you were Catholic."
"No?"
He shook his head. "Since when?"
"Since ever." She paused, squinted at the shining bulb, reached up and turned it off. "You don't need light to speak to me."
"Allison, you never-"
She interrupted. "I haven't had much to do with it for the last few years. In fact, nothing at all."
"That's self-evident."
"But I did as a child."
"Why'd you stop?"
"Michael, let's drop it. We can discuss it another time."
He shook his head determinedly and repeated the question.
"Let's just say I began to not believe in it," she answered, knowing he would not let it slide. She sighed audibly.
"Does this have anything to do with your leaving home?"
"No." Her voice was soft, yet her annoyance unmistakable.
"It doesn't become you," he said after a pause.
She held the crucifix up and pressed it against her lips. "I think it looks just fine."
"It looks lovely. Catholicism does not become you."
"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?"
"I'm only voicing an opinion."
"Because you can't admit the existence of anything that's alien to you!"
"You don't believe that."
"You're making it obvious."
"I can very well accept any religion. Unless my memory fails me, you're the avowed atheist."
"People change."
"So it seems."
She turned away. "I resent being cross-examined at a time like this. You're in my bed, not in a courtroom."
"I'm not cross-examining you."
"You've been doing it all night. From the moment you stepped in the door."
He sat up and laid his head on his knees. "Let's cut it," he said angrily. "I don't want to argue over something this ridiculous."
"You started it. I haven't said a damn thing. All I did was put on an old crucifix my father gave me. So what?"
He nodded. "I'm sorry." He reached out and touched the chain once again. "If you want to wear it, fine. Or go to church on Sunday, fine. I was just surprised."
Surprised! she thought to herself as she realized that she had been equally as surprised the day she had retrieved the crucifix.
They stared at each other. There was little communication between their eyes. Then Allison grabbed the crucifix and leaned back into the pillows, looking away.
"Please close the light," she asked.
He continued to stare, unresponsive. She turned back to him and glared. Then she reached up and flicked the switch.
Very surprised, she thought to herself.
Chapter VI
Allison raced up the stone staircase laden with packages of groceries purchased at the supermarket on Columbus, located right where Miss Logan had indicated. It had been a tiring day, even though it was still early afternoon, what with a trip down to Foley Square to see Michael begin a defense in Criminal Court, two hours at Cosmopolitan to inform all the fashion editors in person that she had returned to New York and finally, the supermarket-by far the worst part of the day, since she hated shopping with a passion.
The sun was shining brilliantly, the warm day having materialized unexpectedly in the midst of what had been an unusually bleak autumn. Since early October the weather had been cold and wet, and that strange listlessness so characteristic of winter had enveloped the city. But not today. She was guardedly optimistic. There might still be an Indian summer after all.
She checked her mailbox and, finding nothing, stepped through the front door and over the soft woven carpet which deadened the sound of her shoes on the otherwise cold and unprotected tile; she started to climb the staircase. Halfway up she stopped and shook the banister, a ritual she had unfailingly observed since the day she had first entered the brownstone with Miss Logan. The banister didn't move; it was still sturdy.
She climbed to the first-floor landing and started down the hall.
The door to apartment 2 A stood ajar; a beam of light extended vertically into the hall. She stopped and curiously peered through the slit. She could see very little. Moving closer, she squeezed into the narrow space, pushed against
"No?"
He shook his head. "Since when?"
"Since ever." She paused, squinted at the shining bulb, reached up and turned it off. "You don't need light to speak to me."
"Allison, you never-"
She interrupted. "I haven't had much to do with it for the last few years. In fact, nothing at all."
"That's self-evident."
"But I did as a child."
"Why'd you stop?"
"Michael, let's drop it. We can discuss it another time."
He shook his head determinedly and repeated the question.
"Let's just say I began to not believe in it," she answered, knowing he would not let it slide. She sighed audibly.
"Does this have anything to do with your leaving home?"
"No." Her voice was soft, yet her annoyance unmistakable.
"It doesn't become you," he said after a pause.
She held the crucifix up and pressed it against her lips. "I think it looks just fine."
"It looks lovely. Catholicism does not become you."
"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?"
"I'm only voicing an opinion."
"Because you can't admit the existence of anything that's alien to you!"
"You don't believe that."
"You're making it obvious."
"I can very well accept any religion. Unless my memory fails me, you're the avowed atheist."
"People change."
"So it seems."
She turned away. "I resent being cross-examined at a time like this. You're in my bed, not in a courtroom."
"I'm not cross-examining you."
"You've been doing it all night. From the moment you stepped in the door."
He sat up and laid his head on his knees. "Let's cut it," he said angrily. "I don't want to argue over something this ridiculous."
"You started it. I haven't said a damn thing. All I did was put on an old crucifix my father gave me. So what?"
He nodded. "I'm sorry." He reached out and touched the chain once again. "If you want to wear it, fine. Or go to church on Sunday, fine. I was just surprised."
Surprised! she thought to herself as she realized that she had been equally as surprised the day she had retrieved the crucifix.
They stared at each other. There was little communication between their eyes. Then Allison grabbed the crucifix and leaned back into the pillows, looking away.
"Please close the light," she asked.
He continued to stare, unresponsive. She turned back to him and glared. Then she reached up and flicked the switch.
Very surprised, she thought to herself.
Chapter VI
Allison raced up the stone staircase laden with packages of groceries purchased at the supermarket on Columbus, located right where Miss Logan had indicated. It had been a tiring day, even though it was still early afternoon, what with a trip down to Foley Square to see Michael begin a defense in Criminal Court, two hours at Cosmopolitan to inform all the fashion editors in person that she had returned to New York and finally, the supermarket-by far the worst part of the day, since she hated shopping with a passion.
The sun was shining brilliantly, the warm day having materialized unexpectedly in the midst of what had been an unusually bleak autumn. Since early October the weather had been cold and wet, and that strange listlessness so characteristic of winter had enveloped the city. But not today. She was guardedly optimistic. There might still be an Indian summer after all.
She checked her mailbox and, finding nothing, stepped through the front door and over the soft woven carpet which deadened the sound of her shoes on the otherwise cold and unprotected tile; she started to climb the staircase. Halfway up she stopped and shook the banister, a ritual she had unfailingly observed since the day she had first entered the brownstone with Miss Logan. The banister didn't move; it was still sturdy.
She climbed to the first-floor landing and started down the hall.
The door to apartment 2 A stood ajar; a beam of light extended vertically into the hall. She stopped and curiously peered through the slit. She could see very little. Moving closer, she squeezed into the narrow space, pushed against
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