“I threw it away and never mentioned it to Walt.” She shook her head. “And I don’t know why. It’s bothered me ever since.”
“Don’t let it.”
They were standing on the steps, facing each other. Color had come up in her cheeks, but she didn’t drop her eyes.
“There’s something I’d like to finish,” she said simply. “Something we never had the chance to finish.”
“Sarah ...” he began, and stopped. He had absolutely no idea what to say next. Below them, Denny tottered six steps and then sat down hard. He crowed, not put out of countenance at all.
“Yes,” she said. “I don’t know if it’s right or wrong. I love Walt. He’s a good man, easy to love. Maybe the one thing I know is a good man from a bad one. Dan—that guy I went with in college—was one of the bad guys. You set my mouth for the other kind, Johnny. Without you, I never could have appreciated Walt for what he is.”
“Sarah, you don’t have to ...”
“I do have to,” Sara contradicted. Her voice was low and intense. “Because things like this you can only say once. And you either get it wrong or right, it’s the end either way, because it’s too hard to ever try to say again.” She looked at him pleadingly. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, I suppose I do.”
“I love you, Johnny,” she said. “I never stopped. I’ve tried to tell myself that it was an act of God that split us up. I don’t know. Is a bad hot dog an act of God? Or two kids dragging on a back road in the middle of the night? All I want ...” Her voice had taken on a peculiar flat emphasis that seemed to beat its way into the cool October afternoon like an artisan’s small hammer into thin and precious foil “... all I want is what was taken from us.” Her voice faltered. She looked down. “And I want it with all my heart, Johnny. Do you?”
“Yes,” he said. He put his arms out and was confused when she shook her head and stepped away.
“Not in front of Denny,” she said. “It’s stupid, maybe, but that would be a little bit too much like public infidelity. I want everything, Johnny.” Her color rose again, and her pretty blush began to feed his own excitement. “I want you to hold me and kiss me and love me,” she said. Her voice faltered again, nearly broke. “I think it’s wrong, but I can’t help it. It’s wrong but it’s right. It’s fair.”
He reached out one finger and brushed away a tear that was moving slowly down her cheek.
“And it’s only this once, isn’t it?”
She nodded. “Once will have to put paid to everything. Everything that would have been, if things hadn’t gone wrong.” She looked up, her eyes brighter green than ever, swimming with tears. “Can we put paid to everything with only the one time, Johnny?”
“No,” he said, smiling. “But we can try, Sarah.”
She looked fondly down at Denny, who was trying to climb up onto the chopping block without much success. “He’ll sleep,” she said.
3
They sat on the porch and watched Denny play in the yard under the high blue sky. There was no hurry, no impatience between them, but there was a growing electricity that they both felt. She had opened her coat and sat on the porch glider in a powder-blue wool dress, her ankles crossed, her hair blown carelessly on her shoulders where the wind had spilled it. The blush never really left her face. And high white clouds fled across the sky, west to east.
They talked of inconsequential things—there was no hurry. For the first time since he had come out of it, Johnny felt that time was not his enemy. Time had provided them with this little air pocket in exchange for the main flow of which they had been robbed, and it would be here for as long as they needed it. They talked about people who had been married, about a girl from Cleaves Mills who had won a Merit scholarship, about Maine’s independent governor. Sarah said he looked like Lurch on the old Addams Family show and thought like Herbert Hoover, and they both laughed over that.
“Look at him,” Sarah said, nodding toward Denny.
He was sitting on the grass by Vera Smith’s ivy trellis, his thumb in his mouth, looking at them sleepily.