"Tantalus," Charlie said. "He did something, I can't remember what, and the G.o.ds got mad and put him up to his neck in a pool of water, but when he bent over to get a drink, the water went down, so he was always thirsty and always an inch from drinking."

"There you go," d.i.c.k said. "Like Eddie with Phoebe."

Charlie and Tom laughed. May said, "d.i.c.k-"

"They're not kids anymore."

"It's not that," May said. "Phoebe's getting to be a friend of mine."

"All right," d.i.c.k said. "But leastways you can see the boys paid attention to Miss Perry's books." He leaned back in his chair. "I'm glad you boys had that. I'm not saying you'd have turned out like Walt Wormsley without it, but I guess part of how you turned out so good is on account of Miss Perry."

May was stunned. She was so stunned she didn't notice for a bit that Charlie and Tom were stunned, too. d.i.c.k had sometimes looked over a piece of work that Charlie or Tom had done and said it was good-a sheet bend or an eye splice, or how they'd gutted a mess of flounder. Nothing as big as this. May was glad for the boys. She was so glad that she snipped off a bud of suspicion that d.i.c.k was setting things right with them against the day they'd learn about Rose.

d.i.c.k didn't seem to notice. He was staring at the corner of the table. "Wormsley and Son won't work out. But neither will Pierce and Sons. Different reason. There's not an Atlantic fishery has a future you can count on. Not cod, not scallops, not lobster. The government gave away half of Georges Bank to Canada just to get some oil pipeline, so there goes the cod and pollack. They're overfished, anyway. Red crab is an oddity. n.o.body knows much about them. If the red-crab plant loses the Boston market, then Captain Teixeira and I are out of luck. I won't grouse about it, least not if I get another few years. But what about you boys?" Charlie and Tom shifted in their chairs. d.i.c.k heard either the creak of the wood or the change in their breathing. He looked at them, and May saw he was still far off, as if this was how his mind worked when he was lying in his bunk aboard Spartina. d.i.c.k said, "I don't know any more than you. You're going somewhere I don't know much about. We know some college-educated people. There's Miss Perry, of course. And there's Jack Aldrich. There's the guy who started the packing plant. Some folks with sailboats, that whole crowd. Walt Wormsley went to URI and so far as Eddie can tell he learned to drink beer, chase girls, and ride his motorcycle. It's not like the Coast Guard, where there's rules about everything down to how you put your socks in your footlocker. You'll be on your own. What's more, you'll be on your own with a little money in the bank. When I was your age, I felt things squeezing in. The only place I didn't feel squeezed was on the water. I joined the Coast Guard like a dumb cluck-thought I'd put the uniform on and they'd give me a boat. Being dumb is one thing, going on being dumb is dumber."

Tom laughed. Charlie was too wide-eyed to laugh. d.i.c.k didn't appear to hear Tom's laugh. d.i.c.k said, "I somehow had the idea it was wrong to ask questions. I thought it was better to keep what you knew and didn't know to yourself. I knew a couple of things I'd picked up here and there. I watched what was going on. But I didn't want anyone finding out what was going on inside me. I thought if you ask about things someone'll get inside you. Keeping myself clammed up like I did was dumb. All I'd've had to do was ask. I wasted a lot of time." d.i.c.k closed his hands tightly, then opened them. "So when you go over there to your college, you learn to ask."

Charlie said, "So how did you get to know all the stuff you know?"

"Too slow. And that was just the nuts and bolts. I didn't begin to figure out what other people are like until ..." d.i.c.k turned away. May's head lifted, and she thought, Elsie. d.i.c.k said, "I get along with my crew. Course that could be 'cause they're good at getting along with me."

May tried to keep on being glad for the boys that d.i.c.k was talking to them, but she felt bleak. If he was keeping away from Elsie, it wasn't on account of the comforts of home. His comfort was at sea. He'd told Tom, "Don't be a smart-a.s.s with your mother," and she'd gobbled up that crumb. Then there was Charlie, all admiring, saying, "So how did you get to know all the stuff you know?" She could bring it all down in a second.

It was terrible to be that close to wickedness.

chapter twenty-four.

Elsie woke up with all the symptoms-the languor from hip bone to hip bone, fractions of scenes as jumpy as movie previews. Some were of her own movements, her hands reaching out. Others of him (not necessarily but probably Johnny Bienvenue), medium close-ups of him turning toward her, touching her hip, her shoulder, or, more shyly, her elbow. Various dresses, various places. Some calculations of when and where. Then further reveries-the stammering of undressing, the fluency of skin.

