"Lucky dog," Oliver said. Richard flashed his smile. Be yourself and you are home anywhere. Oliver drank up. "Well, I've got to be going."
"Have a good holiday, Oliver."
"You, too."
"You smell like Deweys," Jennifer said, when he walked into the kitchen. She took the pizza from his hands.
"Good old Deweys," Oliver said. "How's Precious?"
"Sound asleep. Oooh, it's getting chilly."
"I'll get some wood," Oliver said quickly. "Come on, Woof." They had a couple of cords stacked in the barn, cut to two foot lengths. He turned on the light and found the maul leaning against the corner where he had left it. He swung the maul and tossed the wood and pretended that Suzanne wasn't sitting in her quiet living room, pretended that nothing had happened. Woof sat attentively in the doorway. There was only the splitting, the thunk of the maul into the chopping block, the klokking sound of pieces thrown on the pile . . .
"Pizza's ready. My goodness, Sweetums, what a pile!" Oliver gathered up an armful.
"Should hold us for awhile," he said. Woof bounded into the house, wagging her tail. "You know," Oliver said, "we really ought to get a decent wood stove. More efficient. And if we have furnace trouble, it would be good to have something besides the fireplace."
"Maybe we could get the kind with glass doors, so we can see the fire,"
Jennifer said.