The lack of argument, the quickness of the exchange, seemed to bother Cindy. She asked, "Then we've made a decision?"
"Yes."
They still faced each other, but their anger was gone.
"Oh hell!" Mel moved, as if to take a pace forward. "I'm sorry, Cindy."
"I'm sorry, too." Cindy stayed where she was. Her voice was more assured. "But it's the most sensible thing, isn't it?"
He nodded. "Yes. I guess it is."
It was over now. Both knew it. Only details remained to be attended to.
Cindy was already making plans. "I shall have custody of Roberta and Libby, of course, though you'll always be able to see them. I'll never be difficult about that."
"I didn't expect you would be."
Yes, Mel mused, it was logical that the girls would go with their mother. He would miss them both, Libby especially. No outside meetings, however frequent, could ever be a substitute for living in the same house day by day. He remembered his talks with his younger daughter on the telephone tonight; what was it Libby had wanted the first time? A map of February. Well, he had one now; it showed some unexpected detours.
"And I'll have to get a lawyer," Cindy said. "I'll let you know who it is."
He nodded, wondering if all marriages went on to terminate so matter-of-factly once the decision to end them had been made. He supposed it was the civilized way of doing things. At any rate, Cindy seemed to have regained her composure with remarkable speed. Seated in the chair she had been occupying earlier, she was inspecting her face in a compact, repairing her make-up. He even had the impression that her thoughts had moved away from here; at the corners of her mouth there was the hint of a smile. In situations like this, Mel thought, women were supposed to be more emotional than men, but Cindy didn't show any signs of it, yet he himself was close to tears.
He was aware of sounds---voices and people moving---in the office outside. There was a knock. Mel called, "Come in."
It was Lieutenant Ordway. He entered, closing the door behind him. When he saw Cindy, he said, "Oh, excuse me, Mrs. Bakersfeld."
Cindy glanced up, then away, without answering. Ordway, sensitive to atmosphere, stood hesitantly. "Perhaps I should come back."
Mel asked, "What is it, Ned?"
"It's the anti-noise demonstration; those Meadowood people. There are a couple of hundred in the main concourse; more coming in. They all wanted to see you, but I've talked them into sending a delegation, the way you suggested. They selected half a dozen, and there are three newspaper reporters; I said the reporters could come too." The policeman nodded toward the anteroom. "They're all waiting outside."
He would have to see the delegation, Mel knew. He had never felt less like talking to anyone.
"Cindy," he pleaded, "this won't take long. Will you wait?" When she didn't answer, he added, "Please!"
She continued to ignore them both.
"Look," Ordway said, "if this is a bad time, I'll tell these people they'll have to come back some other day."
Mel shook his head. The commitment had been made; it was his own suggestion. "You'd better bring them in." As the policeman turned away, Mel added, "Oh, I haven't talked to that woman... I've forgotten her name."
"Guerrero," Ordway said. "And you don't have to. She looked as if she was leaving when I came in."
A few moments later the half dozen people from Meadowood---four men and two women---began filing in. The press trio followed. One of the reporters was from the Tribune---an alert, youngish man named Tomlinson who usually covered the airport and general aviation beat for his paper; Mel knew him well and respected his accuracy and fairness. Tomlinson's by-line also appeared occasionally in national magazines, The other two reporters were also known slightly to Mel---one a young man from the Sun-Times, the other an older woman from a local weekly.
Through the open doorway, Mel could see Lieutenant Ordway talking to the woman outside, Mrs. Guerrero, who was standing, fastening her coat.
Cindy remained where she was.
"Good evening." Mel introduced himself, then motioned to settees and chairs around his office. "Please sit down."
"Okay, we will," one of the men in the delegation said. He was expensively well-dressed, with precisely combed, gray-streaked hair, and seemed to be the group's leader. "But I'll tell you we're not here to get cozy. We've some plain, blunt things to say and we expect the same kind of answers, not