a bunch of his fellow students would drop over and there would be a case of beer
and discussions in which she seldom took part because her field had been
sociology and his was English： arguments over whether Pepys's diaries were
literature or history； discussions of Charles Olson's poetry； sometimes the
reading of works in progress。 Those and a hundred others。 No； a thousand。 She
felt no real urge to take part； it was enough to sit in her rocking chair beside
Jack； who sat cross…legged on the floor； one hand holding a beer； the other
gently cupping her calf or braceleting her ankle。
The petition at UNH had been fierce； and Jack carried an extra burden in
his writing。 He put in at least an hour at it every night。 It was his routine。
The Saturday sessions were necessary therapy。 They let something out of him that
might otherwise have swelled and swelled until he burst。
At the end of his grad work he had landed the job at Stovington； mostly on the
strength of his stories — four of them published at that time； one of them in
Esquire。 She remembered that day clearly enough； it would take more than three
years to forget it。 She had almost thrown the envelope away； thinking it was a
subscription offer。 Opening it； she had found instead that it was a letter
saying that Esquire would like to use Jack's story 〃Concerning the Black Holes〃
early the following year。 They would pay nine hundred dollars； not on
publication but on acceptance。 That was nearly half a year's take typing papers
and she had flown to the telephone； leaving Danny in his high chair to goggle
ically after her； his face lathered with creamed peas and beef puree。
Jack had arrived from the university forty…five minutes later； the Buick
weighted down with seven friends and a keg of beer。 After a ceremonial toast
（Wendy also had a glass； although she ordinarily had no taste for beer）； Jack
had signed the acceptance letter； put it in the return envelope； and went down
the block to drop it in the letter box。 When he came back he stood gravely in
the door and said； 〃Veni； vidi； vici。〃 There were cheers and applause。 When the
keg was empty at eleven that night； Jack and the only two others who were still
ambulatory went on to hit a few bars。
She had gotten him aside in the downstairs hallway。 The other two were already
out in the car； drunkenly singing the New Hampshire fight song。 Jack was down on
one knee； owlishly fumbling with the lacings of his moccasins。
〃Jack；〃 she said； 〃you shouldn't。 You can't even tie your shoes； let alone
drive。〃
He stood up and put his hands calmly on her shoulders。 〃Tonight I could fly to
the moon if I wanted to。〃
〃No；〃 she said。 〃Not for all the Esquire stories in the world。〃
〃I'll be home early。〃
But he hadn't been home until four in the morning； stumbling and mumbling his
way up the stairs； waking Danny up when he came in。 He had tried to soothe the
baby and dropped him on the floor。 Wendy had rushed out； thinking of what her
mother would think if she saw the bruise before she thought of anything else —
God help her； God help them both — and then picked Danny up； sat in the rocking
chair with him； soothed him。 She had been thinking of her mother for most of the
five hours Jack had been gone； her mother's prophecy that Jack would never e
to anything。 Big ideas； her mother had said。 Sure。 The welfare lines are full of
educated fools with big ideas。 Did the Esquire story make her mother wrong or
right？ Winnifred； you're not holding that baby right。 Give him to me。 And was
she not holding her husband right？ Why else would he take his joy out of the
house？ A helpless kind of terror had risen up in her and it never occurred to
her that he had gone out for reasons that had nothing to do with her。
〃Congratulations；〃 she said； rocking Danny — he was almost asleep again。 〃Maybe
you gave him a concussion。〃
〃It's just a bruise。〃 He sounded sulky； wanting to be repentant： a little boy。
For an instant she hated him。
〃Maybe；〃 she said tightly。 〃Maybe not。〃 She heard so much of her mother
talking to her departed father in her own voice that she was sickened and
afraid。
〃Like mother like daughter；〃 Jack muttered。
〃Go to bed！〃 she cried； her fear ing out sounding like anger。 〃Go to bed；
you're drunk！〃
〃Don't tell me what to do。〃
〃Jack 。。。 please； we shouldn't 。。。 it 。。。〃 There were no words。
〃Don't tell me what to do；〃 he repeated sullenly； and then went into the
bedroom。 She was left alone in the rocking chair with Danny； who was sleeping
again。 Five minutes later Jack's snores came floating out to the living room。
That had been the first night she had slept on the couch。
Now she turned restlessly on the bed； already dozing。 Her mind； freed of any
linear order by encroaching sleep； floated past the first year at Stovington；
past the steadily worsening times that had reached low ebb when her husband had
broken Danny's arm； to that morning in the breakfast nook。
Danny outside playing trucks in the sandpile； his arm still in the cast。 Jack
sitting at the table； pallid and grizzled； a cigarette jittering between his
fingers。 She had decided to ask him for a divorce。 She had pondered the question
from a hundred different angles； had been pondering it in fact for the six
months before the broken arm。 She told herself she would have made the decision
long ago if it hadn't been for Danny； but not even that was necessarily true。
She dreamed on the long nights when Jack was out； and her dreams were always of
her mother's face and of her own wedding。
（Who giveth this woman？ Her father standing in his best suit which was none
too good — he was a traveling salesman for a line of canned goods that even then
was going broke — and his tired face； how old he looked； how pale： I do。）
Even after the accident — if you could call it an accident — she had not been
able to bring it all the way out； to admit that her marriage was a lopsided
defeat。 She had waited； dumbly hoping that a miracle would occur and Jack would
see what was happening； not only to him but to her。 But there had been no
slowdown。 A drink before going off to the Academy。 Two or three beers with lunch
at the Stovington House。 Three or four martinis before dinner。 Five or six more
while grading papers。 The weekends were worse。 The nights out with Al Shockley
were worse still。 She had never dreamed there could be so much pain in a life
when there was nothing physically wrong。 She hurt all the time。 How much of it
was her fault？ That question haunted her。 She felt like her mother。 Like her
father。 Sometimes； when she felt like herself she wondered what it would be like
for Danny； and she dreaded the day when he grew old enough to lay blame。 And she
wondered where they would go。 She had no doubt her mother would take her in； and
no doubt that after a year of watching her diapers remade； Danny's meals
recooked and/or redistributed； of ing home to find his clothes changed or his
hair cut or the books her mother found unsuitable spirited away to some limbo in