The Julius House Page 0,2

smoking. We don't dress funny, or ask for donations on street corners, or preach in the stores, or anything!" With an effort, Mrs. Bishop joined in my light laughter. The realtor gave me clear directions to her office, recommended a couple of restaurants for supper ("If you're allowed to do that"), and said that she'd see me in the morning. I located the soft drink machine, bought a Coke, and watched the news while sipping a bourbon-and-Coke made from the second half of my airline bottle. I was glad Mrs. Bishop wasn't there to see the conduct of this purported member of a religious cult.

After a while, feeling strangely anonymous in this little town where no one knew me, I drove around, staring through the fading light at the town Martin had known so well growing up. I went past the ugly brick high school where he had played football. Through a light drizzle in the gray spring evening, I peered at the houses where Martin must have had friends, acquaintances, girls he'd dated, boys he'd gone drinking with. Some of them, perhaps most of them, were surely still here in this town . .. maybe men he'd gone to Vietnam with. Perhaps they mentioned it as seldom as he did.

I felt as if I were eavesdropping on Martin's life. I had a book in my purse, as usual (tonight it was the paperback of Liza Cody's Stalker), and I read as I ate supper at the diner Mrs. Bishop had recommended. The menu was slightly alien - none of the southern diner standbys. But the chili was good, and it was with reluctance I left half of everything on my plate. Now that I was over thirty, gravity and calories seemed to be having a little more effect than they used to. When you're four feet, eleven inches, a few extra calories end up looking like a lot.

No one bothered me, and the waitress was pleasant, so I had a nice time. I took the light rain as a sign I should not walk or run tonight, though I'd virtuously brought my sweats and running shoes. As a palliative to my conscience, I did some stretches and calisthenics when I got back to my room. The exercise did relieve some of the cramped feeling the plane and the long car ride had caused. I checked in with Amina, who told me Martin had indeed left a message on her machine not thirty minutes ago.

I smiled fatuously, since no one was there to see me, and called him. The minute I heard his voice, I missed him with a dreadful ache. I pictured his meticulously groomed thick white hair, the black arched brows and pale brown eyes, the heavily muscled arms and chest. He was at work, he'd told Amina's machine, so I could imagine him at his huge desk, covered with piles of paper that were nonetheless neatly stacked and separate. He would be wearing a spotless white shirt, but he would have taken his tie off when the last employee left. His suit jacket would be hanging on a padded hanger on a hook in his very own bathroom.

I loved him painfully.

I couldn't remember ever having told Martin lies before, and I kept having to remind myself of where I was supposed to be.

"Is Amina talking a lot about the baby?" he asked. "Oh, yes. She's scheduled to take Lamaze in a couple of months, and Hugh's gung-ho about coaching her." I hesitated a moment. "Did you take Lamaze when Barrett was born?"

"I don't remember taking the course, but I was there when he was born, so I guess Cindy and I did," he said doubtfully.

Cindy. Wife number one, and mother of Martin's only child, Barrett, now trying to become a successful actor in Los Angeles.

Martin was saying, "Roe, is Amina being pregnant giving you ideas?" I couldn't tell how he felt from his voice. He'd spoken so much about Barrett lately I'd felt it wasn't a good time to talk about another child. "How do you feel about that?" I asked.

"I don't know. I'm pretty old to be changing diapers. It's daunting to think of starting all over again."

"We can talk about it when I get home."

We talked about a few other things Martin wanted to do when I got home. By a pleasant coincidence, I wanted to do them, too.

After I hung up, I picked up the little Corinth phone book. Before I could reconsider, I