Midge Gette - The more the sexier

"Yes, yes," his mother approved. "We just wanted to ask you not to-not to do anything-"

"Not to put your oar in and ruin everything," Debbie finished for her mother.

"Shut up, Sis," Dwayne said. "Let me handle this."

Sharon grinned. "Yes, don't antagonize me, Debbie."

"Oh, Sharon, dear, please try to understand. Debbie is just upset for her brother."

It did not escape Sharon's notice that her mother did not think of Dwayne as her brother, too. She felt the old sense of being ouside the magic circle, but the old whimpering pain of it seemed attenuated. For a moment she wondered if it were over. She had a curious sense of power, but no joy in it. Being Uncle Nate's partner had no basis in fact. It was a warm touch of his hand, a wink exchanged, a flash of pride in his trust-a token of his love. She had eschewed influence over the clinic incident to retain her own self-respect, and now, knowing Doc, she did not want to brandish a flaming sword of revenge even in fun.

She watched the three argue among themselves now as though she were not present, but they kept glancing at her, and it was

clear she was very important to the issue. It bothered her that she could not enjoy it. Hadn't she all her life wanted to feel important to these three?

"Look," she said suddenly, and their eyes swung to her. "I take it that Dwayne wants Uncle Nate to give him a pretty large sum of money, and you think I can put the kibosh on the deal. Well, I-" She found herself hesitating on the verge of assuring them she would do nothing to interfere. It was the expression in their eyes, so full of greed and-something else-hate? Hate of her? Yet all she had ever wanted of them was to be loved. "Just go ahead and stew about it!" she said cuttingly. "At the moment, if I don't get out of here, I may throw up all over your lovely carpet, Mother-"

She fled, hardly hearing their cries of protest and anger. And quite to her surprise, when she reached her own room, she was rather violently sick all over the front of the good summer print she had worn for John Harrow's departure.

She stood under the biting sting of a cold shower presently, her eyes squeezed shut against the needles of cold upon her face,and she gritted her teeth against the agony of sobs that ripped through her throat. She wept helplessly, completely, without reason-or knowledge of reason. She wept as only a girl, verging on womanhood, can weep-for everything, for nothing. And even as her body bent beneath the spray, racked by sobs, a part of her stood off and was amazed at the spectacle; so flexible is youth and so enraptured of itself.

And it seemed to her, when the strange experience was over, that part of herself had been washed down the drain, so that she felt lighter and stronger for the loss. She felt subdued and yet curiously more alive. She hummed as she dressed, and before she went to the far end of the balcony to seek out her uncle in his room, she stood for a long time examining her face for evidence of change. The face that looked back at her was very disappointing, it being the same as always except for a redness about her eyelids.

At her uncle's door she tapped lightly, feeling out of breath. And when he called out "Come in," she entered with a new awareness. She had been in his room only once before and then for an unseeing moment. Now she took in the sparseness of furnishings with a new appreciation. Uncle Nate had no such suite of rooms as the Parkers occupied. This one squarish room with bath sufficed him; and his bed, a dresser, a deep armchair, a heavy desk with swivel chair, and a low two-shelved cabinet that held books were all there was to see. He was at his desk now, his back to her, and saying, "Be with you in a minute, my dear. Make yourself at home."

Sharon moved about quietly until she stood over the cabinet, then with frowning curiosity knelt to examine the books. Slowly, her eyes wide and astonished, she turned to stare at his back. "Why, Uncle Nate,'* she said softly. "Poetry-it's all poetry."

"What's that, my dear?" He turned a little in his chair. "Oh, my books. Yes, yes, I'm afraid it's a weakness of mine. I'll be through here in a minute."

She felt she did not know him at all, but here in her hands now was a clue to his being. She counted off the poets to herself, beginning to smile: Housman, Tagore, Omar Khayyam, Frost, Browning (both Robert and Elizabeth Barrett), Whitman, Shakespeare, Ficke- Why, Uncle Nate, she repeated silently.

"Well, now, that's that." He swung around, his blue eyes full of welcome. "Is this just a little visit, or is there something important that brings you to my little den?" he asked.

She set his Bible back on the shelf, but remained kneeling. She supposed she had come to talk to him on a serious matter, but it did not seem important now. "Just a visit," she said.

"Are you catching a cold? You sound thick in the throat."

She cleared her throat impatiently. "I just had a shower. Guess I swallowed some of it. I never catch colds."

His eyes did not fail to note the reddened eyelids, but he was the soul of tact. "Well, did you see our young doctor safely on his way?"

"Oh, yes." She frowned without reason. She did not want to talk about Doc. "Why didn't you tell me you read poetry?" she asked instead, and looked around the room, not waiting for an answer. "I like this room," she told him. "When we move, let's furnish our whole place like this. You know, simply-no unnecessary clutter."

"I'm afraid my tastes are a bit stoical, my dear, but I do intend to take along what I have here for my room. You must suit yourself about the rest of the house."

"I'm stoical, too," she said. "On Tiger Tail Road my room was the plainest in the house."

"I had a call from the real-estate broker just now," he remarked. "Very encouraging. It looks as if we'll be able to give John some good news of your old street before long."

"Really?" Her heart leaped. She could write to Doc this very night! "Gee, that's fast work. Doc will be delighted."

He smiled, "I've just been writing to my banker^ in the East, arranging a transfer of funds. It's going to be a very costly project, Sharon, but well worthwhile."

The mention of money somersaulted Sharon's mind to the family conference she had fled from a short time before. "Uncle Nate," she said, getting to her feet. "There was something I came to talk to you about. I hate to, but I guess I have to." She crossed to his side, propped a hip on his desk. "It's about Dwayne. About something that happened this afternoon."

He thought the evidence of tears had involved John Harrow's departure. Now he wondered as his eyes narrowed slightly. "You saw your brother this afternoon?"

Her throat rasped in clearing. "I saw-" She took a deep breath. "Mother called me in. They all talked to me. Oh, Uncle Nate, we're terrible people!"

He reached out and took one of her hands, squeezed it, and sighed inwardly. "Now, now," he comforted. "No need to tell me, my dear. I think I know. Your mother approached me on the subject earlier."

She bent forward. "You told her we were partners. You let her think your answer depended upon me. Uncle Nate, I don't want anything to do with it. I-I-I got sick just thinking about it."

"Oh, my dear."

"It's all right now. I don't care. But I don't want anything to do with it," she repeated.

His face hardened. "Don't worry yourself about it at all," he said. "I'm having some inquiries made. I'm quite willing to help your brother, if the need is justified. However,, I'd have been better pleased if he had come to me with his proposition himself."

She found herself laughing. "Oh, Uncle Nate, you just don't know him," she cried. "He always gets what he wants by devious methods. He's not really very brave at all. But then," she added, curiously tolerant, "it's not all his fault. Mother had always liked being the one to get things for him. She's a very-very possessive person. At least about the twins."