I slept--or, rather, spent the night--on the davenport, and Grant slept in David's twin-size bed with David. In the middle of the night I sat up and felt the welts across my back that the ridges in the davenport cushions had made. I went through the empty bedroom where our lovely, comfortable bed used to be, into the children's bedroom.
Grant was lying slantwise across David's bed, with David draped across him. The baby was sleeping peacefully on her stomach in her crib. I considered crawling in with her, but I was afraid the crib wouldn't hold an additional hundred and twelve pounds.
I went back into the living room, put another blanket over the davenport cushions to cover the ridges more thoroughly, and lay down again.
After breakfast I felt more kindly toward the davenport, though. In our hour of need it was serving as table, chairs, and bed. What were a few welts in the face of all that?
Just then the doorbell rang. It was a short, dark, bristling man who actually tinkled whenever he moved. I was so fascinated by this discovery that he was inside the house punching at the davenport before I realized that he wanted my precious living room set.
"How much?" he shot at me suddenly.
I told him, adding twenty dollars to the price we had originally planned to ask for the set.
"Fine! Sold!" he barked, tinkling as he peeled off crisp green bills into my hands.
"What are you staring at?" he cried.
I backed away timidly. "It's just that--that noise you make," I said. "I was just wondering--"