A surge of affection filled him. But he was a little afraid too of her terrible modesty. He looked away from her eyes to the wild iris in her hand. “There’s an old Welsh story,” he said. “It’s about a poor knight who made a wife completely out of flowers—”
The wine was strong in Suzy now. She said the sentence twice to herself before she said it aloud to Doc. “I hope she didn’t wilt.”
The low voice of Doc’s guts burst through at last. “I’m lonely,” he said. He said it as a simple matter of fact and he said it in wonder. Then he apologized. “I guess I’m a little drunk.” He felt very shy. He filled the glasses. “What the hell! Let’s have some brandy too.”
Suzy turned half away from him so that her face was outlined in leaping pine flames. “You know that place you said—out in the sand dunes?”
“Yes.”
“Could we look at it?”
“Whenever you want.”
“On our way home?”
“You’ll ruin your shoes.”
“I know,” said Suzy.
“You could take them off.”
“I will,” said Suzy.
- Sweet Thursday
