Chapter 7

           TherainhadquitbythetimeIgothome,andalategrinofmoonhadappearedovertheridgestothenorth.Mysleepinessseemedtohavegonewiththeclouds.Iwaswideawake,andIcouldsmellDelacroixonme.IthoughtImightsmellhimonmyskin—barbecue,meandyou,stinky,pinky,phew-phew-phew—foralongtimetocome.

           Janicewaswaitingup,asshealwaysdidonexecutionnights.Imeantnottotellherthestory,sawnosenseinharrowingherwithit,butshegotaclearlookatmyfaceasIcameinthekitchendoorandwouldhaveitall.SoIsatdown,tookherwarmhandsinmycoldones(theheaterinmyoldFordbarelyworked,andtheweatherhadturnedahundredandeightydegreessincethestorm),andtoldherwhatshethoughtshewantedtohear.AbouthalfwaythroughIbrokedowncrying,whichIhadn’texpected.Iwasalittleashamed,butonlyalittle;itwasher,yousee,andshenevertaxedmewiththetimesthatIslippedfromthewayIthoughtamanshouldbe...thewayIthoughtIshouldbe,atanyrate.AmanwithagoodwifeistheluckiestofGod’screatures,andonewithoutmustbeamongthemostmiserable,Ithink,theonlytrueblessingoftheirlivesthattheydon’tknowhowpoorlyofftheyare.Icried,andsheheldmyheadagainstherbreast,andwhenmyownstormpassed,Ifeltbetter...alittle,anyway.AndIbelievethatwaswhenIhadthefirstconscioussightofmyidea.Nottheshoe;Idon’tmeanthat.Theshoewasrelated,butdifferent.