He got out and went around to open the door for her. But she was already stepping out with the lunch basket in her hand when he arrived. He reached for it, and she held on, and they moved companionably away from the car carrying the basket between them.
“There’s a nice place,” said Sally, pointing.
A small ridge of rock stretched out into the lake, and rose, and spread, and formed what was almost a miniature island some fifty feet across. There were some young trees on it. Sally and Joe climbed down the slope and out the rocky isthmus that connected it with the shore.
Sally let down the lunch box on a stone and laughed for no reason at all as the wind blew her hair. It was a cool wind from over the water. And Joe realized with a shock of surprise that the air felt different and smelled different when it blew over open water like this. Up to now he hadn’t thought of the dryness of the air in Bootstrap and the Shed.
The lunch basket was tilted a little. Joe picked it up and settled it more solidly. Then he said: “Hungry?”
There was literally nothing on his mind at the moment but the luxurious, satisfied feeling of being off somewhere with grass and a lake and Sally, and a good part of the afternoon to throw away. It felt good. So he lifted the lid of the lunch basket.
There was a revolver there. It was the other one from the glove compartment of the car. Sally hadn’t left it behind. Joe regarded it and said ironically: “Happy, carefree youth—that’s us! Which are the ham sandwiches, Sally?”