Middle Age
““Gussie! You don’t have to wait on my dogs, for Christ’s sake.” “But it’s so warm today. Their water . . .” What was she saying? Why was it important? She stared at Adam Berendt thinking But who are you? Tell me! Gaily Augusta kissed Adam on both cheeks, for that was her style. She drew back from him before he drew back from her. Perfume wafted about them. Noli me tangere! — touch me not! —was Adam Berendt’s sexual pecca-dillo. The man’s fetish. (Did Augusta mind, really? If they’d been lovers,... wouldn’t their friendship have ended, inevitably?) That afternoon as many times afterward Augusta would come close to asking Adam, “Who is‘Francis Xavier Brady’? It’s you, isn’t it?” But she had not the courage. She couldn’t risk offending him. For there were things you might say to Adam freely, and things you could not. Any challenge of his integrity. Any persistent probing of his past. Adam’s face took on a flushed, savage expression, his good eye glared.MoreLess
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