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He graciously didn't mention all the years he'd lived with Bart, knowing it was like living with an explosive hidden somewhere, bound to go off sooner or later. Never a word to reproach me for giving him a defiant, disrespectful son who refused to care how much love was given him.

Oh, how much agony he'd suffered because of Bart, and still he didn't say a word to condemn me for going with deliberate intentions after my mother's second husband. I put my hands to my head, feeling that deep ache beginning again.

My Christopher drove away in the early morning, leaving me to fret through yet another anxiety-ridden day. Over the years I'd grown more and more dependent on him, when once I'd prided myself for being independent, able to go my own way and not need anyone nearly as badly as they needed me. How selfishly I'd looked at life when I was younger. My needs had come first. Now it was the needs of others that came first.

Restlessly I roamed about, checking on all those I loved, staring at Bart when he came home, dying to throw all kinds of accusations his way, yet somehow feeling so much pity for him. He sat behind his desk, looking absolutely the perfect young executive. No guilt. No shame as he bargained, manipulated, negotiated, making more and more money just by talking over the telephone, or communicating with his computer. He looked up at me and smiled. A genuine smile of welcome.

"When Joel told me Cindy had decided to leave, it cheered my whole day, and I still feel that way." Yet what was that oddness behind the darkness of his eyes? Why did he look at me as if soon he'd cry? "Bart, if ever you want to confide in me--"

"I have nothing to confide, Mother."

His voice was soft. Too soft, as if he spoke to someone that would soon be gone--forever gone.

"You may not know this, Bart, but the man you so hate, my brother and your uncle, has done the best he could to be a good father replacement."

Shaking his head, he denied this. "To do his best would have been abandoning his relationship with you, his sister, and he hasn't done that. I could have loved him if he'd only stayed my uncle. You should have known better than to try to deceive me. You should know by now all children grow up to ask questions and remember well scenes you think they'll soon forget, but those children don't forget. They take those memories and bury them deep in their brains, to bring them out later when they can understand. And all that I can remember tells me that the two of you are bound in ways that seem unbreakable, except by death."

My heart quickened. On the roof of Foxworth Hall, under the sun and stars, Chris and I had sworn certain vows to see us through eternity. How young and foolish to create our own traps .. .

Tears could so easily flood my eyes lately. "Bart-- how could I live without him?"

"Oh, Mother, you could! You know you could. Let him go, Mother. Give to me the kind of decent, God-fearing mother I've always needed to keep my sanity."

"And if I can't say goodbye to Chris--what then, Bart?"

His dark head bowed. "God help you, Mother. I won't be able to. God help me, too. Even so, I do have to think of my own eternal soul."

I went away.

All through the night I dreamed of fire, of such terrible things I woke up, not clearly remembering anything but the fire, yet there had been something else, some dreadful remembered thing I kept shoving to the back of my mind What? What? Unable to overcome the inexplicable fatigue I felt, I drifted back to sleep and fell again immediately into a continuing nightmare where I saw Jory's twins as Cory and Carrie, carried off to be devoured. For the second time I forced myself awake. Forced myself to get up, although my head ached badly.

I felt woozy-headed, half drunk as I set about my daily chores. At my heels the twins tagged behind, asking a thousand and one questions, in particular Deirdre. She reminded me so much of Carrie with her why? where? and whose is it? And how did it come to be his or hers or its? Jibberty-jabber, chitter-chat, on and on as Darren poked into closets, pulled open drawers, investigated envelopes, leafed through magazines and in the process ruined them for reading, making me say, "Cory, put those down! They belong to your grandfather and he likes to read the writing even if you don't like anything but the pictures. Carrie, would you please be quiet for just five minutes? Just five?" That, of course, drew another question that wanted to know who was Cory and who was Carrie, and why was I always calling them those funny names?

Finally Toni came to relieve me of the too inquisitive children. "Sorry, Cathy, but Jory wanted me to model for him in the garden today before all the roses die . . ."

Before all the roses die? I stared at her, then shook my head, thinking I was reading too much into ordinary words. The roses would live until a heavy freeze came, and winter was months away.

Around two in the afternoon, the telephone in my room rang. I'd just laid down to rest. It was Chris. "Darling, I can't stop worrying about what might happen. I think your fears are getting to me. Have patience. I'll be seeing you in' an hour. Are you all right?"

"Why wouldn't I be all right?"

"Just checking. I've had a bad feeling. I love you." "I love you, too."

The twins were restless, not wanting to play in the sandbox, not wanting to do one thing I suggested.

"Dee-dee don't like jump rope," said Deirdre, who couldn't pronounce her name correctly and didn't really want to. The more we tried to teach her the correct way, the more she lisped. She had Carrie's stubbornness. Just as Darren was more than willing to follow where she led, and he'd lisp when she did. And what difference did it make

if a little boy his age played house?

I put the twins down for their naps. They noisily objected and didn't stop until Toni came in and read to them a story she'd promised she'd read--when I'd just read the same blasted story three times! Soon they were asleep in their pretty room with the draperies drawn. How sweet they looked, turned on their sides to face one another, just as Cory and Carrie had done.

In my own room, after checking on Jory, who was busy reading a book on how to strengthen certain lower sexual muscles, I turned to my neglected manuscript and brought it up to date. When I grew tired, distracted by the absolute silence in the house, I went to waken the twins.

They were not in their small beds!

Jory and Toni were on the terrace, both lying on their sides on the quilted exercise mat. They were embracing, kissing long and passionately. "Sorry to interrupt," I said, feeling ashamed I had to intrude on their privacy and ruin what had to be a wonderful experience for Jory--and for her. "Where are the twins?'

"We thought they were with you," said Jory, winking at me before he turned back to Toni. "Run find them, Mom . . . I'm busy with today's lesson."