As she brushed her teeth she saw one funny part. The poor guy still asleep in Woonsocket without a clue that he was being considered for the role. As she fed Rose, she cooled. She carried Rose up to Mary's room and put her in bed with groggy but welcoming Mary, and she started thinking again: she wouldn't call him. See how energetic he was about calling her.

She spent the morning at her desk, in a better mood than if she'd just been filling out reports. She alternated official paperwork with thinking of possible babysitters, wondering if Jack and Sally would give a party-Sally wouldn't mind if she asked that Johnny be included. Elsie saw herself in her red dress, her blue dress, a blouse and skirt-deflecting any old suitors in favor of Johnny in his not-off-the-rack but rumpled brown suit. Or would it be simpler to arrange a tennis lesson, not in her sweat suit. But even on the indoor court it wasn't warm enough for a tennis dress. Maybe one of her bicycling outfits, the red spandex uni-suit. If she still wasn't thin enough for the uni-suit, meet him at the court in a dress, let him think about that. Come out of the changing room in tights and a sweatshirt.

By lunchtime she felt clogged with fantasy.

At the end of the day she felt herself stir again when she pulled the seat belt across her lap.

When she picked Rose up at Sawtooth, she asked Mary if anyone had called during the morning.

"Anyone?" Mary said. "Look, he left his number yesterday. Don't be coy. Or if you're going to be coy, don't be all jittery about it. And that reminds me-Rose needs a bigger playpen; she crawls back and forth in this one like a caged animal. Maybe one of those expandable baby corrals. I saw one in Wakefield-it's like an old-fashioned elevator gate-not the door but the lattice thing that the operator folded to one side and said, 'Fourth floor, ladies' lingerie.' Except the baby corral is a circle and it's made of wood and-"

"Fine."

Mary stiffened and stared at her. "Ah, well," she said, "perhaps it's a detail the staff should take care of without bothering the upper echelon."

Elsie took a step back. Even so, she had to look up. She hadn't realized how this irritated her. She said, "Don't pull that s.h.i.t."

"Oh? And just what-"

"Your poor-little-me, I'm-just-the-scullery-maid-to-the-gentry s.h.i.t. Look. I work. You work. Just because Jack patted your a.s.s-"

"This is nothing to do with Jack, it's you and your flouncing around. Any calls for me? No? Then I'm off. Something about Rose? Don't bother me."

"I said it was fine about whatever that thing is. It's fine. It's your babbling on about elevators and women's lingerie that's boring."

Mary stood still for a second, then walked away. Elsie picked Rose up out of the playpen. Rose squirmed and reached back for her teddy bear. Elsie fumbled with the k.n.o.b on the door. One of the kitchen staff opened it and held it for her. Had he enjoyed the show? No-he looked sheepish and scared. Not a good night to be working for Mary. Fine.

It wasn't until Elsie finished strapping Rose in that she stopped being too mad to think. Now she felt the first cold aftermath. She should have stopped at "Don't pull that s.h.i.t." "Babbling" and "boring" would linger with Mary. She looked at Rose, who was far too quiet, sucking her thumb and clutching her teddy bear. Her head was tucked to one side, as if she'd understood everything and was having her own dark thoughts.

"Aw, come on, Rose. I love you. Mary loves you. You're the darling of the whole kitchen. I can't even get a date."

When she got to her house d.i.c.k's pickup was idling in the turnaround. He shut off the motor, got out, and came over to her car. He had an envelope in his hand.

She said, "Let me get Rose inside. Come on in."

When they got to the front door, d.i.c.k said, "You want me to get the door or hold the baby?"

She handed Rose to him. "She knows her name," Elsie said.

d.i.c.k walked around the room with Rose, jiggling her. Rose held her arms out to Elsie. Elsie said, "She's not in a good mood right now. I'll get her a bottle. You can put her down. She likes it if you get on the floor with her."

d.i.c.k handed the envelope to Elsie and sat on the bare floor.

"What's this?" Elsie said. "She likes it better if you lie flat."

She read the note. "Dear Elsie, I want to talk about Mary bringing Rose over to the house. Is this your idea? d.i.c.k."

Elsie put the bottle in a saucepan of hot water. She said, "May and I talked about it. Mary said she might do it this week. Did May talk to you?"

"I just walked in and there was May and Rose and Mary."

"I didn't know-Mary didn't ... I just saw Mary, but I guess other things came up."

"So who's in charge? I figured you're the one in charge."

