Page:Jay Little - Maybe—Tomorrow.pdf/75

 a long time since Gaylord's asked me to read to him. MY little boy, she mused. How he used to love those fairy tales … how much fun we used to have cutting out paper dolls … doesn't seem like he should be grown so soon … doesn't take long … they're children for such a short time, such a short time. Sometimes I'm afraid he isn't happy … I've tried so hard to understand him … at times I do … at other times he's beyond my reach. I don't think he's in love … I hope not … oh, I hope not … I'm glad he's gone with Robert. He's a good boy … Gaylord needs someone like him. Funny … Clay could never be his buddy. They just didn't seem to click with each other … and Clayton tried, too … tried real hard. Poor Clay … and he loves Gay so much … so much …

Daylight was gone and a breeze was creeping into the warmness of the summer air as Clayton Le Claire left the slow traffic of Cotton, Texas behind him and headed home. It was very seldom, lately, that he had stayed down town until eight o'clock. His tentative plan for just one game had been abandoned, partly because he was enjoying himself, even though he was losing.

The big door swung open at the turn of his key. In the papered foyer a beautiful carved pedestal, surmounted by a mirror, stood to the right of the entrance, and at right angles to this was a large square opening. The polished marble surface of the pedestal was bare except for one beautiful piece of Dresden.

Carol heard the familiar sound of her husband's steps. On seeing him she said, "Clayton, where've you been?"

She looked beautiful glancing up from her knitting. Her short golden hair that had never known the steaming clamps of a curling iron, had been carefully groomed; her cheeks were slightly rouged and her lips had been brushed with a soft lipstick.

"Played a little poker with Sam and Walter," he said tossing his hat on a chair.

"I wish you'd tell me when you're not coming home for supper."

"I didn't know it was so late." He craned his back and kissed her on the forehead. "Mad at me?"

"I'm not mad but I do wish you'd call. I waited and waited," 65