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Authors: John D. MacDonald
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okay … Carl.”
By the end of the following week they were spending every possible moment together. She would wait for him after she got out of work, and he would be along fifteen minutes later. And there came to be a dozen of “their” places. Drugstores. Sandwich shops. They sat and talked for uncounted hours. Never before had he been as eloquent, or his mind as agile and perceptive. Never before had there been so many things to talk about, so many that it seemed they could never cover them, not even in a lifetime. Sometimes he was uncomfortably aware that he was doing most of the talking, but she seemed pleased to have him.
He did learn that she was the only daughter of a doctor, a widower and general practitioner who practiced in Watertown, New York. She was twenty-three and had a brother, Walt, ten years older, an Annapolis graduate then on sea duty on a light cruiser. The other child, a young son, had died as an infant.
Her eyes were brown, her nose snubbed, her mouth generous. Her brown hair was particularly fine and silky. She was five feet five and weighed a hundred and twenty pounds, and he could almost span her waist with his hands. She was ripely, glowingly, abundantly mature. They sat in small quiet places in the heart of the upstate winter, and they looked into each other’s eyes until there was nothing at all in the world but their awareness of each other. And they talked. And talked. And talked.
She learned about Lois back in Youngstown, and Marie and Christy in Philadelphia, and immediately despised allof them as avidly as he hated the two boys she told him about.
After three weeks had passed they knew that it was love and they knew that it had never happened this way before to anybody else, and they knew that it was a miracle that would last forever, and they both accepted the inevitability that, had they not met on that January night, they would have met very soon in any case because it was inevitable, you see. But it was especially nice to meet the way they had. And how did you meet your wife, Mr. Garrett? Oh, I picked her up on the highway one night. It was very delicious.
In late February he drove up to Watertown with her and met Dr. Browning. He was a gruff and busy man who appeared to bully his housekeeper, his nurse, his dog and his daughter. But all of them seemed quite unaware of being bullied.
He said, “Wedding in June, eh? Rhymes with moon and spoon and very damn soon. Sure you kids know which end is up? I imagine I’ll have to endure having it here. But why you want to go batting around Canada on a combination two-week vacation and honeymoon, I’ll never know.” He winked at Carl. “Me, I’d rent a cabin in a pine woods and stock it up with food and stay right there. Fewer distractions.” And he slapped Joan’s rounded rear with a gusto that made her yelp, then kissed her forehead gently and said, “Time you were married, Joanie. Time to put all that female equipment to work at its proper function. Life is function, and any man looking at you would know damn well you can’t function at your best adding up insurance premiums.”
“Father!” she said, red-faced.
“This one doesn’t look as if he’s ever had enough to eat, but from the way he looks at you, girl, your marriage might last a couple or three years. Too bad Walt can’t come join the festivities.”
And on a much more harrowing weekend in March, after having prepared them by letter, Carl drove Joan down to Youngstown, arriving at ten on Saturday night. His parents took to Joan immediately. Bill bragged about how much better things were going in the construction game. He had acquired a plot of land and he was mortgaging every resource to put up a half dozen speculative houses. He talked largely, but he looked worn and weary. They left at noon on Sunday and arrived in Syracuse late and exhausted.
Spring came on an April day and after that, wheneverthey could, they drove out into the country. Later, after
By the end of the following week they were spending every possible moment together. She would wait for him after she got out of work, and he would be along fifteen minutes later. And there came to be a dozen of “their” places. Drugstores. Sandwich shops. They sat and talked for uncounted hours. Never before had he been as eloquent, or his mind as agile and perceptive. Never before had there been so many things to talk about, so many that it seemed they could never cover them, not even in a lifetime. Sometimes he was uncomfortably aware that he was doing most of the talking, but she seemed pleased to have him.
He did learn that she was the only daughter of a doctor, a widower and general practitioner who practiced in Watertown, New York. She was twenty-three and had a brother, Walt, ten years older, an Annapolis graduate then on sea duty on a light cruiser. The other child, a young son, had died as an infant.
Her eyes were brown, her nose snubbed, her mouth generous. Her brown hair was particularly fine and silky. She was five feet five and weighed a hundred and twenty pounds, and he could almost span her waist with his hands. She was ripely, glowingly, abundantly mature. They sat in small quiet places in the heart of the upstate winter, and they looked into each other’s eyes until there was nothing at all in the world but their awareness of each other. And they talked. And talked. And talked.
She learned about Lois back in Youngstown, and Marie and Christy in Philadelphia, and immediately despised allof them as avidly as he hated the two boys she told him about.
After three weeks had passed they knew that it was love and they knew that it had never happened this way before to anybody else, and they knew that it was a miracle that would last forever, and they both accepted the inevitability that, had they not met on that January night, they would have met very soon in any case because it was inevitable, you see. But it was especially nice to meet the way they had. And how did you meet your wife, Mr. Garrett? Oh, I picked her up on the highway one night. It was very delicious.
In late February he drove up to Watertown with her and met Dr. Browning. He was a gruff and busy man who appeared to bully his housekeeper, his nurse, his dog and his daughter. But all of them seemed quite unaware of being bullied.
He said, “Wedding in June, eh? Rhymes with moon and spoon and very damn soon. Sure you kids know which end is up? I imagine I’ll have to endure having it here. But why you want to go batting around Canada on a combination two-week vacation and honeymoon, I’ll never know.” He winked at Carl. “Me, I’d rent a cabin in a pine woods and stock it up with food and stay right there. Fewer distractions.” And he slapped Joan’s rounded rear with a gusto that made her yelp, then kissed her forehead gently and said, “Time you were married, Joanie. Time to put all that female equipment to work at its proper function. Life is function, and any man looking at you would know damn well you can’t function at your best adding up insurance premiums.”
“Father!” she said, red-faced.
“This one doesn’t look as if he’s ever had enough to eat, but from the way he looks at you, girl, your marriage might last a couple or three years. Too bad Walt can’t come join the festivities.”
And on a much more harrowing weekend in March, after having prepared them by letter, Carl drove Joan down to Youngstown, arriving at ten on Saturday night. His parents took to Joan immediately. Bill bragged about how much better things were going in the construction game. He had acquired a plot of land and he was mortgaging every resource to put up a half dozen speculative houses. He talked largely, but he looked worn and weary. They left at noon on Sunday and arrived in Syracuse late and exhausted.
Spring came on an April day and after that, wheneverthey could, they drove out into the country. Later, after
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