Free Double Jeopardy by Martin M. Goldsmith Page B

expanse of the ceiling, Anita touched my arm. “Peter dear,” she whispered softly.
    I thrilled at the affection in her tone. It at once brought to me a sense of contentment which complemented the delightful tranquil state that was now my body's. “Yes, sweetheart? What is it? Can I get you anything?”
    Her voice came back to me, wistfully out of the shadows. “Can we live in New York after the store is sold? You know how much I love it here and... well, Ithaca has never seemed like home to me.”
    I sat up in bed with a start. Anita was taking it for granted that I intended to sell out! Such, you may be sure, was not my plan. The thought of disposing of the thing I had dreamed about and worked for since its humble beginning four years before had not once merited my consideration. My store was now the largest of its kind in Ithaca and, since receiving Anita's letter informing me of Great Eastern's offer, I had been playing with the idea of opening a branch. Maybe I, too, would someday operate a chain of drugstores!
    Something cautioned me, however, and I held my tongue. Everything was peaceful now; why spoil it? “We'll talk about it tomorrow,” I said and pounding my pillow with a fist, I dropped back and closed my eyes.
    “You're a darling, Peter,” Anita went on and I felt cool fingers pass over my face in a soothing caress. “I just know you will. We can have a much better time here. Did you know that most of your friends have moved away since you left? Mrs. Burtleson and the Crespis and Walt Mandeville have all gone. Joe Crespi has a job selling Packards down here. Doing very well, too, I understand. And Myra Parsons got married to a Brooklyn man. He manages a factory or something. And she has a baby almost a year old, too. What do you think of that! Somehow I never thought of her becoming a mother! Always liked to gad about when I knew her. And oh, yes. Harvey Bond—;you remember him, don't you? Tall, funny-looking fellow with glasses and red hair? Sure you do. He used to live right next door to the Carpenter place on the Heights....”
    She stopped short. I could almost hear her teeth snap shut. I am positive that she had not meant to mention that name. But though I opened my eyes in the darkness, I made sure not to move a muscle. I was certain that if I showed any sign that I had noticed the slip, she would be embarrassed or uncomfortable.
    In a second, to cover up, she went on with a show of defiance. “Yes, and by the way, I hear that Leo Carpenter is down here somewhere. Somebody—;I think it was Tom Murphy—;said that he plans to go to Vienna soon to study. Lucky dog! His father left him a mint of money. He's about the only thing I've got against New York and he won't be here long, thank God.” She paused for a few minutes until I thought that she had gone to sleep. Just as I was congratulating myself that such was the case, she recommenced the one-sided debate. “So you see. Peter, about the only people left in Ithaca whom we know at all well are Mrs. Michaelson and that awful Turnbull person. And you couldn't call them friends very well, now could you?”
    I did not answer her. I pretended that I had fallen asleep.
     
    The next morning, much to Anita's disappointment, we boarded a train for Ithaca. I was in a state of high spirits; for returning to the town of my birth—;which many times during the war I had never expected to see again—;was a prospect both pleasant and exciting. I am one of those, I guess, whom the Cornell students slurringly refer to as “native sons.” I have rarely had the desire to go to the big city with its stale smells, its filthy streets and its unbearable noises; preferring to remain peaceful and perhaps slightly bored in the country areas. Anita, on the other hand, was moulded from different clay. But she didn't reveal her restless spirit until after we had been married.
    To this very day, I don't know whether it was Ithaca or my own poor company that fired her