"Don't you think it's better when it happens naturally? You both want to do it?"

"Let me know when you feel natural again," she said and put the housecoat back on and went downstairs.

Now she was at the breakfast table with The Detroit Free Press, her coffee finished. He came into the kitchen, wearing a clean shirt but the same sport coat, one that had been his favorite at least eight years. He took the sports section of the paper and began to scan it as she served his eggs, English muffin and coffee. When this was done Barbara sat down again.

"Sally called last night."

"She did? What's the matter?"

"Nothing. She just wanted to talk."

"Still likes Cleveland? And the battery salesman?"

"She's happy, you can tell. But she misses us."

"Is she pregnant yet?" His eyes roamed over the sports page as he began to eat, passing up a report on the Tigers' spring training camp that he would have read yesterday.

"No, she's not pregnant. They're going to wait a while." Barbara paused, watching him. "Did you see the mail?"

He looked up, momentarily interested, or pretending to be.

"No. Anything good?"

"A letter from Mike."

"Another one? No, I didn't see it."

"In the front hall." She waited again as he returned to his breakfast, eating slowly, not finishing the eggs and pushing the plate away. "Don't you think it's sort of amazing? He's written on the average of once every two weeks since he's been at school."

"When he needs money."

"I think he's a good writer. He tells you what's going on. How many do that?"

"I don't know. I guess not many." Mitchell looked up at the big railroad clock on the kitchen wall.

"I got to go," he said, but took time to finish his coffee before getting up. He looked at the clock again, then leaned over to kiss his wife on the cheek.

"Mitch?"

"What?"

"If it's such a pain in the ass, why don't you sell the business? Is it worth it, being tense all the time?"