“It’s kind of a mix-up, isn’t it?” I suggested, with an attempt at lightness.
Peter nodded his head.
“I’ve been wondering how long you’re going to wait,” he observed, apparently as much to himself as to me.
“Wait for what?” I inquired.
“For what you call your mix-up to untangle,” was his answer.
“There’s nothing for me to do but to wait,” I reminded him.
He shook his head in dissent.
“You can’t waste your life, you know, doing that,” he quietly protested.
“What else can I do?” I asked, disturbed a little by the absence of color from his face, apparent even in that uncertain light.
“Nothing’s suggested itself, I suppose?” he ventured, after a silence.