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it’s sometimes hard for me to feel we have enough in common. You’re out in the real world, accomplishing real things, and I’m home matching the socks and getting dumber by the day.”
    Michael squeezed her. “No way are you dumb, honey! I’ve never once thought that.”
    “ I’ve thought it,” Beth said, “and that’s what counts. I think it’s one of the reasons I probably drift away from you .”
    “I see,” Michael said quietly. “I understand.”
    Bless him, she thought, he did understand—he always understood if she gave him half a chance.
    Even as the decision she’d been pondering for so long was being made, she announced it: “Michael, I’m going to go back to school. I’ll sign up for a course at Lincoln Junior College. I’ll take it slow, just to see if I can revitalize my brain cells, then”—she took a deep breath, somewhat fearful of her boldness— maybe go right on to finish up my degree and get a real job.”
    Michael said, “All right, that makes good sense to me.”
    “You are serious?” Beth moved away from him, propping herself up on an elbow. If he were humoring her, giving her a patronizing pat on the head… She was ashamed to even be thinking this way, but…
    Michael said, “So I’ll watch the kids a few nights a week. Did you expect me to get all bent out of shape because you have a fine mind and want to use it? Come on, Beth, I’m probably a whole bunch of things, but not a male chauvinist.”
    “No,” Beth said sincerely, “you’re a wonderful man, that’s what you are.”
    “True,” Michael laughed, “and I’m pleased you noticed it. Now how about we get some sleep?”
    Beth cuddled as close to him as she could. Happy, excited about college, their marriage, everything! She was not sleepy. The words poured out of her: “There’s so much I’ve wanted to say, and now feels so right for saying it, saying it all…”
    “Shh!” Michael hissed sharply. She felt him tense. “Sit up,” he whispered.
    She did. Michael was alongside her.
    “What is it?”
    “Downstairs,” he said. “I thought I heard something.” He paused for a long moment that brought a pinch of nervousness to her throat.
    Michael whispered, “Yeah, I know I did. I’m going to have a look.”
    In his pajamas, Michael slowly walked down the hall. He needed no light. This was his house. He passed the room Marcy and Kim shared, catching a whiff of the pinewood chips that littered the aquarium in which their guinea pigs lived. He passed his office, then, hand light on the banister , he made his way downstairs .
    That’s the nice thing about a modern house, he thought. The steps do not creak. You can move quietly, so quietly, no warning, no sound to mark your coming.
    In the dark living-room , his hand moved unerringly to the cord and the drapes hissed along the rod. He gazed out the picture window at Park Estates, his neighborhood, his neighbors, the houses dark, most of them, except for the glow of 20th century nightlights, the television sets, black and ‘white bedroom portables, the color consoles in nightowls’ living rooms. A night in a good suburb, safe… Yet Michael knew there was a fear in Park Estates, the coast-to-coast fear that blanketed all of America. It was “The Age of Paranoia.” And what genius had come up with the insightful “Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get you”?
    They were, the Strangers—and he was.
    The woman upstairs was afraid, too, Michael thought, remembering how she’d squeezed his arm, urging him to “be careful.” He’d given her general fear a focal point with the intruding noise of “something downstairs.”
    Michael listened. He heard the chill exhalation of the air-conditioning—that and his own breathing. And that was all there was to hear.
    He’d had to get away from Beth’s babble. He’d felt the impulse come to him, so strong, the wanting to shut her up forever, his hand on her throat, allowing