“Why not?”

“I’ve tried to figure it out. When we were children we lived in a story that we made up. But when I grew up the story wasn’t enough. I had to have something else, because the story wasn’t true any more.”

“Well—”

“Wait—let me get it all out. Aron didn’t grow up. Maybe he never will. He wanted the story and he wanted it to come out his way. He couldn’t stand to have it come out any other way.”

“How about you?”

“I don’t want to know how it comes out. I only want to be there while it’s going on. And, Cal—we were kind of strangers. We kept it going because we were used to it. But I didn’t believe the story any more.”

“How about Aron?”

“He was going to have it come out his way if he had to tear the world up by the roots.”

Cal stood looking at the ground.

Abra said, “Do you believe me?”

“I’m trying to study it out.”

“When you’re a child you’re the center of everything. Everything happens for you. Other people? They’re only ghosts furnished for you to talk to. But when you grow up you take your place and you’re your own size and shape. Things go out of you to others and come in from other people. It’s worse, but it’s much better too. I’m glad you told me about Aron.”

“Why?”

“Because now I know I didn’t make it all up. He couldn’t stand to know about his mother because that’s not how he wanted the story to go—and he wouldn’t have any other story. So he tore up the world. It’s the same way he tore me up—Abra—when he wanted to be a priest.”

Cal said, “I’ll have to think.”

“Give me my books,” she said. “Tell Lee I’ll come. I feel free now. I want to think too. I think I love you, Cal.”

“I’m not good.”

“Because you’re not good.”

Cal walked quickly home. “She’ll come tomorrow,” he told Lee.

“Why, you’re excited,” said Lee.

[4]

Once in the house Abra walked on her toes. In the hall she moved close to the wall where the floor did not creak. She put her foot on the lowest step of the carpeted stairs, changed her mind, and went to the kitchen.

“Here you are,” her mother said. “You didn’t come straight home.”

“I had to stay after class. Is Father better?”

“I guess so.”

“What does the doctor say?”

“Same thing he said at first—overwork. Just needs a rest.”

“He hasn’t seemed tired,” said Abra.

Her mother opened a bin and took out three baking potatoes and carried them to the sink. “Your Father’s very brave, dear. I should have known. He’s been doing so much war work on top of his own work. The doctor says sometimes a man collapses all at once.”

“Shall I go in and see him?”

“You know, Abra, I’ve got a feeling that he doesn’t want to see anybody. Judge Knudsen phoned and your father said to tell him he was asleep.”