He approached an intersection where he usually turned,but he was doing ten miles. He could go across town. Hecould go through the university campus. Did he go homefor Spring break? " he was still being civilized, only alittle curious. He is one of your students, isnTt he? But shewouldnTt tell him that. She wouldnTt even tell him what helooked like. Certainly he canTt be a colleague, you couldn'thandle that. She still packed " the bag sheTd bought forher mother, and a tin of her fatherTs favorite tobacco.Maybe the plumber. She had laughed and said it wasalways the plumber. Maybe it was the man in the gasstation on the corner and he had looked so busy becausethat was how he'd decided to keep his mind off her whileshe was gone, since he couldnTt run ten miles.He turned a corner and saw a black mass of smokeahead of him. There were blinking lights and people andcars. As he came closer, there was a strange, sweet smell.He thought of his grandmotherTs big white stove with thebrown grease between the letters of the label and ofplaying Dominoes at the kitchen table " he was backfrom church " while dinner cooked; and that smell underall the other smells. Bottled gas. It hung in the air withthe acrid tang of something burned. Her father would usethe small gas grill sheTd given him for Christmas to cookthe fish theyTd caught if it rained and they couldn't getback to the house by dark. And, of course, they wouldhave taken tents.He moved around the edge of the crowd. Some of themhad parked their cars and trucks close and stood on theroofs and hoods. He slowed, to keep from running intoanyone, and tried to see beyond the huddled, gesturingfigures. Patrol cars and cruisers had formed a phalanx offlashing lights and bright metal between the crowd and thered lights and anxious, white-clad attendants behind. Therehad been an explosion " the thunder heTd heard. Anapartment building, someone said. Excited voices mingledwith the rasping of police radios and megaphones.He moved faster. There would be another view from theother side of the building when he came back through thepark. The burnt air became heavy with exhaust fumes ashe passed through the thickening swath of cars behind thecurious crowd. A crowd had seen him pick up the brokenpieces of the juice jar Sandra had let drop on its way fromthe shopping basket to the check-out counter when wordshad been inadequate " when waiting until they were backin the car would have given him too much time toprepare. They had stared suddenly at the sound. He hadstared back. A nervous bag boy had appeared with a mopand broom and the crowd had died back into people withcoupons and car keys and cares of their own. The smallred spalsh of juice had blotted the floor like a fat spiderweb, and there was only the sharp rap and crisp echo ofher shoes as she went through the door.He crossed a street and entered the parking lot of asmall shopping center. The noise behind him faded. Hecould hear his steps again. Some of the store windowshad been cracked by the explosion, and he watched hisreflection move to the cracks, become distorted, andreappear whole on the other side.o you have a lover, was all heTd said in reply. He wasS a crowd of one, watching her, waiting, wonderingagain why after their years together they still lacked thetemerity to have their real disagreements anywhere but ina public place. He knew sheTd wanted more of a responsefrom him, but sheTd waited too long. He had tried tolaugh. She should have started at the cosmetic counter orthe fresh vegetables, heTd told her, but sheTd waited toolong. They were too near being back in the car alone. Itwas a half gallon of milk please, Ben, and on to thecheckout counter and, by the way, dear, | have a lover.She had unloaded the cart mechanically, efficiently, andhe could only watch the green figures of the cash registerdance under the cashierTs deft fingers. He thought he hadtaken it well and wanted her to know. He wasn'tshattered. The magazines at the checkout counter had itall wrong. Such things didnTt shatter the world. He hadleaned forward, just to let her see his smile, hismagnanimity; but she wouldnTt look. You shouldn't havewaited until the milk, heTd whispered, your approach wastoo bland. You should have told me with a pineapple inyour hand, or an artichoke. And then the small flatexplosion of red on the floor and on the front of her legs" her still good legs " and she was going out the door,leaving him to the crowd.He thought of her sitting, neatly-dressed, in the boatwith her father. The crepuscular light would make themshadows with voices. There would be a last blink of lightfrom her parentsT house " she would watch it " beforethey went around some bank or peninsula on the way toone of her fatherTs favorite spots. Her father would askand she would lie the first time. Expecting the lie, herfather would wait until there were neatly-dressed fish lyingbeside them. Mullet are good only fresh-caught andcooked, he would begin, and ask her again. It would beabout dawn, about now. And she would tell him. Theywould sit quietly, her father smoking some of the tobaccosheTd brought him, left with just fishing, and the leadweights on their lines would make tiny splashes thatreverberated to the bottom and corners of the still, darklake.e ran easily. The climb to the crest of a wooded hillhad removed the last strains of morning stiffness fromhis legs. The downward slope was smooth and he felthimself flowing toward the busy blats of gathering trafficat the bottom of the hill. The leaves crackling under hisfeet felt good, sounded good. The frying mullet wouldmake a good breakfast for Sandra. No oil to spatter andwaste, her father would say; a mullet has enough oil of itsown. Her mother would know they had talked, but herfather would say nothing in front of Sandra. They wouldeat the mullet in the cold rich air and talk about the fishgetting fewer and the New England winters getting harder,and after she had eaten, Sandra would sit in the gazebowith her dog. She would think about him and her loveruntil her parents came to take pictures or offer her somecake.His feet slapped the brittle planks of a bridge leading into a park. He waved to a black woman fishing beneathhim and heard sharp, swishing sounds as she played thecane pole over the water. A sleepy cat yawned in a basketby her side. Sandra would have her dog " some mindlessblack retriever or shepherd, he could never quite tell fromthe pictures " and he was jealous. She would confidemore to the dog in a morning than she had to him in a68