"From Boston to New York?"
"Sure. The privacy would have been worth it."
She laughed. "You're funny when you try to act ardent."
"It isn't an act." His voice was suddenly a little somber. "It's not just an hour, you know. I feel as though I've been waiting five years."
"I do, too."
"Why couldn't I have met you first? It was such a waste."
"Poor Georgette," Liwy sighed.
Norman moved impatiently. "Don't be sorry for her, Liwy. We never really made a go of it. She was glad to get rid of me."
"I know that. That's why I say 'Poor Georgette.' I'm just sorry for her for not being able to appreciate what she had."
"Well, see to it that you do," he said. "See to it that you're immensely appreciative, infinitely appreciative-or more than that, see that you're at least half as appreciative as I am of what I've got."
"Or else you'll divorce me, too?"
"Over my dead body," said Norman.
Liwy said, "It's all so strange. I keep thinking; 'What if you hadn't spilt the cocktails on me that time at the party?' You wouldn't have followed me out; you wouldn't have told me; I wouldn't have known. It would have been so different . . . everything."
"Nonsense. It would have been just the same. It would have all happened another time."
"I wonder," said Liwy softly.
Train noises merged into train noises. City lights flickered outside, and the atmosphere of New York was about them. The coach was astir with travelers dividing the baggage among themselves.
Liwy was an island in the turmoil until Norman shook her.
She looked at him and said, "The jigsaw pieces fit after all."
He said, "Yes."
She put a hand on his. "But it wasn't good, just the same. I was very wrong. I thought that because we had each other, we should have all the possible each others. But all the possibles are none of our business. The real is enough. Do you know what I mean?"
He nodded.
She said, "There are millions of other what ifs. I don't want to know what happened in any of them. I'll never say 'What if again."
Norman said, "Relax, dear. Here's your coat." And he reached for the suitcases.
Liwy said with sudden sharpness, "Where's Mr. If?"
Norman turned slowly to the empty seat that faced them. Together they scanned the rest of the coach.
"Maybe," Norman said, "he went into the next coach."
"But why? Besides, he wouldn't leave his hat." And she bent to pick it up.
Norman said, "What hat?"
And Liwy stopped her fingers hovering over nothingness. She said, "It was here-I almost touched it." She straightened and said, "Oh, Norman, what if-"
Norman put a finger on her mouth. "Darling . . ."
She said, "I'm sorry. Here, let me help you with the suitcases."
The train dived into the tunnel beneath Park Avenue, and the noise of the wheels rose to a roar.
Sally
Sally was coming down the lake road, so I waved to her and called her by name. I always liked to see Sally. I liked all of them, you understand, but Sally's the prettiest one of the lot. There just isn't any question about it.
She moved a little faster when I waved to her. Nothing undignified. She was never that. She moved just enough faster to show that she was glad to see me, too.
I turned to the man standing beside me. "That's Sally," I said.
He smiled at me and nodded.
Mrs. Hester had brought him in. She said, "This is Mr. Gellhorn, Jake. You remember he sent you the letter asking for an appointment."
That was just talk, really. I have a million things to do around the Farm, and one thing 1 just can't waste my time on is mail. That's why I have Mrs. Hester around. She lives pretty close by, she's good at attending to foolishness without running to me about it, and most of all, she likes Sally and the rest. Some people don't.
"Glad to see you, Mr. Gellhorn," I said.
"Raymond f. Gellhorn," he said, and gave me his hand, which I shook and gave back.
He was a largish fellow, half a head taller than I and wider, too. He was about half my age, thirtyish. He had black hair, plastered down slick, with a part in the middle, and a thin mustache, very neatly trimmed. His jawbones got big under his ears and made him look as if he had a slight case of
Copyright (c) 195? by Ziff-Davis Publishing Company.
mumps. On video he'd be a natural to play the villain, so I assumed he was a nice fellow. It goes to show that video can't be wrong all the time.
"I'm Jacob Folkers," I said. "What can I do for you?"
He grinned. It was a big, wide, white-toothed grin. "You can tell me a little about your Farm here, if you don't mind."
I heard Sally coming up behind me and I put out my hand. She slid right into it and the feel of the hard, glossy enamel of her fender was warm in my palm.
"A nice automatobile," said Gellhorn.
That's one way of putting it. Sally was a 2045 convertible with a Hennis-Carleton positronic motor and an Armat chassis. She had the cleanest, finest lines I've ever seen on any model, bar none. For five years, she'd been my favorite, and I'd put everything into her I could dream up. In all that time, there'd never been a human being behind her wheel.