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to be seen if you’re going to sit a million miles away?”
    “You want me to come sit beside you?”
    “No. Move farther away if possible.”
    He moved through the darkness and sat beside her. “Here I am,” he said, taking a long drink of bourbon.
    Deborah began to laugh. “It’s just like kindergarten. I swear it is.” She laughed louder. “You might as well turn the lights back on. Never mind. I’ll do it.”
    She made as if to move, but he took her hand. “No.”
    “Well, why not?”
    Her pearls glistened in the moonlight.
    “Why not?”
    Jamie put his drink down. His hands were trembling terribly.
    “Why not?”
    Jamie grabbed her. He dug his fingers into her shoulders and her face turned, moving up to meet his.
    “Jamie,” Deborah said. “Jamie.”
    He kissed her again and she pressed her body against his body, her arms locking around his neck. Her tongue flicked at his mouth while his hands pressed against her flat stomach. Slowly, hesitantly, his hands began moving higher until they were cupped around her breasts. “Yes,” Deborah said. Jamie began unbuttoning her sweater.
    Aaron saw it all.
    Standing in the darkness of the foyer, he saw it from the first rough kiss. There were times when it was hard to keep from laughing at what they said, at Deborah’s pseudo passion, Jamie’s overpowering sincerity. But he did not laugh. He watched instead as they disrobed, throwing their clothes to the floor, lying on the couch in the moonlight. Deborah still wore her pearls and Jamie had his socks on, but Aaron did not laugh. He moved closer as their bodies locked, Jamie astride her, Deborah moaning wonderfully beneath him.
    When they were done Aaron left, slipping out of the house. Alone on the sidewalk, he began to howl.
    They waited three weeks before Deborah made the phone call. Three weeks seemed suddenly an incredible length of time. Charlotte would stare at Deborah’s stomach in the mornings, then quickly look away. But finally the time came and Deborah made the call.
    “Jamie?” she said. She was crying softly; the tears were real.
    “Yes?”
    “Jamie—”
    “What? What is it? Tell me.”
    Deborah told him.
    “Are you positive? It can’t be. It’s too soon.”
    “I’m positive” was all Deborah said.
    Jamie said nothing for a while.
    “Come see me,” Deborah managed, crying harder now. “Come see me tonight, Jamie Wakefield. I’ll be waiting.”
    “I’ll be there.”
    He found the note as he came back to his room after class. A folded piece of paper, it had been slipped under his door. Jamie stooped, picked it up. Then he read it.
SHE LIES
    SHE LIES
    IT ISN’T YOUR BABY
    IT ISN’T YOUR BABY
    They waited for him on the front porch of the yellow frame house, Charlotte and Deborah and Aaron. It was a warm night. Deborah sat very still. Aaron paced. Charlotte could not stop talking. “Now don’t you worry, baby. Just as soon as he gets here we’ll go inside—won’t we, Aaron?—the minute he arrives you know we’ll just disappear—you understand, Aaron?”
    “Yes, Mother,” Aaron said.
    Charlotte turned to Deborah. “What time did he say he’d come?”
    “Seven. He always comes then.”
    “Lots of time, baby.”
    Aaron paced faster.
    “Aaron, you’re making me nervous,” Charlotte said.
    “Terribly sorry, Mother.” Aaron sat.
    “Lots of time,” Charlotte said.
    “Maybe he won’t come,” Aaron said.
    “Hush,” Charlotte told him.
    “Well, maybe he won’t. Maybe he knows.”
    Charlotte snapped, “Impossible.”
    “I guess you’re right, Mother.” Aaron’s fingers squeezed the arms of the rocking chair.
    “Lots of time,” Charlotte said at seven o’clock. She said it again at a quarter after and again at half past. “Lots of time. Lots of time.”
    Aaron waited with them. He could not remember having been so wildly happy. He had never known until then how splendid was his hatred, and the strength of it surprised him, almost frightened him a little.