Free The Speed of Dark by Elizabeth Moon Page A

my ears, but it is quicker than sweeping and less dust gets up my nose. I clean the inside of the windshield, being careful to go all the way into the corners,then clean the mirrors. Stores sell special cleaners for cars, but they all smell very bad and make me feel sick, so I just use a damp rag.
    I put the sheepskin back on the seat and tie it snugly in place. Now my car is all clean for Sunday morning. Even though I take the bus to church, I like to think of my car sitting clean in its Sunday clothes on Sunday.
    I TAKE MY SHOWER QUICKLY, NOT THINKING ABOUT MARJORY , and then I go to bed and think of her. She is moving, in my thoughts, always moving and yet always still. Her face expresses itself more clearly to me than most faces. The expressions stay long enough that I can interpret them. When I fall asleep, she is smiling.

Chapter Four
    FROM THE STREET TOM WATCHED MARJORY SHAW AND Don Poiteau walk across the yard.
    Lucia thought Marjory was becoming attached to Lou Arrendale , but here she was walking with Don.
    Granted, Don had grabbed her gear bag from her, but—if she didn’t like him, wouldn’t she take it back?
    He sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. He loved the sport offencing, loved having people over, but the constant burden of the interpersonal intrigues of the group exhausted him more as he got older. He wanted his and Lucia’s home to be a place where people grew into their potential, physical and social, but sometimes it seemed he was stuck with a yardful of permanent adolescents. Sooner or later, they all came to him with their complaints, their grudges,their hurt feelings.
    Or they dumped on Lucia. Mostly the women did that. They sat downbeside her, pretending an interest in her needlework or her pictures, and poured out their troubles. He and Lucia spent hours talking about what was going on, who needed which kind of support, how best to help without taking on too much responsibility.
    As Don and Marjory came closer, Tom could see that she was annoyed. Don, as usual, was oblivious, talking fast, swinging her bag in his enthusiasm for what he was saying. Case in point, Tom thought.
    Before the night was out, he was sure he’d hear what Don had done to annoy Marjory and from Don he’d hear that Marjorywasn’t understanding enough.
    “He has to have his stuff in exactly the same place every time, can’t put it anywhere else,” Don was saying as he and Marjory came within earshot.
    “It’s tidy,” Marjory said. She sounded prissy, which meant she was more than just annoyed. “Do you object to tidy?”
    “I object to obsessive,” Don said. “You, my lady, exhibit a healthy flexibility in sometimes parking on this side of the street and sometimes on that and wearing different clothes. Lou wears the same clothes every week—clean, I’ll give him that, but the same—and this thing he has about where to store his gear…”
    “You put it in the wrong place and Tom made you move it, didn’t he?” Marjory said.
    “Because Lou would be upset,” Don said, sounding sulky. “It’s not fair—”
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    Tom could tell Marjory wanted to yell at Don. So didhe . But yelling at Don never seemed to do any good. Don’d had an earnest, hardworking girlfriend who put eight years of her life into parenting him, and he was still the same.
    “I like the place tidy, too,” Tom said, trying to keep the sting out of his voice. “It’s much easier for everyone when we know where to find each person’s gear. Besides, leaving things all over the place could be considered just as obsessive as insisting on having the same place.”
    “C’mon, Tom; forgetful and obsessive are opposites.” He didn’t even sound annoyed, just amused, as if Tom were an ignorant boy. Tom wondered if Don acted that way at work. If he did, it would explain his checkered employment history.
    “Don’t blame Lou for my rules,” Tom said. Don shrugged and went into the house to get his equipment.
    A few