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familiar twist of jealousy somewhere in her middle; knowing the boy would not

have drunk it for her。

On the heels of that came an unfortable; even startling thought: Had she

wanted to think Jack was to blame? Was she that jealous? It was the way her

mother would have thought; that was the really horrible thing。 She could

remember a Sunday when her Dad had taken her to the park and she had toppled

from the second tier of the jungle gym; cutting both knees。 When her father

brought her home; her mother had shrieked at him: What did you do? Why weren't

you watching her? What kind of a father are you?

(She had hounded him to his grave; by the time he divorced her it was too

late。)

She had never even given Jack the benefit of the doubt。 Not the smallest。

Wendy felt her face burn yet knew with a kind of helpless finality that if the

whole thing were to be played over again; she would do and think the same way。

She carried part of her mother with her always; for good or bad。

〃Jack — 〃 she began; not sure if she meant to apologize or justify。 Either; she

knew; would be useless。

〃Not now;〃 he said。

It took Danny fifteen minutes to drink half of the big cup's contents; and by

that time he had calmed visibly。 The shakes were almost gone。

Jack put his hands solemnly on his son's shoulders。 〃Danny; do you think you

can tell us exactly what happened to you? It's very important。〃

Danny looked from Jack to Wendy; then back again。 In the silent pause; their

setting and situation made themselves known: the whoop of the wind outside;

driving fresh snow down from the northwest; the creaking and groaning of the old