“Talk to me. Tell me about California,” I said, taking the joint from her.

“Well”—she laughed—“that should take about two minutes. It’s the epitome of contradiction and if you enjoy analyzing that sort of thing, it’s rather amusing. Let’s see, we have sunshine and smog, the ambitious and the idle, a richness of imagination and a poverty of style, an air of permissiveness and stringent laws, a desert kissing an ocean. Let’s see, what else. . . .”

The grass was not pulling my mind away from the afternoon; it was doing just the opposite. I went on asking typical questions about California, her job at the college, where she and Pat had taken vacations. As animated as she was, I could not be distracted by the new chapters in her life or by things I’d never seen. I could barely even recall what Pat looked like.

The telephone rang. It was Frank.

“I called you earlier but there was no answer,” he said. “I wanted to get through before Regina went to bed.”

I wanted to tell him what Vivian had said and what Regina had done to Brian. I wanted him to know how cheated I felt, but I didn’t want him to come running home. I needed another day or two alone with Gloria.

“Irene? Hello?”

“I’m here.”

“Is anything wrong?”

“No. I was sleeping. How’s your demonstration going?”

“There were some beatings and arrests. Tim’s in jail. We’re going to the ACLU tomorrow to see what they can do.”

“You mean you might be arrested?”

“That’s not what I said. Irene, you sound funny. Are you all right?”

“How do you expect me to sound when you tell me someone’s been arrested?”

“I shouldn’t have told you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s a little late for that, isn’t it?”

“Honey, why are you mad at me?”

“I’m not mad. Where are you now?”

“We’re at Sylvia’s cousin’s house.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“All of us.”

How cozy, I thought. But I said nothing.

“Is Gloria there?”

“Yes; she’s sleeping.” I glanced guiltily at Gloria.

“Are you having a good time?” he said.

“Wonderful.”

“You don’t sound it.”

I heard a click on the wire.

“Is somebody listening in there?” I said.

“No, there’s only one phone.”

“Maybe somebody’s tapping the wire.”

“Daddy! Daddy! Come home, please come home! They’re being mean to me!”

“Get off that phone,” I said.

“Regina?”

“Daddy, please come home now!”

“I said to get off that phone.”

“Regina? What’s wrong, honey?”

“She hit me, she chased me and hit me, please come home!” She began to sob.

“Get off that phone this minute!”

“Irene, what’s going on there?”

“Daddy, please come home now, please, please!”

“Get off that phone, young lady, before I come up and pull you off it!”

“Daddy—”

“Don’t talk to her like that,” he said.

“What did you say?” My voice was burning.

“I said”—his voice softened—“I just asked you not to talk to her like that.”