"No. An earth satellite. It will be going around and around up there for the next seven hundred years, probably."
They sat and watched it until it was out of sight behind the dark bulk of the Rockies.
"Larry?" she said softly. "Why didn't Nadine admit it? About the dreams?"
There was a barely perceptible stiffening in him, making her wish she hadn't brought it up. But now that she had, she was determined to pursue it... unless he cut her off entirely.
"She says she doesn't have any dreams."
"She does have them, though - Mark was right about that. And she talks in her sleep. She was so loud one night she woke me up."
He was looking at her now. After a long time he asked, "What was she saying?"
Lucy thought, trying to get it just right. "She was thrashing around in her sleeping bag and she was saying over and over, 'Don't, it's so cold, don't, I can't stand it if you do, it's so cold, so cold.' And then she started to pull her hair. She started to pull her own hair in her sleep. And moan. It gave me the creeps."
"People can have nightmares, Lucy. That doesn't mean they're about... well, about him."
"It's better not to say much about him after dark, isn't it?"
"Better, yes."
"She acts as if she's coming unraveled, Larry. Do you know what I mean?"
"Yes." He knew. In spite of her insistence that she didn't dream, there had been brown circles under her eyes by the time they reached Hemingford Home. That magnificent cable of heavy hair was noticeably whiter. And if you touched her, she jumped. She flinched.
Lucy said, "You love her, don't you?"
"Oh, Lucy," he said reproachfully.
"No, I just want you to know..." She shook her head violently at his expression. "I have to say this. I see the way you look at her... the way she looks at you sometimes, when you're busy with something else and it's... it's safe. She loves you, Larry. But she's afraid."
"Afraid of what? Afraid of what?"
He was remembering his attempt to make love to her, three days after the Stovington fiasco. Since then she had grown quiet - she was still cheerful on occasion, but now she was quite obviously laboring to be cheerful. Joe had been asleep. Larry had gone to sit beside her, and for a while they had talked, not about their current situation but about the old things, the safe things. Larry had tried to kiss her. She pushed him away, turning her head, but not before he had felt the things Lucy had just told him. He had tried again, being rough and gentle at the same time, wanting her so damn badly. And for just one moment she had given in to him, had shown him what it could be like, if...
Then she broke from him and moved away, her face pale, her arms strapped across her br**sts, hands cupping elbows, head lowered.
Don't do that again, Larry. Please don't. Or I'll have to take Joe and leave.
Why? Why, Nadine? Why does it have to be such a goddam big deal?
She hadn't answered. Simply stood in that head-down posture, the brown bruised places already beginning beneath her eyes.
If I could tell you I would, she said finally, and walked away without looking back.
"I had a girlfriend once who acted a little like her," Lucy said. "My senior year in high school. Her name was Joline. Joline Majors. Joline wasn't in high school. She dropped out to marry her boyfriend. He was in the Navy. She was pregnant when they got married, but she lost the baby. Her man was gone a lot, and Joline... she liked to party down. She liked that, and her man was a regular jealous bear. He told her if he ever found out she was doing anything behind his back, he'd break both of her arms and spoil her face. Can you imagine what that life must have been like? Your husband comes home and says, 'Well, I'm shipping out now, love. Give me a kiss, and then we'll have a little roll in the hay, and by the way, if I come back and someone tells me you've been messing around, I'll break both your arms and spoil your face.'"