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Chapters (51)
  1. Introduction by Michael Bronski
  2. BEGINNING
  3. II
  4. III
  5. IV
  6. V
  7. VI
  8. VII
  9. VIII
  10. IX
  11. X
  12. XI
  13. XII
  14. XIII
  15. MIDDLE
  16. II
  17. III
  18. IV
  19. V
  20. VI
  21. VII
  22. VIII
  23. IX
  24. X
  25. XI
  26. XII
  27. XIII
  28. XIV
  29. XV
  30. XVI
  31. XVII
  32. XVIII
  33. XIX
  34. XX
  35. END
  36. II
  37. III
  38. IV
  39. V
  40. VI
  41. VII
  42. VIII
  43. IX
  44. X
  45. XI
  46. XII
  47. XIII
  48. XIV
  49. XV
  50. XVI
  51. About the Author

Ethel Grandin lay face down in the sand, her cheek resting on her crossed arms. They had had their picnic lunch on the beach some time ago, and now the children and her father were going in for a second dip, while her mother watched anxiously. She herself was content to lie in the sand, freed of the care of her boys for the time being, and think of her husband. Perhaps the letter had already been delivered at the apartment, or would be very soon; in any case, she was certain to hear ­from him tonight by telephone, and she looked forward to the call.

She could hear the boys squealing with delight and thrill as their grandfather led them by the hand into the small surf, and from time to time she heard her mother call out to them to be careful.

For the first time in her life, Ethel Cameron was aware of why she had been attracted to John Grandin, why he alone, of all the men she had met, was the one she had been able to give herself up to. Perhaps his susceptibility to the influence of Cliff Hauman was the very thing which made him the man he was; it was one and the same with that sensitiveness of his which, unaware, she had loved him for from the beginning. Was there such a thing as the absolute male or female? If so, there could only be clash between them, not love. Had John Grandin been all male, they would not have met on common ground ever.

None of this had she written in her letter, of course. Nor had she mentioned Cliff’s name. She could not have brought herself to say what she still felt so keenly—that if her husband saw Cliff again, she could not return to him—but it was implied in the letter and she knew her husband would know it. Besides, she felt it unnecessary to mention Cliff: she believed her husband, now, when he had said it was finished, finished because understood. The whole letter might have been expressed in the one sentence: I know it meant nothing.

XVI

XVI

The late sun sent level rays of yellow light straight across the room to the bookshelves. It was still daylight, though shortly to become dusk. The buzzer began to ring. For some time, John Grandin did not hear it. But as the last insistent buzz died in the room and left a final challenging silence, he roused from his painful sleep.