She swung the chair through a full circle and came back to face him again.
“Perhaps we should take that jungle trip that you talked about. Who knows—peanuts and berries and things might not be too bad after the first twenty years or so.”
He managed a grin; she tried to return it, but her heart wasn’t really in it.
The news had come as no surprise. Not once had she questioned what he had done; she knew that he had done what he had to. He knew that she shared his values and would accept philosophically whatever sacrifices were necessary to preserve them. There was no need for long and elaborate explanations or justifications.
She swung the chair to and fro in a slow rhythmic motion and pressed her fingers into a point in front of her nose. “Just for once, let’s be logical and objective. We ought to set out some sort of plan of where we go next.”
“We ought?”
“Of course we ought to. The world hasn’t ended, but there are still a lot of things that are going to need straightening out. Now, what’s the first thing we need to do?”
“Get drunk.”
“See, no objectivity. That’s the American male’s eternal solution to everything. All it does is shovel the problems into tomorrow.”
“Best place for them to be isn’t it? It never comes.”
“Only if you get drunk tomorrow too, and we can’t afford that. Let’s be serious. For a start, I’ll see about switching to a full-time week at the hospital. That’ll help.”
Clifford saw that she was making an honest effort to be constructive. He straightened up in the chair and his mood changed abruptly.
“That’d help a lot,” he said. “You’re great.”
“We should start looking for somewhere cheaper to live too,” she continued. “Perhaps a small apartment. I think there are one or two quite nice ones going over near Hammel Hill. If you could find a temporary job, we should be able to balance things and stay fairly comfortable until we’ve decided what we really want to do. What d’you think?”
“Absolutely right, of course,” he agreed. “In fact, Jerry Micklaw was saying the other week that they’ve got some vacancies at the place he works. It’s long hours and hard work, but the pay’s good . . . and they get plenty of bonuses. If I got fixed up there it would give me a chance to look around for a while. Come to think of it, maybe we wouldn’t have to quit this place in such a hurry after all. I reckon if we cut down on a couple of the . . .”
The chime of the doorbell sounded.
Sarah was nearest. She left the room to answer the door while Clifford contemplated the carpet. Absently he heard the door being opened while he thought more seriously about the things they had been discussing. Then Sarah’s incredulous “Good heavens!” brought him back with a start. Suddenly the hallway outside the door was filled with a laughing, reverberant voice gushing through the house and dispelling the gloom like a flood of aural sunshine. Clifford looked up and gaped in disbelief as Aub’s lean wiry figure strode through the door. Sarah stood framed in the opening behind him, her hands spread wide apart in an attitude of helplessness.
“Dr. Clifford, I presume.” Aub beamed down and then burst into laughter at the expression on Clifford’s face. Clifford managed to rise halfway before finding his arm being pumped vigorously up and down. “Seemed about time,” Aub said, turning to shake Sarah’s hand as well. “Couldn’t think of any good reason for putting it off. So . . .” He shrugged.
Clifford shook his head in bemusement.
“Aub . . . what in hell’s name? It’s great to see you at last but . . . what the hell are you doing here . . . ?”
Aub laughed again.
“I just followed my feet, and this is where they came.” He looked around him. “Man, what a pad . . . Fantastic! You know something, I really dig that mural . . . kinda soul-touching. Who’s the artistic one?”
“Enjoy it while you can, Aub,” Sarah said. “We may have to move out of here before very long. Brad quit his job today.”