“And, anyhow, he doesn’t own me.”
The fight, then, had been a mere declaration of independence, not of special loyalty. “I’ll borrow Dad’s car.”
“ Don’t bother! I’ve got my Ford. And your old man needs his these days. Running around…”
Chuck nodded. “ He’s working hard. And to darn little purpose. People are deserting his organization like…”
“I know. Well, what time shall I call for you?” She laughed.
“Say, eight? Mother’s made a special dinner. Maybe…?”
She knew she was going to be invited. She didn’t want to be exposed to the calm, collective scrutiny of the Conners during a long meal. “Eight. I’ll be there.”
They drove down to Lee’s Chinese Inn and danced a while. But the place, in spite of the gloom in the booths, the oriental lighting, the orchestra and the waitresses in Chinese costumes, didn’t have the necromancy that had invested it when they had been high school kids, and then undergraduates. They were both restless.
“Let’s go,” she suggested, in the middle of a fox trot, “ on out the river, the way we used to, and park in that spot where the mill used to be.”
It was crisp and cool out there and bright with moonlight. The heater had warmed the car.