Page:Jay Little - Maybe—Tomorrow.pdf/263

 "I'm fine," Gaylord answered softly, scuffling his legs closer together in the blanket. "I'm worried about you."

"Don't worry about me. I'm okay." His mouth came down upon Gaylord's again in a protective manner. "I'd better get you home and put you to bed."

"I'd better put my clothes on then," said Gaylord, unwrapping the blanket.

"Oh … no." Blake pulled the blanket together again. "You wear that home. You can run in with it on. No one will see you. Those wet clothes will give you a helluva cold if you put them back on."

"Suppose mother and dad are up? What could I tell them?"

"It wouldn't be any different than going in with your wet clothes."

"I don't guess it would."

"Do you think they'll be up?"

"They might be."

"Well …" Blake thought hard. "Well … we could say . . "What?"

"… we could say we had a flat."

"Guess we could."

Gaylord straightened up and began to put his disheveled hair into place. His clothes, he thought ruefully, were going to look a sight after wallowing in the road, and my hair, it must look awful. I must look awful …

"Don't forget now … we had a flat."

Gaylord heard the sound of the motor start and the car moved, then the hand returned around his shoulders and drew him close. Linked thus, they drove down the soaked road leisurely, and in silence. They met no one and there was no sound but the ring of the motor, the swashing of water and the falling rain. As they crossed the bridge, Blake broke the silence.

"Are you all right, Gay."

"Fine … only …"

"Only what?"

"I'm so ashamed of the way I acted …"

"Ashamed? I'm not … You know, honey …" Blake grinned, rubbing his cheek, "you've got a wallop I didn't know you had."