and
turned over in bed. But, like a tongue goes back again and again to a sore
tooth, so Frank’s thoughts focused on his troubles.
“I believe your wife is going up to this
conference in Dublin, this library thing?” Winters had said, and Frank had
scrutinized his face for any signs of guilt but it seemed just like a casual
statement. The man must be a consummate actor! The very idea of his trusting,
gentle Peggy getting involved with someone this smooth….
“Well, maybe I’ll see her there – you know, if
you join her for the evening perhaps the two of you could have dinner with me?”
Did Frank imagine a vague sadness in the other man's voice? Could the famous
writer actually be lonely? Did he actually think they could be friends?
The effrontery of the man! Standing there in broad daylight, chatting
comfortably, asking for help in contacting his landlord to get some leaking tap
or electrical outlet fixed, handing over the spare key to Frank after Frank
agreed to pass it on to whatever contractor was called in.
“After
all, I’d really hate the power to surge and blow up my computer!” Winters had
joked as he left the office.
I’d like you to blow up! Frank thought and was immediately ashamed. But
letting the aggressive feelings out seemed to help, and he fell into a restless
sleep.
His
last thought before sleep finally claimed him was that the little kernel of an
idea that had taken root in his mind was really a pretty good way of sending a
message to Winters that his type wasn’t wanted around here…
* * *
“Honestly, Ruth, I’m that worried about Frank
that I don’t know where to put my head!” Peggy confided in her friend the next
morning when they met at the grocery mart. “He was tossing and turning all
night long, kept me awake, and muttering and snorting as if he was involved
with the devil in a battle for his very soul!”
“Maybe
he had a touch of indigestion. Men his age do get it, you know,” Ruth replied,
adding a ‘two for one’ package of laundry powder to her cart.
“No,
it’s more than that. You know, he brought me roses – red roses – when he came
home from work on Friday night! Do you know how long it’s been since he even
remembered to bring me a bunch of daisies from the garden? “
“Sounds
like a guilty conscience to me. Usually, when Jerry does something like that it
means he’s agreed for us to go and have dinner at his mother’s,” Ruth said,
plopping bread into both their carts and looking at her friend with a worried
eye. “Did you really want tins of dog food? I didn’t know you’d got another
dog? Or is it for Frank?”
Peggy
gave a weak laugh. “Lord, No, I thought it was tinned peas. Ruth, what am I to
do? Do you think it’s a guilty conscience, and over what? Is it something at
work, or is there...could there be someone...no, not my Frank!”
Seeing
the blood drain from her friend’s face, Ruth pushed both their carts to the
side of the store, nodded to Marie on the nearest check out that they’d be back
for their groceries in a few minutes, and led Peggy off to the small
delicatessen and coffee shop on the concourse.
Pushing her friend down into a seat, Ruth said
firmly: “Now, you listen to me, Peggy O’Keefe. You’re letting this whole thing
get out of hand. Your Frank, up to something? What nonsense! If you’re really
worried about him, take the man out to dinner somewhere quiet and tell him how
you feel, ask him what the problem is. He’s probably dying to confide whatever
it is, but doesn’t want to upset you. He’s always been a protective one, that
one. Remember how long it was before he told you how bad things were with the
farm?”
Peggy
nodded numbly. Then, taking a deep breath, she pulled herself together. “You’re
right. No point in
turned over in bed. But, like a tongue goes back again and again to a sore
tooth, so Frank’s thoughts focused on his troubles.
“I believe your wife is going up to this
conference in Dublin, this library thing?” Winters had said, and Frank had
scrutinized his face for any signs of guilt but it seemed just like a casual
statement. The man must be a consummate actor! The very idea of his trusting,
gentle Peggy getting involved with someone this smooth….
“Well, maybe I’ll see her there – you know, if
you join her for the evening perhaps the two of you could have dinner with me?”
Did Frank imagine a vague sadness in the other man's voice? Could the famous
writer actually be lonely? Did he actually think they could be friends?
The effrontery of the man! Standing there in broad daylight, chatting
comfortably, asking for help in contacting his landlord to get some leaking tap
or electrical outlet fixed, handing over the spare key to Frank after Frank
agreed to pass it on to whatever contractor was called in.
“After
all, I’d really hate the power to surge and blow up my computer!” Winters had
joked as he left the office.
I’d like you to blow up! Frank thought and was immediately ashamed. But
letting the aggressive feelings out seemed to help, and he fell into a restless
sleep.
His
last thought before sleep finally claimed him was that the little kernel of an
idea that had taken root in his mind was really a pretty good way of sending a
message to Winters that his type wasn’t wanted around here…
* * *
“Honestly, Ruth, I’m that worried about Frank
that I don’t know where to put my head!” Peggy confided in her friend the next
morning when they met at the grocery mart. “He was tossing and turning all
night long, kept me awake, and muttering and snorting as if he was involved
with the devil in a battle for his very soul!”
“Maybe
he had a touch of indigestion. Men his age do get it, you know,” Ruth replied,
adding a ‘two for one’ package of laundry powder to her cart.
“No,
it’s more than that. You know, he brought me roses – red roses – when he came
home from work on Friday night! Do you know how long it’s been since he even
remembered to bring me a bunch of daisies from the garden? “
“Sounds
like a guilty conscience to me. Usually, when Jerry does something like that it
means he’s agreed for us to go and have dinner at his mother’s,” Ruth said,
plopping bread into both their carts and looking at her friend with a worried
eye. “Did you really want tins of dog food? I didn’t know you’d got another
dog? Or is it for Frank?”
Peggy
gave a weak laugh. “Lord, No, I thought it was tinned peas. Ruth, what am I to
do? Do you think it’s a guilty conscience, and over what? Is it something at
work, or is there...could there be someone...no, not my Frank!”
Seeing
the blood drain from her friend’s face, Ruth pushed both their carts to the
side of the store, nodded to Marie on the nearest check out that they’d be back
for their groceries in a few minutes, and led Peggy off to the small
delicatessen and coffee shop on the concourse.
Pushing her friend down into a seat, Ruth said
firmly: “Now, you listen to me, Peggy O’Keefe. You’re letting this whole thing
get out of hand. Your Frank, up to something? What nonsense! If you’re really
worried about him, take the man out to dinner somewhere quiet and tell him how
you feel, ask him what the problem is. He’s probably dying to confide whatever
it is, but doesn’t want to upset you. He’s always been a protective one, that
one. Remember how long it was before he told you how bad things were with the
farm?”
Peggy
nodded numbly. Then, taking a deep breath, she pulled herself together. “You’re
right. No point in
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