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sound before.” That was true; it still seemed strange that she hadn’t even heard his approach to the house.
    “Am I to take it that you know something about engines?” Brian asked skeptically. “Or is this a round of polite conversation?”
    His rudeness struck her as more honest than abrasive, and she relaxed perceptibly. She really didn’t want to make small talk either.
    It was another twenty minutes before he pulled into a parking lot next to one of Chicago’s more expensive high-rises. They were almost directly in the center of town, close to Brian’s work and close to the art galleries and museums and department stores that Leigh was familiar with. She opened her own door, and without comment followed him into the building and elevator, up to the fifteenth floor. He fitted the key into the lock and motioned her inside.
    “Look around,” he suggested. “Among other things, we’ll have to talk about where we want to live. I think you’ll find that my apartment has ample room.”
    The subject had fleetingly occurred to her. Then as now, next to everything else, it had seemed unimportant. Simple curiosity overruled her instinctive disquiet at being alone with Brian in his apartment, and obediently she wandered around exploring. To the left of the entrance was a sunny yellow kitchen, smaller than Leigh’s but more efficiently arranged. There was also a dining room, and to the right of it four small bedrooms. Robert could have his own suite; and there would still be a bedroom for her and one for the baby. And then there was Brian’s study and the master bedroom: she only opened the doors and closed them quickly once they’d been identified for what they were. From there, she paused at the living-room threshold.
    With background colors of black and white, the living room was spacious and starkly contemporary. The floor was highly polished wood, with an unbelievably soft and furry black-and-white rug large enough to accommodate two couches and a glass coffee table. A stereo unit took up most of one wall, and a double set of glass doors led onto a small balcony. There wasn’t a hint of anything feminine about the room, but it was both tastefully and attractively done.
    “Well?” Brian asked finally. “Shall we fight out where we’re going to live?”
    She gave him a ghost of a smile. “Of course not,” she said mildly. “We can live here if you want to. It doesn’t make any difference to me, as long as there’s room enough for Robert and the baby. In the long run, I wouldn’t choose to raise a child in the middle of a city, but we needn’t worry about that for the moment.”
    He frowned, as if her answer had been both unexpected and somehow unwelcome. She could make nothing of that, nor of his taciturn moodiness this morning. If he had changed his mind, he need only say so. From her viewpoint, she had immediately realized that any arrangement they made would require elements of compromise and flexibility; as she had more to gain, she was certainly willing to give more as well.
    “Do you want coffee, Leigh, or some lunch?”
    She wanted both, and they moved into the kitchen. Brian made salami sandwiches, while Leigh continued to poke around cupboards, learning the layout of the room. When they were seated at the kitchen table, he said, “I rather thought you’d want to stay in your own house.”
    She could hardly explain that, much as she loved her home, there were also unpleasant memories that she could never escape as long as she lived there. Instead, she spoke of practical matters: the costs of heating and maintaining an older home; her dislike of having to hire help to run the house when she would prefer being able to cope on her own. And Robert didn’t care where he lived; for that matter, it would be easier for him in the city, where he had friends of long standing whose age made it difficult for them to travel back and forth to her house in the suburbs. “Anyway, we’re hardly talking