nodded, remembering that, remembering everything, remembering the
warmth of her farewell, the warmth of Ralphie's farewell, their tears as
he left for the experimental flight station in the Aleutians. They had
feared for him, having read of the many launchings gone wrong even in
continent-to-continent experimental flight.

They had been right to worry. He had suffered much after that blow-up.
But now they should be rejoicing, because he had survived and made the
long journey. Ralphie suddenly said, "I got to go, Dad. I promised Walt
and the others I'd pitch. It's Inter-Town Little League, you know. It's
Harmon, you know. I got to keep my word." Without waiting for an answer,
he waved his hand--it shook; a ten-year-old boy's hand that shook--and
ran from the room and from the house.

He and Edith sat beside each other, and he wanted badly to take her in
his arms, and yet he didn't want to oppress her. He stood up. "I'm very
tired. I'd like to lie down a while." Which wasn't true, because he'd
been lying down all the months of the way back.

She said, "Of course. How stupid of me, expecting you to sit around and
make small talk and pick up just where you left off."

He nodded. But that was exactly what he wanted to do--make small talk
and pick up just where he'd left off. But they didn't expect it of him;
they wouldn't let him; they felt he had changed too much.

* * * * *

She led him upstairs and along the foyer past Ralphie's room and past
the small guest room to their bedroom. This, too, had changed. It was
newly painted and it had new furniture. He saw twin beds separated by an
ornate little table with an ornate little lamp, and this looked more
ominous a barrier to him than the twelve-foot concrete-and-barbed-wire
fence around the experimental station.

"Which one is mine," he asked, and tried to smile.

She also tried to smile. "The one near the window. You always liked the
fresh air, the sunshine in the morning. You always said it helped you
to get up on time when you were stationed at the base outside of town.
You always said it reminded you--being able to see the sky--that you
were going to go up in it, and that you were going to come down from it
to this bed again."

"Not this bed," he murmured, and was a little sorry afterward.

"No, not this bed," she said quickly. "Your lodge donated the bedroom
set and I really didn't know--" She waved her hand, her face white.

H