Children of Tomorrow Read Free Page B

fell in beside him. Mike finished his thought: ‘Looks like we’ve got lots of problems coming up just about when I figured there’d be some peace. So I could use a little mooching, moocher.' ‘Sack, Mooch.’
    They mooched.
    Approximately ten minutes had gone by. Inside the Lane house, during that time, Estelle nervously retreated into her bedroom, undressed, hesitated - half expecting that her husband would be anxious to join her — but when there was not a sound, her Ups tightened. With determination, suddenly, she put on a pair of pajamas and then s li pped into a lounging robe.
    And, sti ll , she half expected him to come to her; and so, once more, sitting there on the edge of the bed, a little uncertain as the seconds went by, she went from anticipation to wonder through the old, old resentment, and finally - again - an outraged anger.
    But in her, such an emotion could not remain long. She thought abruptly: That man, that incredible man!
    With that, the anger faded, and she got up and went out of
    the bedroom and into the book-lined room with the bar. Her husband was silhoueted against the window behind the bar, and she saw that he was in the final stages of mixing himself a drink,
    With his usual instant courtesy, he held his own glass out to her. When she shook her head, not trusting herself to speak - yet - he asked, ‘May I pour you your favorite?’
    For a moment the expression on her face toyed with the thought of testing whether he did, in fact, remember her favourite cocktail. She decided against that. It might weaken her resolve, might make her feel that he did care for hear in his fashion — which was not good enough, thank you.
    Whereupon, she shook her head, no. As she did so, she grew aware that the man was gazing at her, as if taking her in with his whole vision. In the past, she had thought of it as being eaten by his eyes; and from him, she had enjoyed the sensation. With it, always, there had been the implication that she was indeed a tasty dish. Unfortunately, after a moment, she was impatient with his stereotype. Truth was, after ten years she no longer felt herself to be delicious and delightful to the taste, and his long absence actually proved that that was his real opinion also.
    Despite her rejection of his pattern, she could not quite bring herself to say rejecting words about it. She thought: After all, I’ve been making my peace with this villain all day . . . and, of course for a decade before that. The time to leave had been when he accepted the distant-space assignment six years before without coming home.
    I’ve paid my debt to society, she thought humorously, standing there. I’ve served my time ... It would be rather foolish to wipe it all out in a sudden peeve.
    Lane suddenly put down his glass, and said, as if realising what her thoughts had been earlier: ‘After all, dear 1 - his voice was gentle - ‘we can’t go to bed until Susan is in, and safely in her room.’
    Normally, that wouldn’t be true. But Estelle had to admit, now, that the awareness of Susan not being home had been there in the back of her mind, restraining her from being totally outraged by her husband’s behaviour. Tonight - she had to admit it
    Susan, failing to find them up, would undoubtedly come bursting into the bedroom; and it would be unfortunate if they were in some compromising man-woman relation. Fact was, these jabbers were a little bit - just a little - naive. Not in some things, but they were not really up to the adult male-female business.
    ‘I suppose you’re right,’ she said. And her face showed that the concession, though grudgingly given, was real.
    Lane gave her a quick glance; and he, now, was relieved. In his eyes was an awareness that something of her ten-year anger had faded with that agreement. He said quickly, as if he felt the instant need to take advantage of what he must have decided was surrender: ‘Dear, why don’t you go to bed, and when I’ve had my little meeting