go running off in all directions satisfying my deepest desires until I know my family is taken care of."
"Did you ask your family how they felt about it? Did you try to find out which they'd rather have—an unhappy grouch or someone going after his dreams?"
"Dreams don't buy groceries."
"Did you ask us!"
"No." Matt shifted in his chair. "What if I had? What would you have said if I'd told you I was selling the company?"
"I'd ask how much you could get for it."
Surprise flashed across his face. "And if I said I was buying a newspaper?"
"I'd ask if it was the Chieftain."
His eyebrows shot up. "Why?"
"Because it's in trouble and it's been for sale for six months and if you were buying a paper, that's the kind you'd look for."
Smiling slightly, he said, "And if I'd looked, I'd have learned they want two million for it."
"So you have looked. Then you know they're desperate and would probably take half that."
His smile broadened. "Only half? Only one measly million?"
Elizabeth stopped pacing. "Only one," she said lightly. "We might have to hock a few things to raise it—"
"Small things. The house—"
"And the cars—"
"Only one of them. We'd need the other to get to work."
And suddenly they were laughing together, the first time in months. Elizabeth came back to the hassock and sat down. Matt touched her hair. "We need shelter, too."
"We'll
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