A Crying Shame (3 page)

You're very condescending this evening, Paul,” she accused him.

Just trying to get along.”

She stood for a moment, looking at him.
Paul, don't you even care what's out there ... making that noise? My God! It's been going on every night for ... oh, hell ... days!”

Nights,” he corrected.

Paul . . . sometimes you make me so ...” She stamped a foot in anger.

He put aside his paper, folding it carefully, as was his fashion. He was a very meticulous man; almost fussy. But not in the least feminine with his well-ordered life. He placed the paper on the floor, beside his recliner.
It's the wind, Linda. Maybe it's a big armadillo stumbling about ... they have poor eyesight, you know? Sis, I don't know what's making that noise.” For some reason, she felt he was lying, holding back from her. She wondered why.
I don't know what it is,” he repeated,
and I don't care what it is.” The note of deception was definitely in his voice.

This is the third or fourth night, Paul. And it's happened many times before. Paul ... I'm scared!”

Paul rose from his chair.
Linda, if it will make you happy; if my going out into the goddamned rain will please you. If—above all else—it will shut you up ... I will go outside and look around. Will that satisfy you, Linda?”

Paul—”

I know.” He gently cut her sentence short.
I'm sorry I snapped at you, too.” He started for the front door. Her voice stopped him.