Rose crawled across the floor to Elsie and pulled on her pants leg. Elsie said, "She's not used to a man's voice. You'll have to talk softly."

d.i.c.k lay down on his back and put his hand over his face. She picked Rose up and gave the bottle a couple of shakes.

"Jesus, Elsie," he said into his wrist.

"Still too loud."

He lifted his hand and whispered, "Jesus, Elsie. Now I've got every female in South County telling me what to do."

Elsie laughed. d.i.c.k turned his head and stared up at her. She gave Rose the bottle and walked over to d.i.c.k. She turned Rose around, held her under the armpits, and lowered her feet onto d.i.c.k's chest, jouncing her up and down. Rose got into it, taking little prancing steps, making her little laughing noises.

"Put your hand on your face again," Elsie said. "She likes peekaboo."

But when Elsie sat Rose on d.i.c.k's chest she crawled off and began to suck on her bottle. Elsie knelt. She leaned over and kissed d.i.c.k. She lifted her head and said, "Oh, G.o.d," and kissed him again. She pressed into him. He rolled away.

She felt a cold shock. It stopped her from scrabbling after him.

He lay on his side, his back to her. He gave a groan that made her feel a little better. She got to her feet and sat in a chair. She said, "I guess you're right." He lay still. Rose looked at him. With the nipple in her teeth and the bottle dangling, she crawled closer to him. d.i.c.k sighed and started to get up. Elsie said, "Careful. Rose is right beside you." d.i.c.k rolled onto his back. Rose studied him and then dropped her bottle onto his stomach. d.i.c.k picked it up and slowly handed it back to her. Rose sat up and started sucking again, holding her bottle with both hands and watching d.i.c.k.

Elsie felt a tenderness that dizzied her and numbed her. She was afraid it would make her cry if she didn't do something. She said, "That's right, Rose. At least one of us knows how to behave."

d.i.c.k seemed to ignore her. He put his hands over his face, opened them, and said, "Peekaboo." Rose swayed a little but didn't take her bottle out of her mouth. d.i.c.k said, "That's good, Rose. You're no pushover." He looked at Elsie. "I don't know. I'm sorry. It's not that I ... It'd be too much."

Elsie knew him. The way she knew him was even more powerful than the pang of tenderness that had just touched her. She forgot herself, and as if she were floating in the air around him, she absorbed what he felt-his pleasure when she kissed him, his alarm, his regaining his balance. And, from what seemed a horizon in him, there came the reason he feared losing his balance-the turbulence he would have to weather when Charlie and Tom found out. And another distant glimmer that was puzzling until it touched what she herself felt when she was alone in the Great Swamp knowing more than she could name. He, too, sometimes knew more than he could name. He depended on coming into grace when he went to sea. He was careful about being in a state to receive it. There had been a time when he thought her sense of things was attuned to his. Of course, he'd been at odds with almost everything and everybody then, so fiercely desperate that she'd been the only person to want him as fierce as he was.

She came back to herself. She leaned against the arm of the chair. She wasn't as saddened as she'd been afraid she'd be. What the h.e.l.l, no worse off than other days.

She said, "I guess you're right."

Rose crawled closer to him and swung her bottle onto his stomach. This time he didn't pick it up. He moved his hand toward it and then stopped. Rose stared. d.i.c.k touched the bottle and then pulled his hand away. Rose put one hand on his stomach and with the other pushed the bottle onto his chest. He ran his fingers over it as if his hand were a mouse. Rose climbed onto him and grabbed the bottle. She sat on his chest and started drinking. He pulled his knees up to give her a backrest and held her hips. He said, "Charlie used to do that. Except you had to watch out for when he'd throw it. Catch you in the face if you weren't looking."

"All coming back to you, is it? A dad all over again." Every time she opened her mouth she sounded either glib or lame.

The phone rang. It was Johnny Bienvenue. It took him a while to get around to saying, "Any chance of some tennis?"

"I'll have to see. I want to, but I'm in the middle of something right now. Can I call you back?"

When she hung up, d.i.c.k was sitting in her chair jouncing Rose on his knees. " 'Trot, trot, to Boston, trot, trot, to Lynn,' Look out, Rose, you're going to fall ... IN!" Rose laughed as d.i.c.k swooped her down and caught her. No question about it, a real laugh.

Elsie said, "That was Miss Perry's lawyer."

When d.i.c.k got to the front door he handed Rose to her. "It's good the way you're looking after Miss Perry. You're putting me to shame. Charlie is, too. He's been going over there pretty often."

