, he eased
up Suzanne's driveway.

Her lights were on.

"Hi, there," he called softly as he stepped inside. She came
immediately to the door and held open her arms. "Mmmm, you look
sleepy," Oliver said.

"I've been reading, mostly, waiting for you. I took a nap after church.
Are you very tired?"

"Not really. I took a nap, too."

"Want some tea? I have one strawberry jam left from last summer."

"Love some." He stepped back and looked at her white bathrobe. "Does
this come off?"

"Pull here," she said, offering him one end of the cotton belt.

"Later," he said. "I was just curious what was underneath."

"_I_ am underneath," she said. They had tea and toast in the kitchen.

"Your quilt is a big hit."

"Oliver, you spent too much."

"I had to have it for Emma."

"The church will find good use for the money."

Emma. The church. They fell silent. It was late and still. There were
no distractions. Suzanne turned toward Oliver. Her face was rueful and
sweet and helpless. He slapped her hard, turning her head sideways. It
was like a snake striking.

She turned her face slowly back to him. A tear welled up in each eye.
Oliver's mouth was open in shock. "Suzanne . . ." he said, horrified.

"It's all right, Baby," she said. The tears slid down her cheek. "You
can hit me again, if you want to. It would only help me remember you."

"_No, no!_ I never want to hit anybody again, let alone you. I don't
know what happened."

"It's the strain of what we're doing. I feel it, too." She was speaking
the truth for both of them. She was braver than he was. "We have to
stop," she said.

"It's true," Oliver said. "Suzanne," the words came in a rush, "you
would be such a wonderful mother. You are so special. You deserve
better." A bitter wind was tugging at his heart. "You're right--we have
to stop." He stood up. "This is hard. Better to get it over with."

"You have been so good to me," she said, standing slowly. "Maybe the
Lord's going to let me get away with one." She came to him, and their
mouths met--a long gentle meeting. As they pulled apart, Oliver
realized that they were separating as equals. He felt a ripping in his
chest. He walked quickly to the door and took his coat from the peg.
Suzanne stood in the center of the room. She was crying, but her face
was clean and shining.

"Bye, Oliver," she said. "Don't feel bad."

He couldn't speak, could only acknowledge her and try to thank her with
a helpless wav