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sits beside Marjory again. I have a strange feeling: that I noticed and that I cared. Don has stopped, still bent over. There are no spare chairs now, as other fencers have arrived. Don lowers himself to the flagstones finally, grunting and groaning all the way.
    “I’m going to have to quit this,” he says. “I’m getting too old.”
    “You’re not old,” Lucia says. “You’re lazy.” I do not understand why Lucia is being so mean to Don.
    He is a friend; it is not nice to call friends names except in teasing. Don doesn’t like to do the stretches and he complains a lot, butthat does not make him not a friend .
    “Come on, Lou,” Tom says. “You killed me; we killed each other; I want a chance to get you back.”
    The words could be angry, but the voice is friendly and he is smiling. I lift my blades again.
    This time Tom does what he never does and charges. I have no time to remember what he says is the right thing to do if someone charges; I step back and pivot, pushing his off-hand blade aside with mine and trying for a thrust to his head with the rapier. But he is moving too fast; I miss, and his rapier arm swings over his own head and gives me a whack on the top of the head.
    “Gotcha!” he says.
    “You did that how?” I ask, and then quickly reorder the words. “How did you do that?”
    “It’s my secret tournament shot,” Tom said, pushing his mask back. “Someone did it to me twelve years ago, and I came home and practiced until I could do it to a stump… and normally I use it only in competition. But you’re ready to learn it. There’s only one trick.” He was grinning, his face streaked with sweat.
    “Hey!” Don yelled across the yard. “I didn’t see that. Do it again, huh?”
    “What is the trick?” I ask.
    “You have to figure out how to do it for yourself. You’re welcome to my stump, but you’ve just had all the demonstration you’re going to get. I will mention that if you don’t get it exactly right, you’re dead meat to an opponent who doesn’t panic. You saw how easy it was to parry the off-hand weapon.”
    “Tom, you haven’t showed me that one—do it again,” Don said.
    “You’re not ready,” Tom said. “You have to earn it.” He sounds angry now, just as Lucia did. What has Don done to make them angry? He hasn’t stretched and gets tired really fast, but is that a good reason? I can’t ask now, but I will ask later.
    I take my mask off and walk over to stand near Marjory. From above I can see the lights reflecting from her shiny dark hair. If I move back and forth, the lights run up and down her hair, as the light ran up and down Tom’s blades. I wonder what her hair would feel like.
    “Have my seat,” Lucia says, standing up. “I’m going to fight again.”
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    I sit down, very conscious of Marjory beside me. “Are you going to fence tonight?” I ask.
    “Not tonight. I have to leave early. My friend Karen’s coming in at the airport, and I promised to pick her up. I just stopped by to see… people.”
    I want to tell her I’m glad she did, but the words stick in my mouth. I feel stiff and awkward. “Karen is coming from where?” I finally say.
    “Chicago. She was visiting her parents.” Marjory stretches her legs out in front of her. “She was going to leave her car at the airport, but she had a flat the morning she left. That’s why I have to pick her up.” She turns to look at me; I glance down, unable to bear the heat of her gaze. “Are you going to stay long tonight?”
    “Not that long,” I say. If Marjory is leaving and Don is staying, I will go home.
    “Want to ride out to the airport with me? I could bring you back by here to pick up your car. Of course, it’ll make you late getting home; her plane won’t be in until ten-fifteen.”
    Ride with Marjory?I am sosurprised/happy that I can’t move for a long moment. “Yes,” I say. “Yes.” I can feel my face getting hot.
    ON THE WAY TO THE AIRPORT, I LOOK OUT THE