Page:Jay Little - Maybe—Tomorrow.pdf/163

 A mad desire, a desire to feel him within her arose and filled her shaking body. She wanted to touch the naked flesh again; to feel his lips, to feel his arms around her as before. She loved him. God, how she loved him. She loved the bewildering silence about him; the mysterious look, his soft curly hair; his sensuous mouth. Oh, if he would only say he loved her … wanted her again. Something was wrong … something … but what? Blake would have said the thing she was longing to hear. He would have told her life would be empty without her … that he loved her … wanted her. Why didn't Gay say these things? Why? He must love me … he must! Why doesn't he tell me?

She had forgotten this was the first time they had been together, the first time in many years. They had been so close when they were children … they should be even closer now. He used to love her, she was certain. But what about that childish love, would it continue? He might be in love with someone else … Thelma White for instance … Thelma White? No, he couldn't love Thelma. She had given herself to him, and he had loved her then. He couldn't have kissed the way he had unless he had. She bit her lips in confusion and lowered her head. Does he love me, she asked herself. Am I going to have to ask him? Oh, no … I can't do that … He must say so himself. Must say it because he wants to … I won't ask him … I won't … I …

"Gay," she raised her head and reached for him. "You do like me a … just a little?" She whispered, "You love me?"

The air seemed filled with mist through which he saw her with puzzled distinctness. He couldn't lie to her. She was an old friend and he wasn't a noble hero.

She waited but Gaylord remained silent. Instead of speaking, he gave a brotherly kiss on the cheek.

She looked out over streets. The evening shadows half revealed, half concealed. She looked over the house roofs, uneven in height, broken once in a while by a slanting roof from a house left over from older times. The gables on the roofs … and on some, the shadowing looming of pigeon cotes … sometimes, faintly heard, the sleepy cooing of pigeons … the tall trees, remotely brooding over the dark 153