His wail still filled her ears. His tearsstill dampened the carpet. The nightlamp still fell in slow motion. Theimage of her young son, her pride, her...treasure, still dominated theroom: her blue dress, her pantyhose, her jewelry, her lipstick,her...everything! On him, a thirteen-year-old boy. On his face, shame ---and fear.She wavered, briefly, before she walked into his bedroom. The argumentsin this room had been heated and strenuous. Each had always risen to thechallenge of the other, each. She parked in the driveway, and after dithering in her car she got out and walked to a side door I could see from where I was watching. She stopped on the porch and buried her face in her hands for a moment, then she straightened her shoulders, opened the door and walked in. From where I was sitting I could see the window. I watched my wife's shadow, as she seemed to be stripping out of her clothes in front of the shaded window with a light behind her. When she turned out the light I figured. More

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