They established no pattern of behavior that could make anyone suspicious. (As if everyone wasn't already {586} suspicious, regardless of how they behaved!) There was no one place that they met, no one day, no one time of day. In the winter months, when Angel-after school -would take Wally for a swim in the indoor pool of a private boys' academy, Homer and Candy could manage an occasional late afternoon together. But Homer's bed, which had been Olive's bed, which also suffered from all the master-bedroom connotations, was full of conflicting emotions for them both-and the bed Candy shared with Wally had its own set of taboos. Rarely, they took trips. The cider house was fit to be used only in the late summer after it had been made ready for the picking crew; but ever since Angel had learned to drive, he'd been given the run of the orchards-he was allowed to drive any of the farm vehicles, just so he kept off the public roads, and his pudgy pal, Pete Hyde, often drove around with him. Homer suspected that Pete and Angel used the cider house to drink beer in secret, whenever they could convince Herb Fowler to buy beer for them; or that they went there for the fifteen-year-old thrill of smoking cigarettes. And at night, trapped by their own insomnia, where could Candy and Homer have disappeared to-now that Angel was an insomniac, too?

Homer Wells knew that there was no reason ever to have an accident-no reason for Candy ever to get pregnant (certainly not, knowing what Homer knew)-and no reason for them ever to get caught, either. But by being so reasonable and so discreet, Homer regretted the loss of the passion with which he and Candy had at first collided. Although she insisted (and he agreed), he thought it was quite unnecessary for him to write to Dr. Larch to request (which he did) the proper equipment with which to treat the emergency that Candy feared.

For fifteen years Homer had told her: 'You won't get pregnant. You can't.'

'Do you have everything you need, if you need it?' she always asked him.

'Yes,' he said.{587}

He'd gotten better about not saying 'Right,' since Wally had hit him. And when the word would slip out, it was often attended by an equally involuntary wince – as if in anticipation of another punch, as if anyone he might say the word to would feel as strongly about it as Wally and might be as fast as Mr. Rose.

Wilbur Larch had misunderstood about the instruments Homer had requested. For fifteen years, he'd misunderstood. Larch had sent everything promptly. There were both a medium and a large vaginal speculum, and an Auvard's weighted speculum; there was a set of dilators with Douglass points-and one uterine sound, one uterine biopsy curette, two vulsellum forceps, a set of Sim's uterine curettes, and a Rheinstater's uterine flushing curette. Larch sent enough Dakin's solution and red Merthiolate (and enough sterile vulval pads) for Homer Wells to perform abortions into the next century.

'I'm NOT going into the business!' Homer wrote to Dr. Larch, but Larch remained encouraged by the simple fact of Homer's possessing the necessary equipment.

Homer wrapped the instruments in a whole bale of cotton and gauze; he then put the bundle in a waterproof bag that had once contained Angel's diapers. He stored the instruments, along with the Merthiolate, the Dakin's solution and all the vulval pads, in the very back of the upstairs linen closet. Homer kept the ether in the shed with the lawn and garden tools. Ether was flammable; he didn't want it in the house.

However, in the one and a half times a month that he could be with Candy, it jolted him to realize that in their union there was (even after fifteen years) a frenzy with which they clung to each other that would not have appeared pale in comparison to their first such meeting in the cider house. But since Melony had first introduced Homer Wells to sex-and it had been only during that brief period of what seemed to him to be his 'married life' with Candy in St. Cloud's that he had experienced any- {588} thing of what sex ideally is-it was Homer's opinion that sex had little to do with love; that love was much more focused and felt in moments of tenderness and of concern. It had been years (for example) since he had seen Candy asleep, or had been the one to wake her; years since he had watched her fall asleep, and had stayed awake to watch her.

This tenderness he reserved for Angel. When Angel had been smaller, Homer had occasionally encountered Candy in the darkness of Angel's room, and they had even shared a few evenings of that silent wondering parents engage in while watching their children sleep. But Homer had fallen asleep, many nights, in the empty twin bed beside Angel's bed, just listening to the breathing of his son; after all, Homer had spent his childhood trying to sleep in a room where an entire population lay breathing.

And was there a feeling more full of love, he wondered, than to wake up a child in the morning? Full of love and apology, both, Homer Wells concluded. It was with Angel that he felt love like that; if Candy had such moments, Homer imagined, she had to have them with Wally. An orphan's pleasures are compartmental. In St. Cloud's, it was best to be hungry in the morning; they didn't run out of pancakes. There was sex, which called for good weather (and, of course, Melony); there were acts of wandering and destruction (Melony again, in any weather); there were solitary acts and moments of reflection, which could occur only when it rained (and only without Melony). As much as he desired a family, Homer Wells was not trained to appreciate a family's flexible nature.

That July-it was one hot and lazy Saturday afternoon -Homer was floating in the pool; he had been in the orchards all morning, mulching the young trees. Angel had been working with him, and now Angel was out of the pool, but still dripping wet; he was tossing a baseball back and forth with Wally. Wally sat on the lawn, on a {589} slight knoll above the pool, and Angel stood on the deck. They would throw the hardball back and forth, not talking but concentrating on their throws; Wally would fire the ball with considerable sting for someone in a sitting position but Angel had more zip on the ball. The ball popped pleasantly in their big gloves.

Candy came down to the pool from the apple-mart office. She was wearing her work clothes-jeans; a khaki field shirt, with oversized pockets and epaulettes; work boots; a Boston Red Sox baseball cap with the visor turned backward. (She cared more about protecting her hair from the sun than her face, because in the summer her blondness could turn whiter, which she knew showed more of the gray.)

'I know the men are out of the fields at noon on Saturday,' she said, her hands on her hips, 'but the women are working in the mart until three.'

Homer stopped floating; he let his feet touch the bottom and he stood chest deep in the pool, looking at Candy. Wally looked over his shoulder at her, then fired the ball to Angel, who fired it back.

'Please hold the ball, while I'm trying to say something,' Candy said.

Wally held the ball. 'What are you trying to say?' he asked.

'I think that on Saturdays, as long as there are people working at the mart, you should refrain from playing at the pool-everyone can hear you, and I think it kind of rubs it in.'

'Rubs what in?' Angel asked.

'That you get to play and live in the fancy house, as they call it, and they get to work,' Candy said.

'Pete's not working,' Angel said. 'Pete got a ride to the beach.'

'Pete Hyde is a kid,' Candy said. 'His mother is still working.'

'Well, I'm a kid, aren't I?' Angel asked playfully.{590}

'Well, I don't mean you, especially,' Candy said. 'What about you two?' she asked Homer and Wally.

'Well, I'm a kid, too,' Wally said, throwing the ball back to Angel. 'I just play all day long, anyway.' Angel laughed and threw the ball back, but Homer Wells glowered at Candy from his chest-deep position in the pool.