Big pause here.

Because Berry-berry just this minute left my room. We had a conversation that lasted about sixty seconds, but in that little bit of time, the whole world changed.

He walked in and leaned on the doorframe.

“Clint. I got to talk to you.”

“Come on in and shut the door.”

He sat in the little rocking chair with his arms and legs sprawling all over the room. Then he looked right at me, and for some crazy reason, I got nervous as hell.

“Clint. I want her. And she wants me.”

“Yeah, I know it.”

“Well, what do you think?” he said.

“What do I think?”

“You saw her first.”

“I’m sixteen,” I said. “She’s thirty-one.”

“Clint, I won’t even look at her, unless you say the word.”

Then I had two thoughts: I thought about Echo’s eyes, how immense they are, and lonesome, and how, that day at the airport, she kept filling her eyes up with everything she saw, so when it was over she’d have something left. And the second thought I had was about this tremendous power I had in my hands.

“Berry-berry,” I said. “You love her, don’t you?”

Love is an embarrassing kind of a word, but sometimes you have to just say it. Anyway, he looked at the picture of Abraham Lincoln. Maybe I’ll take that picture down someday, just to see what the hell people would do with their eyes when they don’t want to look at me.

“Yeah,” he said, “I guess I do.”

Then he got up and started fooling with the junk on top of my bureau, and all of a sudden I got scared. I thought if I said, “No, leave her alone,” then Berry-berry would think I didn’t trust him. And then I’d lose both of them. Echo, because I’m too goddam young, let’s face it, and him, because of not trusting him enough. Besides, they wanted each other. And he was decent enough to ask me first, which is a big improvement over just snatching her right out from under me, which he could have done without any trouble.

So I just said, “Treat her nice, will you?”

“What the hell you think I’m gonna do?”

“You sore?”

“Sore at you? Why should I be sore at you?” he said.

” ‘Cause I didn’t mean anything,”

“What’re we talking about?” he said. “I don’t even know what we’re talking about any more. Do you?”

“Huh-uh.”

“I better get to bed,” he said. “Thanks, Clint. You hear me?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?” he said.

“For talkin’ to me about it.”

“G’night.” And then he went to his room. Now they’re all in bed. I really feel pretty good about everything actually.