Elsie's eyes flicked open so fast there was a pop of light. She blinked and looked at his face. "I'm glad you came by." She touched his cheek. "And don't worry. Everyone'll get to know Rose, and then Rose will just be Rose. Don't worry. Go see Miss Perry. Go out in your boat. It'll be all right."

When he got to his truck she said, "Be sure to call first. Before you go see Miss Perry."

She closed the door. "You're a minx, Rose. I saw you. He made you laugh, you little minx, and now you're too excited to eat your supper."

chapter twenty-five.

Elsie had learned very early how to separate things-one day from another, one place from another. Herself at one time and place from herself at another time and place. When she had Rose inside her she didn't have any reason or any wish to move in s.p.a.ce or time. Now that Rose could tell the difference between herself and her mother, and, although it wasn't quite the same process, now that Elsie could tell the difference between herself and Rose, Elsie's skills at compartmentalizing reemerged. Not the simple difference between her in her green uniform on this side of the bay and herself in her red dress on the other. The new array of possibilities would be more complicated and less clearly marked. One new variable was her house: from being hers alone, whether as toybox or the place she'd seduced d.i.c.k, it changed into a nursery, a more serious kitchen, a place where Mary Scanlon sprawled on the sofa, offering comfort or annoyance, a place that instead of being empty when she left was full of Mary with Rose.

So her old gray Volvo station wagon was where she kissed Johnny Bienvenue. While they were playing tennis it snowed again. The Volvo was a mound of new snow. The Wedding Cake was dark except for a faint glow from a chandelier in the front hall. Elsie locked the door to the tennis court and turned off the outside light. Johnny opened the pa.s.senger door. He said, "If you've got a sc.r.a.per I'll get your windshield."

"Get in for a second. It's like being in an igloo."

He said, "When were you in an igloo?"

"I built one once. A school project. The boys tried to build a big one and it caved in. Mine was just a little den. Perfectly comfortable-snow is a good insulator. The thing you have to watch out for is your body heat melting the snow"-she didn't mention letting one of the boys in-"melting the snow under you. I made a mattress out of the tips of hemlock branches."

"Didn't the twigs stick into you?"

"No-the ends all droop the same way. That's why hemlocks look so mournful. I was so warm I had to unzip my sleeping bag halfway and sleep naked."

"You still do stuff like that?"

"Winter camping? Not lately. If there's snow, I try to get out on skis during the day. And try not to get shot by some nut from au coin."

"I am sorry. But he has sworn-"

"I'm teasing you. And thank you for bringing back my skis. But look. See how peaceful it is in here. Snow all over the car. Snow over everything. I don't understand why people get depressed in winter. Snow makes me feel more alive." She leaned back and put her hand on the sleeve of his overcoat. She wondered how shy he was, how inexperienced at noticing encouragement. Or maybe he thought he was too old to neck in a parked car. Wait-if she had Miss Perry's power of attorney and he was Miss Perry's lawyer, did that make him her lawyer, too? Was that a problem? She knew that psychiatrists and doctors got into trouble ... The teacher-student problem hadn't stopped her old college prof. But she'd acted freely, she'd known what she was doing, and she couldn't imagine putting a different face on it. It wasn't a point of honor, it was a matter of not being pathetic. Did Johnny think she'd go crying to the Bar a.s.sociation? Haunt his political career? Tell Jack?

All this busy wondering made her take her hand off his arm.

She said, "You're not getting cold, are you?"

"No. You're right, it's peaceful. I like snow, too."

"And trout."

"What?"

She got onto her knees and faced him. She said, "I saw you last fall. On the Queens River. You caught a trout and cooked it."

He lifted his head. She leaned closer to his ear. "I could have run you in. You used live bait, you built a fire, you even brought a bottle of wine."

"And where were you?"

"Across the stream."

"So why didn't you-"

"You were enjoying yourself. You looked around and you liked the water and the trees. I thought, There's a perfectly nice man taking a day off. Why not let him have his one trout in peace?" She moved her mouth even closer to his ear and whispered, "So your secret's safe with me."

He laughed. He whispered, "I think it's okay to talk. I don't think anyone can hear us."

She touched his cheek, turned his head, and kissed him.

She was more aware of her mouth than when she'd kissed d.i.c.k. Kissing d.i.c.k had been irresistible impulse; kissing Johnny was art, not so much showing off as exploring the form, the discipline, of a restricted medium. For one thing, the gear shift between them; for another, their winter clothes. These restrictions made her singularly aware of her lips and his. He had full, wide lips, and she was enjoying pressing softly, brushing sideways, finding the corner of his mouth, moving back to the center.