Nothing was said until they got there. Hip sat with one hand pressing his temples, covering his eyes. Janie’s corner of the cab was dark and silent.
When the machine stopped Hip slid out and absently handed Janie to the walk. He gave the driver a bill, accepting the change, pawed out a tip and handed it back. The cab drove off.
Hip stood looking down at the money in his hand, sliding it around on his palm with his fingers. ‘Janie?’
‘Yes, Hip.’
He looked at her. He could hardly see her in the darkness. ‘Let’s go inside.’
They went in. He switched on the lights. She took off her hat and hung her bag on the bedpost and sat down on the bed, her hands on her lap. Waiting.
He seemed blind, so deep was his introspection. He came awake slowly, his gaze fixed on the money in his hand. For a moment it seemed without meaning to him; then slowly, visibly, he recognized it and brought it into his thoughts, into his expression. He closed his hand on it, shook it, brought it to her and spread it out on the night table—three crumpled bills, some silver.’ It isn’t mine,’ he said.
‘Of course it is!’
He shook his head tiredly. ‘No it isn’t. None of it’s been mine. Not the roller coaster money or the shopping money or coffee in the mornings or… I suppose there’s rent here.’
She was silent.