Free Gould by Stephen Dixon

she didn’t put him back, and scratched his shoulders and buttocks and legs and he said “Evelyn, that hurts,” but then thought it doesn’t hurt that much but let her think it did, maybe it’ll help her later in some way, and he said “Yes, this is memorable sex,” and she said “You’ve never talked once during it, but I’m glad, frivolous as what you said is.” Then she jiggled a bit and came, he was still out of her and he thinks not even semi-erect, and she said “Want me to minister to it in some way, I’ve still lots of kick and hot wind left,” and he said “No, I’m just sleepy and have been practically all day, that’s the only reason. Nothing to do with you—it was great.” He let her hold him as she fell asleep and then he turned over on his side. In the morning he pretended to sleep while she got out of bed and washed and dressed, then said “Oh, you up?” and got dressed and made the bed and put on his jacket and she said “Can’t I have a cup of coffee—for the road?” and he said “I’m sorry, thought you wanted to get out of here,” and made it, they read yesterday’s newspaper while they had coffee and toast, then he walked her to her car. She started crying the moment she got in it and he said “Don’t, please,” and indicated with his hand for her to wipe the tears away and she opened the window and said “I bet if I had a normal foot and no limp and hole we’d still be seeing each other or this wouldn’t be the last time—maybe only the penultimate one; say, how about it being that, Gould—please?” and he said “You really put me in a position,” and to himself, She’s probably right, he wouldn’t give her up till something better came along or till he saw it was getting too risky sticking with her and that when he finally had to break it off it would hurt her even worse than it has today, and she would be a different person too without that limp and hole, not so sullen and abject and self-pitying and whatever else, for her whole psyche seems to be postulated on that foot, and the sex last night was the best he’s had with her so far, even if he didn’t ejaculate—at least she was up there and trying out things and acting free, but he said “Look, sometimes the guy leaves, sometimes the girl, that’s the way it is, so I’m saying I’ve been deep in the dumps about it too,” and she said “With me, it’s always the guy, though there haven’t been a whole lot of them,” and he said “Funny, because with me—well, not always and I’m sure, by a much wider margin and not just because you’re a woman, not always with you too,” and she said “That’s true. Though of course I could be lying there because I don’t want you to think I’m an utter loser and thus reduce my chances of ever getting together with you again, but you’ll never know unless you call me,” and she started the car and he walked away. When he heard it pulling out of the spot he turned around and waved but couldn’t tell if she saw him. She called two months later and he said “Hi, how are you?” and she said “Not so great. I aborted our fetus two days ago,” and he said “Oh my goodness, God, I’m sorry, why didn’t you tell me before this?” and she said “You wouldn’t have cared,” and he said “Not so, I would have done something,” and she asked what, and he said “I don’t know, helped you with the abortion—money if you needed it—taken you to the doctor to have it, things like that,” and she said “You wouldn’t have wanted me to keep the baby and then married me, right?” and he said “Marriage? Why would you want to be married to me? I have almost no money; I don’t really know