He was directly below her on the patio, sport coat open, hands in his pants pockets. He never wore gloves, and only occasionally a raincoat during the cold months. She wasn't sure what he was looking at or how long he had been there. When he moved finally it was to walk along the edge of the swimming pool, looking down, as if inspecting the pale plastic cover that was stained and streaked with dead leaves and the dirt of winter and spring.

When she came outside, wearing a housecoat over her nightgown, he was still at the pool.

"Thinking about going for a swim?"

A trace of a smile appeared as he turned. "Pretty soon. Get her cleaned out, be ready for Memorial Day."

Barbara's hands were deep in the pockets of the housecoat, her shoulders hunched against the chill.

"Did you sleep at all?"

"Little bit, on my couch. Couple of the turning machines were giving us the trouble. They got them adjusted and set, then I had to wait while they started the run again and checked the pieces, cylinder rod couplers. Some reason the outside diameters were coming out trimmed a hair undersize and we had to scrap thirty percent of the run. That costs money."

She knew he was not explaining but was talking to be talking, filling a void. She knew his sounds. Something was on his mind and it could be cylinder rod couplers or it could be something else.

"I'm going to change and get back. Sit on the job till it's out. Supposed to be in Pontiac this afternoon."

"You make the deliveries now, too?"

"Sometimes it looks like it's coming to that."

"Well, how about breakfast first?"

"Couple of soft-boiled eggs would be good. Four minutes."

"I know," Barbara said.

She was in the bedroom waiting for him. She heard the shower turn off. He would be drying himself now. In a few minutes he would open the bathroom door to clear the steam from the mirror and would shave with the towel wrapped around his waist that was flat through the stomach, hard-muscled, but bulged slightly above his hips and around into his back.