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