"No, what would Harold do?" Larry answered seriously. Fran was nearly dumbfounded. She could not help wishing to be around when Larry actually met Harold. Whatever in the world would his reaction be?
"We camped in this farmyard one night and we really were almost out of water. The place had a well, but no way of drawing it up, naturally, because the power was off and the pump wouldn't work. And Joe - Leo, I'm sorry, his real name is Leo - Leo kept walking by and saying, 'Firsty, Larry, pwetty firsty now.' And he was driving me bugshit. I could feel myself tightening up, and the next time he came by I probably would have hit him. Nice guy, huh? Getting ready to hit a disturbed child. But a person can't change all at once. I've had plenty of time to work that out for myself."
"You brought them all across from Maine intact," Frannie said. "One of ours died. His appendix burst. Stu tried to operate on him, but it was no good. All in all, Larry, I'd say you did pretty well."
"Harold and I did pretty well," he corrected. "Anyway, Lucy said, 'Quick, Larry, ask the question.' So I did. There was a windmill on the place that ran water up to the barn. It was turning pretty good, but there wasn't any water coming out of the barn faucets either. So I opened the big case at the foot of the windmill, where all the machinery was, and I saw that the main driveshaft had popped out of its hole. I got it back in and bingo! All the water you could want. Cold and tasty. Thanks to Harold."
"Thanks to you. Harold wasn't really there, Larry."
"Well, he was in my head. And now I'm here and I brought him the wine and the candy bars." He looked at her sideways. "You know, I kind of thought he might be your man."
She shook her head and looked down at her clasped fingers. "No. He... not Harold."
He didn't say anything for a long time, but she felt him looking at her. At last he said, "Okay, how have I got it wrong? About Harold?"
She stood up. "I ought to go in now. It's been nice to meet you, Larry. Come by tomorrow and meet Stu. Bring your Lucy, if she's not busy."
"What is it about him?" he insisted, standing with her.
"Oh, I don't know," she said thickly. Suddenly the tears were very close. "You make me feel as if... as if I've treated Harold very shabbily and I don't know... why or how I did it... can I be blamed for not loving him the way I do Stu? Is that supposed to be my fault?"
"No, of course not." Larry looked taken aback. "Listen, I'm sorry. I barged in on you. I'll go."
"He's changed!" Frannie burst out. "I don't know how or why, and sometimes I think it might be for the better... but I don't... don't really know. And sometimes I'm afraid."
"Afraid of Harold?"
She didn't answer; only looked down at her feet. She thought she had already said too much.
"You were going to tell me how I could get there?" he asked gently.
"It's easy. Just go straight out Arapahoe until you come to the little park... the Eben G. Fine Park, I think it is. The park's on the right. Harold's little house is on the left, just across from it."
"All right, thanks. Meeting you was a pleasure, Fran, busted vase and all."
She smiled, but it was perfunctory. All of the dizzy good humor had gone out of the evening.
Larry raised the bottle of wine and offered his slanted little smile. "And if you see him before I do... keep a secret, huh?"
"Sure."
"Night, Frannie."
He walked back the way he had come. She watched him out of sight, then went upstairs and slipped into bed next to Stu, who was still out like a light.
Harold, she thought, pulling the covers up to her chin. How was she supposed to tell this Larry, who seemed so nice in his strangely lost way (but weren't they all lost now?), that Harold Lauder was fat and juvenile and lost himself? Was she supposed to tell him that one day not so long ago she had happened upon wise Harold, resourceful Harold, what-would-Jesus-do Harold, mowing the back lawn in his bathing suit and weeping? Was she supposed to tell him that the sometimes sulky, often frightened Harold that had come to Boulder from Ogunquit had turned into a stout politician, a backslapper, a hail-fellow-well-met type of guy who nonetheless looked at you with the flat and unsmiling eyes of a gila monster?
She thought her wait for sleep might be very long tonight. Harold had fallen hopelessly in love with her and she had fallen hopelessly in love with Stu Redman, and it certainly was a tough old world. And now every time I see Harold I get such a case of the creeps. Even though he looks like he's lost ten pounds or so and he doesn't have quite so many pimples, I get the -
Her breath caught audibly in her throat and she sat up on her elbows, eyes wide in the dark.
Something had moved inside her.
Her hands went to the slight swelling of her middle. Surely it was too early. It had only been her imagination. Except -
Except it hadn't been.