“Ho-ho,” said Teddy, sighing, and stretching out his legs. “I ate too much.” They settled back comfortably, their heads pillowed on rolled blankets. It was getting dark enough to show up a few pale stars.
Gin said, “You’re all wrong about not mentioning Santa Fé. It’s the best part of being out here, thinking about town and how nice it is that we’re not back there. I keep wondering how Flo is getting along with the dudes, and then I look around and feel great.”
“That’s the way it is with me,” said Blake. “I want to think about it all the time. The old plaza and all that. How do you think it turned out with Phil and the Pearsons?”
“Oh, I bet nothing happened at all. Nothing ever happens there. You always think it will, but it doesn’t. Something else will turn up pretty soon that they’ll be talking about instead of Phil.”
“They’re talking about us now,” said Teddy, in a tone of deep satisfaction.
There was silence again. Then Blake hit the ground with his fist. “I feel so great,” he said.
“We all do,” said Teddy quietly. To Blake, still in that queer state where everything was crystal clear, it came suddenly that he would never forget any of this moment; the orange-glowing fire or the two pastel-shadowed figures sitting beside it. Teddy’s profile, with turned-up nose and ruffled hair, was lowered to the branch he held in his hand, poking the ashes at his feet. He would always remember that, and the smell of burning cedar.
Gin sighed. “If it starts raining again tonight I’ll go to sleep sitting right up in the car. I felt lousy last night.”
“Oh, it won’t rain tonight,” Blake promised easily. “The sky is clear.” It was his trip and he felt responsible for nature. The fire burned down to a useful small smouldering size while the night crept up around them.
“It’s queer how easy it is not to worry out here,” Gin said. “I used to worry all the time about everything, and now nothing seems to be very important.”