"I've really got to go. Damn!"
She blew him a wistful kiss. "Bye, Baby."
Oliver fled. He drove fast, hoping that speed would force him into the present, that driving would require all of his attention, but images of Jacky and Suzanne kept replacing each other in front of him. Suzanne surrendered to him the way he had surrendered to Jacky. Suzanne gave herself to him totally. Her trusting eyes put him in a powerful place. But as he swelled with strength, something else happened—a little voice whispered: take care of her; she's yours. He never felt that with Jacky or with Jennifer. They took care of themselves.
The quilt had shocked him. Suzanne was gifted. She was so sexy, so physical, so loving—how could she not have children? She deserved a good husband and family, not a misfit for a lover, too old for her, and married besides. Her breasts. God. Oliver drove faster.
"Pint of the finest," he said to Sam. His favorite spot was empty at the end of the bar. He leaned against the wall and listened to Taj Mahal playing the blues, keeping precise and honest time. He slid the empty glass toward Sam. "Let's do that again." Women. Halfway through the second pint, he said it out loud, "Women," and let go a deep breath. Deweys at that hour was securely masculine. It was understood that women were a source of difficulty, desirable though they were. Oliver glanced around the room. The man didn't exist, in Deweys, at that hour, who didn't have the scars to prove it.
He raised his glass to Mark who had just come in. "What are you going to do?" he said.
"About what?"
"Women."
"Ah, marriage," Mark said.
"It's not so bad," Oliver said. Better than the first time. Love the kid. But, Jennifer's working less and spending more. She wants to have another baby and be a full time momma. She wants to add on to the house."