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"Huh? I didn't do that," he said. "Don't say that." "I saw you looking in at me."

He shook his-head. "No. I didn't do that."

"You're scaring me, Duncan. I know it was you. I heard your scooter, too. I saw you waiting in the shadows when my aunt and I came home."

"That's not true. None of that is true." He pointed to my painting. "You're in this picture, you know. You're the doe and you don't even realize why," he said angrily and charged toward the doorway.

"Duncan!"

He turned. "I gotta go. I'm sorry I scared you, but I didn't want to go home last night. My mother is still very mad at me for eating dinner here the other night and not telling her where I was, and now she'll be even angrier that I returned and spent the night away from home."

"You're admitting you were here then. You're saying you were here?"

"I was in here. That's all. I told you. I had a bad argument with her and ran out of the house. I didn't have any other place to go. I fell asleep on the bathroom floor. That's he said and left.

I walked slowly to the doorway and watched him trekking across the field of high grass. He was marching with his head down, as if he had to get away as quickly as he could. He's probably just ashamed of himself, I thought, but to be out all night just to avoid his mother . . . I couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

Suddenly, before he reached the road, he stopped and stood there for a moment. Then he turned around, looked toward me and slowly made his way back. I folded my arms under my breasts and walked out to meet him.

"What are you doing, Duncan?"

He kept his head down.

"I'm sorry," he said in an entirely different sounding tone of voice. "I want to be . . . to be with you, but I'm afraid of what will happen."

"What will happen?"

He looked up, his eyes glassy, but said nothing.

"I thought we decided that wouldn't be the case with us," I said. "I thought we decided we would fight it, fight the whole idea that we inherited sin."

"No, I was wrong. Something terrible is probably going to hap

pen to either us or people we love or love us." He looked away.

"How can you tell that?"

He shook his head but avoided looking at me.

"Your mother is telling you that, right? She is the one saying all these things. I called your house last night after I was sure you were here."

He turned back quickly. "You spoke to her?" "Sorta. I wouldn't call it speaking to her. I asked for you and she said something terrible to me."

"What?"

"She called me Satan."

"I'm sorry," he said.

"What's wrong with her? What's her problem? She doesn't know anything about me. How could she say such a terrible thing to me?"

He didn't answer my question. Instead, he looked at me intently and said, "I've never wanted to be with any girl as much as I want to be with you, Alice. I've looked at other girls and thought about them, but I've never been this close with any and I've never been thinking day and night about any like I do about you."

I smiled. "That's all good, Duncan. There's nothing terrible about that. Don't let her make you think there is."

His face softened, his eyes more relaxed.

"You're probably hungry," I said. "C'mon. I'll make you some breakfast."