accept it.
Jo reached forward a little, and handed the necklace to Sarah. Scarcely glancing at it, Sarah handed it over to Larry. There was something about the piece that she did not like, but imagined her distaste arose from its being Jo's. Larry stared at it a moment with contracted brows, and then slipped it into his pocket.
'Well, I know she'll just love it', said Larry to Jo, but without much conviction or enthusiasm. Jo did not reply, but smiled strangely.
Larry and Sarah stood beside one another at Dean's bedside, and stared down at the strange, motionless body, the head and neck wrapped tightly in yards of tape and bandages.
Sarah saw Lariy to the front door. He had stepped over the threshold and already said his goodbyes, when he turned suddenly back to Sarah, and said glumly, 'You don't think it was really my fault, do you? You don't blame me for that, do you, Sarah?'
'No', she replied, with her hand still on the knob of the door, 'I don't blame you, Larry. But Jo Howell blames you, and Jo Howell blames me. It wasn't nobody's fault, what happened to Dean. You didn't hire him, and like Jo says, I had my hands on that gun when it went down the 'ssembly line, and she would blame the draft board that sent him away, and she would blame the man that sent him out to rifle practice, but Lariy, you know and I know, it was just a accident.'
'Well, you know', said Larry, 'we hadn't sent any rifles down to Fort Rucca in six months, and that was 'fore you started working at the plant, so you didn't have your hands on the one that. .. that hurt Dean so bad.'
'Well, wouldn't matter if I had, Larry. And it's not gone
change Jo's mind, even if I was to tell her that.
'This is hard on you', said Lariy pitifully.
'Yes', she agreed quietly, 'it's hard on me.'
'I hope it gets better.'
'I'm sure it will, and I 'predate your thinking about me, thinking about Dean and me.' But that comfort was more for Larry's benefit, to make him feel a little easier, than it was conviction on Sarah's part.
Larry turned and went down the sidewalk towards his car, and Sarah went back into the house. She moved into the kitchen to start supper, though she was weary after a long day. But anything was better than returning to the bedroom and the sullen silent company of Jo and Dean. She wondered how much of the rest of her life was going to be this harsh, this comfortless. There had been times before Dean had gone away that she had thought herself trapped by her marriage to him, trapped into a long existence without much reward for constant back'oreaking work, in which even peace of mind was made impossible by the presence of Jo Howell. But now she was worse off, with an unresponding invalid on her hands - a husband who could not earn money, a husband who was no companion. It was possible of course he would recover, but it would be folly to imagine that he would be the same. There might be brain damage, there was surely great disfiguration. In this part of the country it was easier to get a job if you were missing an arm, than if your face had been mangled. She could understand how people felt about that, and though Dean was a great deal of trouble to her now, she dreaded the day when the bandages came off.
Larry Coppage had never been sure why he was Dean Howell's friend - he wasn't really certain he liked the man, or had ever liked him. Dean's temper frightened him, and he didn't like Dean's laugh when he frequently talked about people getting hurt and dying in peculiar and painful ways, as if it were all a joke got up specially for his entertainment. Why had he never given Dean up, even though Rachel had objected to their companionship? Well, he told himself, for one thing, Dean didn't have anybody else, and Larry would have felt terrible leaving him friendless. But also, he was reluctant to become one of Dean's enemies, and Larry knew that was what would happen if he ever showed any coolness towards him. Dean wasn't so bad, if you kept him in
Jo reached forward a little, and handed the necklace to Sarah. Scarcely glancing at it, Sarah handed it over to Larry. There was something about the piece that she did not like, but imagined her distaste arose from its being Jo's. Larry stared at it a moment with contracted brows, and then slipped it into his pocket.
'Well, I know she'll just love it', said Larry to Jo, but without much conviction or enthusiasm. Jo did not reply, but smiled strangely.
Larry and Sarah stood beside one another at Dean's bedside, and stared down at the strange, motionless body, the head and neck wrapped tightly in yards of tape and bandages.
Sarah saw Lariy to the front door. He had stepped over the threshold and already said his goodbyes, when he turned suddenly back to Sarah, and said glumly, 'You don't think it was really my fault, do you? You don't blame me for that, do you, Sarah?'
'No', she replied, with her hand still on the knob of the door, 'I don't blame you, Larry. But Jo Howell blames you, and Jo Howell blames me. It wasn't nobody's fault, what happened to Dean. You didn't hire him, and like Jo says, I had my hands on that gun when it went down the 'ssembly line, and she would blame the draft board that sent him away, and she would blame the man that sent him out to rifle practice, but Lariy, you know and I know, it was just a accident.'
'Well, you know', said Larry, 'we hadn't sent any rifles down to Fort Rucca in six months, and that was 'fore you started working at the plant, so you didn't have your hands on the one that. .. that hurt Dean so bad.'
'Well, wouldn't matter if I had, Larry. And it's not gone
change Jo's mind, even if I was to tell her that.
'This is hard on you', said Lariy pitifully.
'Yes', she agreed quietly, 'it's hard on me.'
'I hope it gets better.'
'I'm sure it will, and I 'predate your thinking about me, thinking about Dean and me.' But that comfort was more for Larry's benefit, to make him feel a little easier, than it was conviction on Sarah's part.
Larry turned and went down the sidewalk towards his car, and Sarah went back into the house. She moved into the kitchen to start supper, though she was weary after a long day. But anything was better than returning to the bedroom and the sullen silent company of Jo and Dean. She wondered how much of the rest of her life was going to be this harsh, this comfortless. There had been times before Dean had gone away that she had thought herself trapped by her marriage to him, trapped into a long existence without much reward for constant back'oreaking work, in which even peace of mind was made impossible by the presence of Jo Howell. But now she was worse off, with an unresponding invalid on her hands - a husband who could not earn money, a husband who was no companion. It was possible of course he would recover, but it would be folly to imagine that he would be the same. There might be brain damage, there was surely great disfiguration. In this part of the country it was easier to get a job if you were missing an arm, than if your face had been mangled. She could understand how people felt about that, and though Dean was a great deal of trouble to her now, she dreaded the day when the bandages came off.
Larry Coppage had never been sure why he was Dean Howell's friend - he wasn't really certain he liked the man, or had ever liked him. Dean's temper frightened him, and he didn't like Dean's laugh when he frequently talked about people getting hurt and dying in peculiar and painful ways, as if it were all a joke got up specially for his entertainment. Why had he never given Dean up, even though Rachel had objected to their companionship? Well, he told himself, for one thing, Dean didn't have anybody else, and Larry would have felt terrible leaving him friendless. But also, he was reluctant to become one of Dean's enemies, and Larry knew that was what would happen if he ever showed any coolness towards him. Dean wasn't so bad, if you kept him in
Similar Books
